“Sometimes the mind protects itself by blocking out memories that are too painful to process.”
“But I should feel something, shouldn’t I? Some sense of loss or grief?”
“You do. You’ve had nightmares almost every night since the accident, haven’t you? Crying out for people whose names you don’t remember.”
I want to believe him. It explains too much: why no family has come, why no one from my past has reached out, why Dmitri is all I have left. And I have been having nightmares.
But this also feels like the perfect trap.
“What happens now?” I ask. “Do I just stay hidden here forever?”
“Until the Borisenkos find a new target or until their organization collapses under legal pressure.” He squeezes my hand. “I have people working on both possibilities.”
“People?”
“Associates who specialize in making problems disappear.”
The casual way he mentions murder should horrify me. Instead, I nod like it’s the most reasonable solution in the world.
“And in the meantime?”
“In the meantime, you’re safe. Fed, protected, cared for. Free to heal and rediscover who you want to be without the pressure of remembering who you were.”
He makes it sound like a gift instead of a cage.
“I know this is overwhelming. But everything I’ve done is to protect you.”
“A future built on lies?”
“The lies were necessary to keep you alive long enough for the truth to matter. But I’m hoping for much more than that with you, my kitten.”
I search his face for any sign that all of this is untrue. But if he’s lying, he’s masterful at it. Every word rings with sincerity, and every gesture screams protective devotion.
“The files I read today,” I begin. “The violence, the criminal activities… none of that bothers you?”
“Does it botheryou?”
I think about the photographs of torture victims, the detailed accounts of territorial disputes settled through execution, and the mentions of bodies that needed to be disposed of quietly.
I should be disgusted. Terrified. Planning my escape.
Instead, I’m fascinated.
“It should,” I admit. “But it doesn’t. That’s what scares me.”
“Maybe you’re stronger than you think. Maybe the woman you’re becoming can handle truths that would destroy other people.”
“Or maybe I was never the person you’ve been telling me I was.”
He stands and pulls me to my feet. “Maybe not. But whoever you were, whoever you’re becoming… you’re mine now. And I’ll kill anyone who tries to change that.”
The possessive edge in his voice should send me running. Instead, it sends heat pooling between my legs and makes me want to inch closer to him.
God, what’s wrong with me?
“I need time to think about all this,” I tell him, though thinking is the last thing I want to do when he’s looking at me like I’m something precious and dangerous at the same time.
“Take all the time you need. Just remember, I’m the only person standing between you and the people who want to finish what they started at that gallery.”
