Page 13 of Konstantin

He’s always been my protector, my shield against the world. And now he’s stuck behind bars and I’m the one trying to pull him back to his feet.

He doesn’t meet my eyes when he speaks. “I told you not to come to the prison.”

“And when have I ever listened?”

He’s been refusing to see me the last few times, but I didn’t givehim a choice this time around.

I force my tone to stay light, but it’s a struggle. Because beneath the thin veil of sarcasm I always wear like armor, there’s a deep, gnawing fear that won’t let go—that maybe, just maybe, I won’t be able to set him free.

“You think I was just gonna sit around and wait for you to get the crap beaten out of you again? This is two times too many.”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Let the law handle this, Em. Don’t do anything stupid.”

I stiffen. “That’s rich coming from you. The law’s what got you here in the first place.”

He finally looks at me, his one open eye sharp despite the pain weighing down his features. “You really think I won’t get out of here?”

His words slice through me.

No…not without proof.

But I don’t say that out loud. And it hurts. It physically hurts to see him here.

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Of course you will, but I won’t sit around and do nothing to help you.”

Nate’s a cop. A damn good cop. There’s no way in hell he killed his partner, the man he trusted with his life for over five years, like the prosecutor wants everyone to believe.

But the evidence says otherwise. And now he’s rotting in a prison cell, waiting for a trial that shouldn’t even be happening.

“I know you,” I say, softer now. “You would never do something like this. Never.”

His gaze flickers, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Then let me prove it the right way. Through the system.”

I laugh, but it’s hollow. Bitter. “The system’s already failed you.”

His eyes narrow slightly. “Emilia?—”

“Have you met me?” I cut him off with a smirk. “Don’t waste your breath.”

His silence is answer enough. A muscle in his jaw tics, but he doesn’t argue. Because we both know I won’t back down. Not from this. Not from him. I owe him too much.

Being older, Nate was lucky enough to escape the hell we grew up in, running away at seventeen and making a life without me. I was only ten. There was nothing he could do to help me.

But when I turned fourteen, I called him, afraid that Mom’s dealer was going to hurt me. He came over, beat the bastard half to death, and took me to live with him. He never hesitated. Never looked back.

And now it’s my turn. I will get him out. No matter what it takes.

I sink onto the chair beside his bed. “I have a plan.”

Nate exhales slowly, his expression unreadable. “Do I want to know?”

“Probably not.”

His fingers twitch against the blanket again, and I see it: that glint of worry in his one good eye. He knows me. Knows what I’m capable of. What I’m willing to do.

He doesn’t ask for details, but I see the protest on his face anyway. See the way his lips press into a thin line.

“This isn’t your fight,” he says.