“Can’t you see that we’re wrong for each other, though?” I ask quietly. “I feel something for you, too. There’s a pull between us, but it’s superficial. It can’t possibly stand the test of time and life.” I shake my head. “You only know snippets of what I went through with my stepfather, Dorian, things I had to tell you under duress. My life with him was bad. Bad enough that at fourteen years old, I knew I had to learn to defend myself, or I would never make it away from home. I did, but only just. I beatso manyodds by getting out of there. I worked my ass off to get a scholarship, to get my freedom, and I gathered so much blackmail on my stepfather that hehadto let me go. I spent years mowing lawns and doing other unpleasant odd-jobs to savejustenough money to be able to support myself at Greywood. Money thatI had to hide from my stepfather, or he would’ve taken it from me. I—” I cut off with a sigh, looking back to my laptop. There’s no point in ranting or rambling; it won’t get me what I want. It won’t get me to where I want,needto be.
Dorian reaches across the desk, placing his hand over mine. His palm is calloused and rough, but his skin is warm. The touch is unexpectedly soothing. I’m tempted to lean in, to cover his hand with my free one, to climb onto his lap and let him help me forget all of my difficulties.
Instead, swallowing, I pull my hand away. I fold my arms over my chest, thinning my lips and looking at my keyboard.
“I’m not your stepfather,” he says quietly. “I don’t get off on hurting innocents or children. I don’t have a boss that would demand or condone such behavior. In fact, my boss is known for routinely killing people who deliberately target those who can’t protect themselves.”
“You might not be my stepfather, but you’re in the same line of work as him,” I say, a bit sadly. I start drafting an email regarding a meeting to my guidance counselor. “That means there can never be anus. We can never be together.” I shoot off the email, then switch over to my virtual classes for the day. Most of my work today can be done online—I have an option to attend the classes through zoom, but I can also listen to pre-recorded lectures and do the accompanying assignments.
Dorian withdraws at my words. He resumes typing away at his laptop, and the angry clicks on his keyboard fill the ominous, tense silence. I can’t help but feel like I hurt him—no, Iknowthat I hurt him. He was open, vulnerable, and I shut him down. Guilt steals across my chest, making each breath I take heavy with regret, but I remind myself that I’m doing what I have to.
I’m doing what almost nobody in my life has done since the death of my mother; choosing myself.
Chapter Seventeen
Dorian
Iwork side by side with Mira for several hours. Her words ring in my head in repeat, creating a deep ache in my soul. That bastard trained her to distrust the world and all the people in it; he made sweet, empathetic Mira into the wary, closed off person she is now.
I know Connor’s doing a deep dive into her life and background, and I’m planning on taking a close look at whatever he ends up compiling. I would ask her, but I doubt she’d spill her deepest secrets to me.
I intend to hunt down Mira’s stepfather and take care of him the same way Sergei Novikov takes care of child abusers; tear him apart limb by limb until there’s barely anything left of him. Make anexampleof him. Tell the world that anyone who hurts Mira is going to get an extended, extremely painful death.
“Oh,” Mira says, sounding pleasantly surprised as she blinks at her borrowed laptop.
I peel my gaze away from my screen, glancing over at her. “What is it?”
“My guidance counselor has room in her schedule for a chat today. In an hour.” She turns to look at me head on, something I can’t quitename flashing through her gaze. “I’m going to talk to her. Please don’t stop me.”
Jesus, does she really thinkthatlowly of me? Like I’d prevent her from trying to achieve her educational goals. I admire her for her determination, grit, and hard work—I would never try to impede her. I want toempowerher.
“I won’t stop you,” I assure her. “I’ll wait here for you. I assume you’ll be going to the admissions offices for the meeting?” The admissions building is just a five-minute walk from the library. Even if Mira wanted to run away, she wouldn’t get far; I have a GPS tracker on her phone.
“Yes,” she nods. “It shouldn’t be too long. Half an hour, maybe.” She shifts nervously in her seat, and her throat works as she swallows.
She’s probably worried her meeting will go awry and she won’t hear what she wants to from her counselor. I offer her what I hope is a supportive smile, trying to emulate what I intend to be: an encouraging boyfriend.Herboyfriend. I’m irritated with her continued rejection, but I won’t fault her for being wary of me. The demons in her past have left their mark. In her shoes, I would be wary of me, as well.
“I’m sure it’ll go well,” I tell her. “Do you have a lot more work left to do after it?”
She glances at her laptop, clicks around on it, and shakes her head. “No, I’ve already gotten through the bulk of it. Friday’s one of my lighter days. After my schoolwork, I usually do meal-prep for the weekend and for my pack and clan.”
A smile pulls on my lips. “Right. Well, you’re welcome to do that, but I want to take you out first.”
She blinks slowly, hesitant. “Take me out… where? Not to kill me, right?”
I give her an exasperated sigh. “No, Mira, not to kill you. I want to protect you, not harm you. We’ve been over this.” I suspect it’ll take time and a great deal of effort to get her past her preconceived notions of how people in organized crime conduct themselves.
There are certainly bad actors in our world.Terribleones. People who take advantage of the weak to get ahead, who have free reign to give into their worst desires and darkest perversions. But those are actually theminority.The majority of those in the mob, mafia, or bratva started out with legitimate businesses, then found that cutting corners and going underground with certain dealings got them ahead faster. They’re not law-abiding citizens and they’re certainly notgoodpeople, but they aren’t child-beaters, either.
Then, there are the Sergei Novikov’s of the underground. People who do bad things,terriblethings, but follow a code of honor. Sergei’s known as a legend in organized crime circles; mafias around the world are terrified of him. He’s ruthless, meticulous, calculated, and unnervingly effective. He’s known to be a master of torture and isabsolutelya sadist, but anyone who’s seen or heard him with his wife have gotten glimpses of his gentleness, of his reverence for his woman, of the way he worships the ground she walks on.
There are rumors that he keeps a rival bratva Pakhan captive in the dungeon below his primary residence. Apparently, the idiot tried to take Kira from Sergei, and Sergei now uses that man as a guinea pig to invent new torture methods on.
Perhaps he’s onto something with that. Each time I think of Mira’s stepfather, I have an undeniable urge to disembowel him and garrote him with his own viscera, but I also have the urge to play with him. Take my time with him; spend days, weeks, months, perhaps even years on him. After all, he hurtmywoman for years, and turnabout’s fair play.
Huh.Mywoman. The title feels undeniably right. I’ll find a way to make it into a reality. Ihaveto. I won’t allow anything to come between me and Mira.MyMira.
I watch her from the corner of my eye for the next forty-five minutes, gazing at her intermittently as she types away on her laptop. When she leaves to retrieve a textbook from the science section of the library, I briefly scan the open tabs on her computer and take a glimpse at her email, in case she’s planning anything nefarious. The email to her counselor is exactly what she said it’d be; she asked for a meeting regarding her academic schedule and her counselor offered her a time slot.
