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“Are you sure?” Mila asks.
“Certain.”
“How?”
“It’s not something you need to hear,” I tell her.
She places her hand on my chest, giving me a fierce look. “All my life, that’s what I’ve heard. I don’t need to know aboutthatside of things, but I’m not some princess. I know I’m not the strongest person. I accept that.” She sits up with even more dignity, looking fierce and capable and so beautiful I know I’ll never be able to be with anybody else. “If we’re going to …”
She trails off, but I can finish it:be together for the rest of our lives.
“I deserve to know.”
“I tortured him,” I say, holding her gaze, “but I didn’t go too far. I didn’t push him to where he’d say anything just to make me stop.” I keep staring at her, watching for any sign of fear, distaste, or resentment. I’m searching for a look like the one she gave me when she saw me carrying Ania into the house.
That was only a few hours ago, but since the meal last night, the work binge, then the near kidnapping, and the torture, time feels stretched and meaningless.
“He’s given me access to his emails,” I go on. “In the messages, he tells your father how pissed he is, being the only man on the estate. He asks for backup. Your dad tells him that the Sokolov soldiers are too loyal. He seems pretty pissed about that.”
“Dad doesn’t like it when other people have power, especially if they can keep it without hurting people.”
“We’re not angels, Mila.”
“You’re better than my father.”
“Yes,” I tell her. “Whatever that’s worth.”
I look at her closely, wishing she’d tell me what happened with her father, hoping she’d reveal her pain so I can help heal it. Or is that asking too much from her, from me? I’ve got no reason to think I’d be able to make her feel better, no reason to believe I wouldn’t just add to her heartache.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to get back to sleep,” she murmurs.
“I won’t even be able to sleep at all,” I reply, nodding.
“Shall we, then,” she goes on, a note of intoxicating danger in her voice, “go somewhere? Forget?” She hesitates, guilt flickering in her eyes. “Just for an hour or two?”
I lean forward and press my lips against hers. When she responds by kissing me back with even more passion, I know she means it. I know she wants to erase all this from her mind for as long as possible.
“Have you ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle?” I ask.
Her eyes widen with excitement. “No …”
“It’s time we changed that.”
CHAPTER 13
MILA
Iwrap my arms tightly around Mikhail as he rides through the desert, the world tinged yellow as the sun rises. We left the compound via a secret entrance at the back. When Mikhail brushed his thumb onto what looked like any other part of the wall, a section of it made a mechanical whirring noise and moved away. Then we walked a short distance to a garage, and now we’re riding free.
Clutching onto him tighter, I can hear my laughter within the helmet. Mikhail isn’t wearing one; there was only one in the garage. His hair has come loose, wildly fluttering in the wind. He laughs, too.
“What’s so funny?” he yells over the rushing wind.
“Ask yourself that. You’re the one laughing!”
We both keep going, laughing like precisely what we are—lust- and love-drunk people who have had almost no sleep and a double dose of stress. After another ten minutes, Mikhail pulls up outside a gas station. “Let’s get some breakfast,” he says.
“Okay. I need to use the bathroom, too.”
