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He pulled back, giving me another frown. “Butwhy?”
“It’s easy. Easier than stealing cars, anyway.” Judging from the way his eyes widened, I probably should have found another way to phrase it, but it was true. Pulling a triggerwaseasy. It required zero thought and little effort, unlike other forms of crime. Plus, I was good at it. Maybe the only thing I was good at.
“Would you ever stop?” The second after he asked the question, he swallowed. His gaze darted around my face, like he was watching for some sort of sign or reaction.
I honestly hadn’t thought about it. Much like the effects of smoking (in spite of Roan’s constant complaining about how many cigarettes I went through in a day), I figured I’d be dead before I had to sort out the consequences.
Furrowing my brows, I touched his cheek lightly. “Are you asking me to?”
“No…” If his guilty expression was anything to go by, he’d at least mulled the question over before. “I just... I don’t know. I didn’t know if you thought about doing something else.”
Both of my brows went up. “Like what?”
He scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight to his back foot. “I don’t know. Anything? Something that doesn’t involve, you know... So much blood?”
“Would you prefer I become a banker, like your father? Or perhaps a miner, like mine? His job was just as filthy, you know. Honest but filthy.”
“Your dad was a miner?” A soft smile stretched across his face.
“Until he died.”
Like the clouds covering the sun, the smile was gone. “Oh... I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I blinked, trying to make sense of the sudden change.
“Because?” He must have mistaken my puzzled frown for an invitation to keep talking. “You never talk about your family. Like,ever. I didn’t know if it was a sore subject.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have a family so there’s nothing to talk about.”
“Well, you did. At one point,” he said with a small shrug of his own. “Have you ever tried looking for them?”
“No.”
He flinched at my curt reply. “Why not?”
Stifling a sigh, I seriously regretted mentioning anything about my father. It was not a sore subject; it was a boring one. “It’s better to look forward than look back. Besides, those people? If they’re even still alive, they’re strangers.”
Nodding, he chewed on his lower lip. His gaze drifted down to my chest as he traced his fingertip over the shadow of one of my tattoos, barely visible beneath my white t-shirt.
“Ask,” I sighed. “You know you want to.”
His blue gaze jumped back to mine. “How did you end up separated from them, anyway?”
“That’s a long story.”
“I have time.”
Blowing out a breath, I glanced away for a moment, more annoyed with myself for bringing it up than him for asking questions. It was bound to come up in conversation sooner or later. I’d just hoped it would be later. Much,muchlater. “When my father died in Verkhoyansk, my mother took my sister and I back to Moscow.
“You don’t know what Russia was like back then. It was dangerous. Unstable. Money meant nothing. Some people made millions in the new Federation, while many starved or froze to death. People were kidnapped and killed everyday it seemed. You had two options: adapt or die. You’ll do whatever you have to, even if that means stabbing a man twice your age for a can of soup.” I smirked at the recognition in his eyes. “Like I said, no wolves involved in that story.”
“So how did you get to America?”
“A man named Kazimir Belov used people’s desperation to recruit soldiers for his brigade. Working for him meant food, clothes. Survival. I didn’t think twice about helping him. I’d deliver messages, steal, whatever he asked me to.
“When his brother moved to America to expand their business, he demanded to have a brigade of his own. Kazimir didn’t ask that time. A group of us were rounded up, like cattle, and sent overseas. Kazimir continued to control things in Russia, while Viktor handled things in America.” Roan’s eyes widened and I nodded. “Yes.ThatViktor.”
“What about your mom? Your sister?” he asked quietly, almost like he was afraid of the answer. He needn’t be, especially since I didn’t have one to give.
