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I scrape my hand over my face. “Fuck.” I rise from the couch, get a glass of water, and do another tour of the cabin to make sure it’s secure. I lie back down on the couch and pray Dimitri stays out of my head so I can rest. I need all my wits about me to protect Kate.
As soon as I drift off, Kate appears in the doorway of her room. “Why do you care what happens to me now? You never did before.” She repeats the words she said earlier.
How can she believe that? “I’ve always cared.” This time, I do go to her. I wrap her up in my arms, and better yet, she willingly allows it. She leads me into her room and pulls me over her.
I kiss her, not wanting to hear any protest or any doubt from her. There are no words. Just my lips on her mouth, her jaw, trailing down lower and lower to suck her tits in the way I know she likes. My hands roam over her soft skin and sexy curves. I’m no stranger to fucking, but I can’t remember ever being so wrapped up in a woman. Like my very being was made for her.
She opens for me, and I slide in. A mixture of sweet and sadness pierced my heart. This is where I’m supposed to be, and yet, I shouldn’t be here at all. I think of the baby. Fucking hell… I’ve helped create life. How is it possible a monster like me was able to do that with a woman so gentle and caring and perfect as Kate? God, I hope he or she is like her.
“Liam.” Her voice pulls me in. Loving. Passionate. I move, sliding in and out, in and out, in the sweetest rhythm. I want to be here forever, basking in love, savoring the sensuous sensations of being inside her, a part of her.
“Liam.” She arches, and her body tightens around me, gripping me, and I cry out, not from pleasure, but from the pain in knowing that this isn’t real. She’s not loving me. She doesn’t want me.
Just leave me alone. I hate you.
My eyes snap open, and wakefulness consumes me. Even so, the dream lingers. The sweetness of it. I glance toward the door of Kate’s room, and a yearning to go to her, to ask her to be with me fills my chest. It’s followed by the pain of knowing it’s not possible. Hell, even if she were open to it, how could I live my life always worried about her and the child? That level of paranoia and fear isn’t something I want to experience. How Niko manages it is beyond me.
I sit up and notice my dick tenting my pants. “Fucking hell.” I head to the shower, noting that the sun’s rays are beginning to filter through the darkness. I turn the water to cold, not wanting to deal with my dick. But the image of Kate so soft and pliant fills my head. I turn the dial to hot and wrap my hand around my dick. In my mind, I’m back there… sliding in and out of her hot, tight pussy. Her soft gasps echo around me. Her fingers clutch at my back.
“Liam.” Her body arches. Her pussy clenches hard.
“Kate.” I throw my head back as my hand works my dick, my cum shooting out against the tiles.
When it’s done, I dunk my head under the spray, wondering why my life has become such a shitshow.
I push my pity away and accept my lot in life. By the time I clean up, I’m back to the warrior I need to be. I have a mission—keep Kate and the baby safe and deliver them into a world filled with light and happiness. A world far, far away from me.
22
KATE
Ilie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, my heart rate returning to normal after being awakened by Liam’s yelling, "No!"
Hearing it, I jumped out of bed, running to the door. As I reached it, I considered danger was upon us and I shouldn't run out into it. After listening for a moment and not hearing anything more, I quietly opened the door and peered out. Liam sat on the couch looking so lost. My instinct had been to go to him, but I knew he'd only push me away.
He reassured me that everything was all right, and so I went back to bed, and here I lie, playing out the scene in my head. Did he have a nightmare? A part of me thinks that someone like Liam, who can kill without a second thought, wouldn't have the conscience to have nightmares. Then again, perhaps living the life he leads would make him even more prone to nightmares.
There is a part of me that wants to soothe him if he was having a nightmare. Or maybe it's just the fear and loneliness that has me wanting to be physically close to him. To feel the strength of his arms around me, protecting me, caring for me. It was the urge I had when he entered my room earlier and told me about his life growing up in the Bratva. How he'd been the presumptive heir to the throne or whatever was at the top of the Bratva hierarchy.
For some reason, he initially chose a different path. It's unclear to me why he did so. I get the feeling that he doesn't know, either. From what he explained, it sounds like his involvement in the Mafia came because of his loyalty to Niko, a friend since childhood. I suppose his loyalty to a lifelong friend is admirable, although that's probably just me trying to justify his becoming a criminal.
Liam said that everything he'd done since he met me was to protect me, and there's a part of me that wants to embrace that idea. What woman wouldn't love the idea of a protective warrior willing to do anything, to sacrifice everything for the woman he loves? But Liam doesn't love me. I'd argue that he doesn't know love except he clearly has attachments to Niko and Donovan.
You can wish I’d never fucked you or implanted that baby in you. But never question my motives. You are the only reason I’m doing any of this. You.
His words come back to me, and I press my hand over my belly as the shock of his language tears through me again. When I first heard them, the devastation they caused made me realize that I hoped the idea of the baby might change him. I recognize now that the man I met when I first went into Witness Protection was a cover, a mask, not the real Liam Rostova. Knowing that should rid him from my heart, but it doesn't. Deep inside, I long for him. I wonder if that’s how it was for Elena. She fell for her captor. Is there a psychological part of me that needs fixing so I can stop wanting him?
It takes a while, but finally, I fall asleep. As dreams overtake me, I feel the presence of my father. It's almost as if he is sitting on the edge of the bed and taking my hand as he did when I was a little girl and had a nightmare.
"Where are you?" I ask.
"I'm right here, baby girl."
"Where? You've been gone for so long."
He squeezes my hand. "I'm always here with you, baby girl."
I can't make sense of his words because I haven't seen him in almost a year. I've been told he's probably dead, but probably doesn’t mean certainly, and so I hold out hope. It's probably why I haven't grieved.
