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Sound faded as Luka stared through a rapidly narrowing tunnel at his hand on the knife.
She’d already been dead. You couldn’t kill what had no life.
Alina’s face flashed across his vision, freezing him in front of the corpse.
Hands wrapped around his upper arm, and he was flying backward. A bright flash of pain darted through him, and then a nothingness followed, taking away the feeling in his arm.
His hearing had returned, and Luka listened to the manic laughter as Ivankov reminded him just how stupid he’d been to attack him.
Chapter 12
Alina went through a second breakfast service completely distracted. All she could feel was regret.
She’d promised not to touch Luka. Instead of keeping that promise, she’d done the exact opposite. It was no wonder he had run away.
For a killer who took life so easily, he carried a lot of pain inside.
And Alina had only added to it.
“Here now, give me that,” Meg scolded her, elbowing her away from the stove. “Frank may eat anything you serve, but he doesn’t deserve this charred mess.”
“Leave the girly alone,” Frank muttered from behind Alina.
Meg snorted as she dumped the mess of eggs Alina had been cooking into a nearby garbage can. “Coddling her isn’t the answer.”
“Give a little, Meg.” Frank’s sigh had Alina turning her head toward him. For once, his smile didn’t spread across his face. “I get the feeling she hasn’t had anyone be very nice to her.”
Alina shook her head. That wasn’t true. Her father might not have smiled often, but he cared. Her mother too. And Luka had—
Frank forced a laugh, scattering her thoughts. He patted his big belly. “Besides, I can eat anything.”
“Fool,” Meg murmured as she cracked new eggs into the pan. Her eyes skewered Alina where she stood. “You’re no good to me like this. Go on. Get today.”
Alina blinked. Her numb fingers plucked at the apron strings until they loosened. She dragged it over her head and hung it on the hook when she passed.
Meg didn’t call her back, which was fair. Alina hadn’t cooked anything decently all morning.
Frank sent her a sad smile as she headed toward the door. “Aw, Meg, don’t be like that,” he said as he turned back to face the diner owner.
The bell over the door rang as Alina pulled it open.
“She needs rest more than she needs money,” Meg was saying as the door swung shut.
Alina’s shoulders hunched. She was as transparent as ever. She had slept very little the night before, not wanting to miss her chance to apologize to Luka if he returned.
He hadn’t. Like the days that had stretched out before his sudden visit, she’d been alone in a house that wasn’t hers. Of course, that had been most of her life. There was the added dread that the Bratva might find her now. Not that they were looking, but a safe house was meant to be used.
The flimsy lock on the door, the one she could use without a key, wouldn’t keep anyone at bay. Any Bratva soldier who might come would probably know where the spare key was, anyway, unlike her.
Luka had told her staying there was fine the other night, but he had said little more than that. She wanted to trust him. She’d wanted that once before, with a woman who had liked nothing more than to beat and degrade her.
Luka was a killer, Alina reminded herself. He wasn’t some savior.
She froze as she drew closer to the house, her eyes drawn to the shadow of a man. Her chest squeezed as her hope rose. Luka had returned. He didn’t hate her.
Only Luka was clutching his stomach, and one of his arms hung limply by his side. Then he tripped on the top step, falling to his knees on the front porch.
“Luka!” Alina called out as she raced toward him. There was no mistaking that frame and his shaved, tattooed head. She was too scared to touch him, and her hands hovered as he struggled to push himself up.
