I sink onto the edge of my bed and put my head in my hands.
She's right. I am a coward.
I’m not brave enough to admit I love the woman I keep destroying.
I finally admit the truth to myself, even if I can't say it to her:
I don't hate Kira Markov.
I never did.
I just hate that loving her might get us both killed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Kira
I step out of his room and close my eyes. My heart hurts. I know I’ve lost him. He will never believe me.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes and walk directly into Roman.
He's standing in the hallway like he's been waiting.
Like he knew.
Panic floods through me, ice-cold and absolute.
I try to cover myself suddenly very aware I’m undressed.
"Kira." His voice is pleasant. Too pleasant. "How was the fitting?"
"Fine." I keep my voice steady even as my heart tries to kick through my ribs.
He steps closer, studying me with eyes that see too much. "You’re flushed.”
I glance down at my feet and can’t miss the expanse of skin on display. My mind races for explanations.
His hand shoots out, gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Where is he?"
"Who—"
The slap comes out of nowhere.
His palm connects with my cheek hard enough to snap my head sideways. Hard enough that I taste blood. I stumble backward into the wall. When he hits me again, my head hits the wall. My legs go out from under me. I slide down the wall with my legs stretched out in front of me.
Stars explode across my vision. My ear rings. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
"Where. Is. He?"Roman looms over me, his face twisted with rage I've never seen before.
He knows.
"I don't—"
Maksim’s bedroom door jerks open.
Maksim stands there, taking in the scene—me on the floor, blood on my lips, Roman standing over me with his hand still raised.
Something in Maksim's face goes dead. Then murderous.
