Page 51 of Essence of Fear

Did she really want to know?

“Are we making pillow talk?” he asked.

Viktoria’s brow lifted into a perfect arch. “Not used to that, or …?”

“Usually, women I spent the night with were paid for their time, and then I would hope the next man treated them better than they typically get treated.”

That made her swallow hard. “Oh.”

Pav straightened to his full height, done with tying his shoes. He closed the bit of space between them, coming to stand at the side of the bed. She peered up at him, and he liked it entirely too much that she didn’t shy away from his touch when he reached for her. No, she let her cheek lay against his palm, and her long lashes fluttered against her skin when he stroked her with his thumb.

“I am—was—as much a prisoner of the Boykovs as any other man down in those cells. The only difference, yes, was that they allowed me a bit more freedom than the rest at certain times … and always with a companion to keep me in line.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Still—”

Pav bent down, and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Viktoria’s mussed hair. “Then doesn’t matter. Now is what makes the difference.”

“But does it really?”

“For me, yes.”

Viktoria sighed, and he swore he could feel her shoulders deflate. “This must be … strange for you, then. Have you really spent all your time in the Compound?”

“The majority of the last fourteen years.”

“So yeah, this is strange.”

Pav chuckled, and stood straight again, letting his hand sift through the messy strands of her hair to comb it out the best he could. “I was handed documents that gave me a proper name, and cards with enough money on them to do me longer than I will need. Repayment, I was told, for the last decade and a half. I don’t know how to drive. I can’t remember my mother, or her name, and for a while, I almost forgot my own, too.”

“What about your dad?”

He stiffened.

She didn’t miss it.

“What?” Viktoria asked. “What was that for?”

“I just … he’s not very important.”

Lies.

He was.

Viktoria frowned up at him. “You sound like he is.”

“Was,” Pav corrected. “Your father killed mine. That’s how I came to the Boykovs.”

She quieted.

He understood why.

“The whole world is strange to me,” he murmured. “I don’t know anything about it.”

“It used to be a nice place,” she replied, “but not so much now.”