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I slump in the man’s hold, even though I don’t know him. Even though I’ve been so hurt, so betrayed so many times, I trust the man at my back, whoever he is.
A second man moves closer, and I blink away the black shadows that ghost along the edges of my vision, threatening to pull me under even now. He crouches, and I see eyes a shade of blue I’ve never seen before. The blue is set in a ring of midnight so vast, it’s like a void. But it’s his face that sparks something in me—something thrilling. Because this is the man who killed my father.
This is my husband’s brother. I see the similarities in everything but their eyes.
And I know, even though I am well aware I face a monster, that I am safe.
“Ilya,” I gasp, slumping against the man at my back. The man with the rough voice that somehow soothes. His arms cradle me gently, and yet tightly.
Ilya’s lips twitch, just the faintest amount. “Hello, Little Ruby.”
That’s the moment my body gives in, gives up the fight. And I slip into darkness.
Forty-Six
Ruby
When I wake, it’s to the familiar walls of my bedroom in the dream house Kirill bought with me in mind. The sun is falling into the endless treeline I can see from the wall of windows where the drapes are thrown wide. I can’t wait to watch those same drapes billowing in a gentle summer breeze.
The tears that spring to my eyes have nothing to do with the way my body hurts, but rather the intense feeling of relief that floods me.
I am home.
Home, where I am safe. Where I am loved.
My hand finds my belly, and a quick flutter of fear pulses inside my chest before a deep, familiar voice sounds at my other side. It physically hurts to shift my head to the side, and I can’t hide my wince.
I also don’t miss the way Kirill’s eyes darken into molten pits at the sight. His eyes drop to my hand where it hovers fretfully at my belly. “The doctor did an ultrasound. The baby is fine.”
I release a breath of relief, and the tears stream faster down my face. I can’t seem to stop myself from sobbing. I’m overwrought with emotion. Kirill slides from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, catching my face tenderly between his big hands.
His eyes bore into mine, pleading with me for something I don’t understand. “I am so sorry, Ruby. I’m so, so fucking sorry.”
That something he’s pleading for—it’s forgiveness. Only, for what?
“Why…” I cough, clearing my raw, burning throat. “Why are you sorry?”
“Jesus,” he hisses. “Listen to you.” His burning eyes sweep my face. “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him.”
His words bring back the memory of blood. The feel of flesh giving way beneath the point of a blade. It’s not an easy thing, to stab someone. It’s tremendously more difficult than a blade simply sliding in and out. There is effort behind each plunge. Effort I recall now with a surge of nausea.
I’ve killed a man. My brother.
Please forgive me, God. It was self-defense.
I want to cry harder. My very soul aches. But the man before me is tortured by something I can’t begin to understand, and he means more to me than my heart-sore grief.
I swallow my sorrow.
“You have nothing—” Lord, my throat is on fire. I croak, “To be sorry for.”
“I let you be taken. Let you be hurt.” He bows his head. “I almost lost you.”
“No.”
“I promised to keep you safe.”
“Not your fault.” I suck in breath that burns, shaking my head. My eyes on him are desperate. I feel desperate.
