Page 52 of Conceal

And I snap. But that month with Tatiana must have changed me as a man, because instead of punching his stupid fucking face in, I turn on my heel.

“Where are you going?” he calls out after me.

“Gotta take a piss,” I shout back before opening the door to the stairwell. I doubt they have a gym to punch out or run out my aggression, but jogging up a few flights and back should hopefully do the job.

He’s known for a month and didn’t care enough about his sister to tell us. They pulled her from her school and her life and would have left her in that cabin until they remembered she existed.

And part of me wishes they had.

Chapter thirty-three

Tatiana

Roman looks destroyed, and I can’t do anything about it. My thoughts are slow and don’t quite finish themselves. I’m not sure if it’s the concussion or the drugs, but I try to keep my eyes focused on my father.

Niko comes back from the hallway, looking over his shoulder and looking confused. I worry about what was said between him and Lev. But right now my father is glaring at me like I personally offended him.

But if I look at Roman too long, he’ll know. And I need to keep my father’s attention on me and not Ro.

I pull up every ounce of joy I can find or fake and plaster a smile on my face. “The doctor says I can go home tomorrow. Nothing’s broken, just a little concussion.”

“You’ll come home now, and Dr. Morozov can monitor you,” my father barks back. “Get her discharge papers,” he tells Niko before I can object. If I go home, it’s over. All of it. Roman and Lev go back to being my bodyguards. Mik goes back to my best friend. I imagine never feeling Roman’s lips on mine again. I imagine never touching Mik again. I imagine never hearing Lev’s voice in my ear.

Tears form immediately in my eyes, and my nose burns from trying to suppress them.

Roman begins to object, but is silenced by a glare from my father.

My father looks around the room. “Do you not have any clothes?”

This is really happening. It’s completely out of my control.

I can feel myself start to shut down; to retreat back inside of myself when I’m feeling overwhelmed and out of control.

No one negotiates with Dmitri Chernov. I know we agreed to the rules in that cabin, that we’d go back to normal, but there’s no way I could now. I’m in love, finally; with three of the best men I’ve ever met. How am I supposed to go on with my life having tasted what love truly is and never having it again?

Worse than that, being reminded all day, every day, that they’re not dead, we’re not broken up, that they’re right there and still untouchable.

It sounds like a fate worse than death.

I feel small and vulnerable in just this gown that ties at the back of my neck and waist, but that I have to hold closed in the back to not flash anyone.

My father sticks his head out into the hallway and grabs a nurse, telling her to take out my IV and discharge me. He’s in a rush, and I can’t understand the urgency. My brain simply won’t process what’s happening and why.

All I can do is watch as the nurse does as she’s told. I swing my legs to the side of the bed and wince at the pain in my hip. I stand and hold on to the bed for a moment as I sway. My head feels full, and my brain feels like an ocean swaying against my skull.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Roman’s worried look. But he can’t touch me, even to help me. Those are the rules.

My father grips my good arm above the elbow and helps steady me as he drags me toward the door. If my head wasn’t so foggy, maybe I’d understand what’s happening more, but as it is, all I can do is follow.

The drive home is quiet. Roman had escorted me to my father’s town car, but then left, I assume, to find Lev.

My father’s men are protection enough right now, I guess.

My brother and father sit in silence, typing away on their phones. I wait for them to ask me how I’m feeling, or offer their sympathy, but it never comes, so I simply stare out of the window as the city slides past the glass.

“Sell the horse,” my father says, and it takes me a few seconds to process his words. Fear grips my chest in a vice.

“What? No! It wasn’t her fault! She slipped. I should have put studs on her shoes!” I argue, but my words fall on deaf ears.