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Chapter Twenty-Eight

ERIN

I’m shaking as I tuck Sasha in. The voices yelling woke him and now here I am, in a place I’m not sure I belong, pretending this is home for my boy.

But Sasha picks up on things and his big, tired eyes hit me. “Mama, why you sad?”

“I’m not sad, baby. I’m tired.”

“Story?”

“You had three tonight.”

“Story?” he asks again, and he’s so close to sleep, I reach for his favorite book and start reading.

By the time I get to the end of the second page, he’s already asleep.

Something shifts in the air, and my skin pricks all over, but I keep reading.

I finish the third page, then kiss Sasha’s forehead, closing the book. With a breath, I turn, ready for Demyan.

It’s a punch to the gut, seeing him standing there, because his eyes are unguarded and there’s a world of softness and pain, of violence and anger, and a deep sadness I don’t know what to do with. Along with the sadness is an anxiousness. That’s new.

And I meet his gaze, searching for words.

But I don’t want to be swayed by the softness and the sadness. Or the anxiousness that reminds me so much of Sasha when he knows he’s done something wrong.

I clench my jaw as I tidy the room, then I ignore Demyan as I push past him.

He goes into the bedroom and outside in the hall, with guards downstairs that I can’t see, guards I know are there and I wait.

Demyan’s voice is warm and sweet as he talks to Sasha. Our son’s asleep, but it’s a moment that normally I’d hold tight, putting it away with the other perfect nuggets.

Not tonight.

His hand around Ilya’s neck haunts me. The sound of Ilya’s feet hitting the wall. The sight of Demyan shoving his sister, the feel of his hand as he shoved me…

I hate myself for standing here making sure our son’s okay. Making sure he doesn’t do anything.

Not that I think he will.

It’s just… How do I even know for sure?

But I do. He won’t hurt Sasha.

I know that in my bones.

He’d never push my baby like he did me.

But…

I still have a job to protect Sasha. My son comes first and I wait until Demyan steps out the door.

In the hall, he looks at me. “Erin…”

But I shake my head and stalk off to his room. His. Not ours. I still don’t call it our room. It’s his. My room’s the fancy cell he kept me in.

“Erin.”

I don’t answer him. I don’t look at him. I just go into the bathroom and slam the door, getting ready for bed. He bought me lingerie, a lot of it. Instead of that, I pull on my old sleep shirt I packed when I ran a million years ago.

“ Lyubimaya .”

“I don’t know what that means. I don’t speak Russian.”

And he has the audacity to look at me like I just slapped him. “Love. It means love. As in moya lyubov . My love.”

“But I’m not.”

“Fuck!” I flinch and he softens. “Erin. I owe you an apology for earlier. And I am. I’m sorry.”

I take the expensive lotion he got me and rub it into my legs, then my arms. My face is done. Teeth brushed. Hair up. I don’t know why I’m carrying on with these rituals when it’s like my whole life’s somehow ready to implode.

“You owe Ilya an apology,” I say, still not looking at him. “More than me.”

His jacket hits the bed.

“I’ve already spoken to him.”

“Did you apologize?”

“He knows I’m sorry; he knows I didn’t mean it.”

“But you did.” I put the lid back on the cream. It’s unscented, which I like. I don’t like layers and layers of competing scents vying for attention.

I squeeze my eyes shut as Demyan sits on the end of the bed near me.

“But you meant it. You came in spitting all kinds of fire, like you’re the king and we’re nothing and you can’t—you can’t do that.

” I stop and open my eyes, smoothing an imaginary line on my calf.

“I guess you can, since you have a lot of power. But actions have consequences and Sasha’s got a male role model?—”

“Ilya.”

I consider it. “He loves Ilya because Ilya’s fun and would let him get away with anything. They’re… buddies. He calls hi mself uncle and that’s for you. Ilya sees himself as family and I think you do, too. But no, I don’t mean Ilya.”

“Then—”

“You’re not dense, Demyan,” I snap. “You. And Sasha’s gone from being frightened by you to looking up to you. He’s two, he doesn’t get it; how you live isn’t how the rest of us do.”

“I’d never hurt him.” The pain is real and it hurts my heart to hear it.

But for Sasha, I push on.

“If I thought for one moment you’d hurt him, actually hurt him, I’d fight you and all your deadly men and win. I’d get him out of here. I wouldn’t care if I died. As long as I got Sasha somewhere safe and far from you. If I thought that. As it is, you’re on thin ice, Demyan.”

“You can’t take my son.”

The pain is stronger, savage, and it rips a hole in me.

“You, as his role model, as his father, have the power to shape him. I get your father did a lot of damage, but you can’t instill violence in Sasha. You can’t teach him to hate and hurt. I won’t let you.”

“I wouldn’t.”

The room is suddenly too small. I want to believe him. I get up, not sure where I’m going, but he clamps a hand around my wrist. His hold is firm but not painful, almost like he’s being very, very careful. And he tugs me to him.

I let him.

He draws me in so I’m between his legs.

“Erin, look at me.”

I shake my head, eyes burning hot, my throat closed up. And I turn from him.

Demyan lets me go and he rises, his knuckles running down my spine, making me shiver .

Then his head touches my back and he sighs, his breath hot through the cotton.

But Demyan doesn’t try anything, except sit.

And I can’t help myself. I turn to him and he’s sitting again, looking up at me and the expression there makes my heart race.

His gaze is so naked I can see blood and bone. “Erin, the truth is I have a temper handcrafted by my father. But I’d never… I’d never treat Sasha like that. I’d never hurt you or him. Just like I’d never hurt Alina.”

He swallows, but I wait.

“God fucking knows I should hate her, resent her. My father held her up as the most precious thing. I was the boy who could do no right and she was the girl who could do no wrong, but I fucking love her. And she’s sweet, innocent, and doesn’t deserve this.

She deserved the happiness a man like Max would have given her.

I don’t know how to make it better. I’ll get who did it, mark my words, but after? What do I do?”

“Be there. Love her.”

He closes his eyes and nods, then he looks at me again.

“I didn’t expect you, Erin. I should have.

Right from that first moment, I knew you were special and that’s why I left.

I had business, yes, but I could have gotten your details, given you mine, and I didn’t because unlike Alina, I don’t deserve all that. But I want to.”

“Demyan…” His name falls from my lips. His pain hurts me. His self-savagery cuts deep. “No. You do.”

“Do I? Because I don’t feel like I do. The thing is, I lost it there with my closest friend because seeing you with a man, even Ilya whom I know would never touch you, made me sick with rage.”

It’d be easy to fall into that, to be swayed by what he’s saying, but I can’t. There’s Sasha to think about .

“You don’t trust me.”

He frowns. “No?—”

“Demyan, yes. You don’t. You can’t use brutal force to make anyone want you.

That shit turns me away. Trust. You have to trust. And you ask for mine, but it goes both ways.

” I place a hand against his lean cheek, his whiskers soft.

The man needs a shave. “I get it’s a big ask.

I kept things from you. I kept your son.

All the reasons and circumstances don’t matter.

Bottom line is I did that. And I have to live with it. ”

“Erin.”

But I shake my head. “If we’re going to make a go of this, you must trust me, too. I haven’t looked at another man since laying eyes on you. That’s the bottom line. No one’s ever piqued my interest. You’re back in my life and I’m certainly not looking at men when I actually have you.”

I put my other hand to his other cheek. “We both have to trust. Otherwise, there’s no future. That means no more secrets.”

He nods and curls a hand through my hair, pulling me down and kissing me with such soft reverence that I can’t feel my toes.

The kiss deepens and his fingers find the hem of my shirt, sliding up under it, and I groan because right or wrong, I need this. And for some reason, sex heals with us.

I climb on him and he flips us, spreading my thighs, his fingers sliding up and into my naked pussy.

I didn’t bring underwear into the bathroom.

And I’m glad I didn’t grab them because his fingers are magic and he slowly thrusts into me, his mouth moving down over my shirt until he reaches my tummy.

He whisks it up to kiss my bare flesh, kissing and licking a path down to my clit.

I moan and grip his hair as he starts to slowly lick up along my lips to my clit and down. He circles it, not giving me what I want, and in that denial, giving me so much more.

I’m frenzied, rising up, chasing the high he can give. And the bastard chuckles against me as he finally, finally closes his mouth around my clit.

This is where he’ll offer forth a little bite that sends me spinning.

Except he doesn’t.

Instead, he sucks and kisses and sucks and kisses, driving me utterly out of my mind. Pleasure radiates and it’s not enough and too much all at the same time.

Then he sucks. Hard, and I fly, shattering and pulsating and shaking.

I don’t even notice him withdraw as the orgasm is sweeping in waves through me, aftershocks that keep taking me. I don’t notice until he rises above me and slams home.

The stretch of his cock as it invades and fills me makes me gasp and he sets up a hot beat of a fuck and I just raise my hips to meet him, clinging until he goes at it, harder and harder until he groans and his cock seems to swell in me, and he then jerks and comes deep, setting me off again.

When we’re done, he pulls me into his arms, his mouth skimming over my skin, his touch soft and sweet. He nuzzles in against my ear. “I love you.”

My whole body soars and I grip him tight. “I love you, too.”

I do, but even as I say it, in the back of my mind, the seed of doubt I felt earlier returns. Not about him or love or anything so prosaic. But about how Demyan is. Who he is.

I know he’s involved in crime, and organized crime at that. I’d have to be an idiot not to know that. Though I’ve tried to remain ignorant, I can’t.

Do I even belong in his world with him? I don’t know. He wants his son, but me fitting in ?

He kisses me and gets up and heads to the shower, whistling as he goes.

I snuggle down. Tonight’s been a roller coaster and I’m not sure if this is a good time to keep analyzing things.

His phone pings while he’s in the bathroom. I don’t know what makes me do it, but I pick it up.

There’s more going on, things he hasn’t told me, and I’ve got Sasha to think about. I know I just went on about trust and picking up his phone and looking at the message that flashes is wrong, but… I do.

Sergio. That name again.

But what he writes numbs me.

Sergio

Stefina’s meeting with the wedding planner tomorrow. 10 am. As her future husband, you’re expected to be there.

I can’t breathe. Shit, I can’t see as tears invade, tears I refuse to allow to fall.

“What’s wrong?”

Demyan breaks me out of my spell, and I turn, hurling his phone at his head. It hits the wall and the lying bastard doesn’t flinch. “What? Am I just a piece on the side, you fuck?”

“Sergio,” he says.

My mouth twists. “Sergio wanted to remind you of your appointment with your fiancée and the wedding planner.”

He walks up to me. “Listen.”

“Fuck you, Demyan. I’m done. I’m not listening to you and your lies.”

I go to scramble off the bed, but he catches me and straddles me in his boxer briefs, holding me down. “Dammit, Erin, calm the fuck down and I’ll explain. ”

“No.” I fight him, shoving him off me. I scramble to my feet, the world spinning fast. “I’m done.”

I run for the door, my feet unsteady and spots of black appear.

Demyan’s saying something, but he’s speaking from a long way away.

I’m done.

I’m fucking done.

I try to open the door but the world spins fast.

Then turns black.

And I fall.

Into nothingness.