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Hedidwant his watch back. But he also wanted to be partners with us.
Damian, as Kir Nikolayev’s nephew and heir, had connections in the underworld Annika and I could only dream of. Built, six-foot-three, frighteningly handsome with a leering, devilish smile, he had a thirst for adrenaline and breaking the rules similar to ours, not to mention a fondness for taking things that didn’t belong to him. The only difference was, Annika and I stole because we were good at it and liked the thrill of the hunt—and because for a long time it was how we survived.
Damian likes to steal because he enjoys inflicting pain on people who he thinks deserve it.
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, my gaze fixed on his face. His white hair—which, like his violet-hued eyes, is the product of a rare genetic pigmentation condition—is untidy, but pushed back from his face. His sharp, dramatic features are softened by the stillness of his medically induced coma.
He’s always looked otherworldly, between those violet eyes and ghostly hair. Now, he looks more statue than man.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking the silence.
I don’t know why I’m apologizing. Maybe it’s because I feel like I should have done something—anything—to stop what happened to him. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I know that if things had been different, and if Annika and I had never crossed paths with him, I might not be sitting here at all.
I close my eyes. But as I do, the image of the masked man flashing behind my eyelids. I’ve been trying to push it out of my mind, but it’s been haunting me.
He’sbeen haunting me.
I open my eyes again, staring at Damian’s still form. “I saw someone,” I murmur, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “I was doing a job for Kir, and I saw a man. He... He killed four guys right in front of me. I thought he was going to kill me, too.”
My throat tightens. This is the exact conversation I’d be having with him if he was awake. I wasn’t exaggerating with Delores: Damian reallyislike a brother to me.
“But he didn’t. He just let me go.”
I shake my head, trying to make sense of it.
“I don’t know why. I don’t even know who he was. He wore a mask—this creepy fucking vinyl thing with X’s for eyes and a mouth. Total professional, too. Like he’d done this a hundred times. He saw me, and grabbed me…”
I trail off, the confession sticking in the back of my throat. I’m not telling Damian that in the moment when I thought I was going to die, part of me didn’t feel fear but...something else.
Even if heisin a fucking coma.
I press my palms to my eyes, fighting back the wave of confused shame that threatens to drown me.
“I’m a mess,” I mutter, leaning forward until my forehead touches the edge of the bed. “I know you’d tell me to stay the hell away from him. That I was crazy for feeling anything except terror. And you’d be right.”
I lift my head, looking at him again. His chest rises and falls steadily, in time with the machines’ beeping and whirring, but he doesn’t stir. I don’t even know why I’m saying this out loud. It’s not like he can hear me. But something about his presence, even in this state, makes me want to spill my darkest secrets.
“I know he’s dangerous,” I whisper, the words leaden in my chest. “But I can’t stop replaying it…”
My voice trails off, the rest of the sentence, the thought that has been gnawing at me for days now, left unsaid. It’s wrong, and I know it. I hate it. But I can’t shake it.
I can’t shakehim.
I sit there for a long time, the silence pressing down on me like a physical force. Eventually, I pull away, standing and smoothingout the wrinkles in my jacket. I take one last look at him before turning toward the door.
“Love you, dickhead. See you soon,” I whisper. “You’dbetterget fucking better.”
“Psst.”
I jump a little, whirling at the hissed voice coming from the bushes next to the sidewalk. My brows furrow as I peer closer, then I relax when I see who it is.
“There’s a flight to Paris leaving JFK in like two hours,” Annika mutters. “We’ve still got connections there. We could cash out, disappear, move to Tunisia?—”
“Seems pretty shitty to leave Kir without saying goodbye.”
My best friend scowls as she steps out of the bushes.
Okay, she might be the world’s most reluctant fiancée for this shit-show of an engagement party tonight. But she looksamazing: a floor-length green satin gown that angles across her chest, giving a classy-ass flash of cleavage. The satin hugs every freaking curve on her tall, slender frame, cinching in at the waist before flowing out over her hips and butt. A slit cuts dramatically high on her thigh, giving a teasing glimpse of her long legs and the strappy gold and pearl heels on her feet.
