Page 163 of Nothing More

She kissed him again. “I’m not. I’m only asking.” Another kiss, this one longer, deeper. “Please.”

“Ugh. Raven.” He jerked his head back, and his hands came up to hold her shoulders, hold her back.

She huffed an annoyed breath. “You stubborn ass. I’m trying to help you!”

“You can’t.” His expression had gone stern again – but with flickers of pain showing through, his mask imperfect, unsteady.

“Try me.”

His jaw set tight.

“Is it because I’m a woman?” she asked. “You think I can’t handle it? You think it’s not woman’s business? Whatever thing you have to go out and do as a big, bad man about–”

“It’s because I don’t want you to get killed!” he snapped, fingers digging into her, face contorting. It was the most life she’d ever seen in him, but it was an unhappy life, and so the sight of it pained her.

“Well, I’ve been dealing with this sort of shit a long time, and I haven’t gotten killed yet!” she snapped back. “Don’t go thinking you’re so special, Toly. I can survive your past catching up to you.”

He gulped audibly as he swallowed. “I wish that was true.”

“Oh, you mad martyr…look at me. Do you care? Do you care about me?”

He closed his eyes.

“It’s a simple question. Yes or no,” she pressed.

His eyes opened, and his gaze drilled through her, present and faraway at once, somehow. He executed another painful-looking swallow.

Conscience began to get the better of her, creeping regret. “Toly,” she started, and he laid a finger against her lips. It was cold, and smelled of cigarettes and woodsmoke. The feel of it left her stomach jumping – in a good way.

His voice was a rough, electrifying whisper. “I told you about the billboard, yeah?”

She nodded; couldn’t have spoken even if he’d moved his finger, struck silent by the power of his stare.

“The Obshchak had been taking me around for a year, recruiting me, wanting me to be one of them. They took me drinking, and gambling. There were strip clubs where the women did all sorts of things they’d never dream of doing in this country. There were always girls hanging around the bratva. Some of them were even beautiful. I had my first blowjob on my fifteenth birthday.”

Congratulations, she thought, bitterly.

But before she could bat his hand away and give voice to the sentiment, he said, “But I had never seenanythinglike that billboard. Like you.”

It wasn’t a declaration of feeling; was, in fact, merely a superficial compliment on her physical beauty. Which, while lovely to hear, was rooted in his teenage fantasies, and a manipulated image meant to sell perfume.

She gripped his wrist, gently, and drew his hand down, so her lips were free. “That was staged. Lights, makeup, bloody soda cans. It was airbrushed, and edited – that wasn’t real.”

But he shook his head, expression adamant, gaze feverish with intent. “Doesn’t matter. You were…youreyes. There was no faking that. And they look just the same in real life.”

She bit back a sigh. “That’s sweet, but–”

“Stop.” He still held her shoulder in one hand, and he squeezed it. His other hand slipped out of her grip, and settled, light as thistledown, at the base of her throat, spanning it between thumb and forefinger.

Raven’s breath caught.

“I’m trying to say,” he began, and then bit at his lip ring, clearly frustrated. “There’s never been anyone else. I didn’t go ondateswith anyone; I wasn’t even the one whoaskedfor anything – they were happy to spend the night with anyone Kozlov. And I didn’t think about any of them when I was…”

She could envision it: a young, emotionally strapped-down boy, alone in whatever room he’d been given, or overwhelmed at the hands of a too-experienced bratva hanger-on, closing his eyes and envisioning the blue-eyed fairy from his favorite billboard. It could have been a trick of the firelight, but she swore his cheeks darkened. He bit at his lip ring again, and then pushed out the next words with effort, threw them down like a challenge.

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like, so I don’t know what I’m talking about. But back then, I’m pretty sure I was in love with a photo on a billboard, and then I found out the photo wasreal, and now I’m in love with you, and everything’s fucked all to hell. Of courseI care.” The last was a snarl. “In Moscow I had Misha, who was like my big brother, and here I have you, and you’re – there’s no one else. There’s never been anyone else. And I don’t–” His chest expanded on a huge, hitching breath, voice going wobbly, threatening to crack, eyes demon-wild in the half-light.

Raven laid her finger on his lips, the way he’d done to her. “Shh.” Her heart was pounding as quick as his, a swelling drumroll beneath her hand, kicking her palm so hard she knew he must be lightheaded from it. “Shh, it’s alright.” Her eyes filled with tears, and this time, she didn’t try to pull them back or blink them away. “I’m going to ask about Misha later. In a bit. But now…”