“Tell the devil who sent you.”
Then I slit his throat and lift him over my shoulder before throwing him into the pen.
The pigs do not wait. They’re just as starved as I am.
For blood. For revenge.
And I won’t rest until I find every single man who thought they could touch her and live to tell about it.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
FIONA
The guest bedroomdoor clicks shut behind my parents, the quiet snap of the latch too loud in the silence. I tell them I need a shower, an excuse more than anything, but the water might do me some good.
I make it back to Aleksei’s bedroom—ourbedroom—and close the door behind me, heading for the en suite. The moment the shower roars to life, whatever fragile strength I’ve been holding on to begins to fracture. I undress slowly, almost mechanically, my fingers clumsy as I strip each piece away.
When I step beneath the spray, I brace both palms against the tile, letting the water beat across the back of my head in hard, steady bursts. I shut my eyes, but nothing inside me quiets. The man’s face is still there.
His eyes when I pulled the trigger. His body hitting the floor. My father bleeding. My own hands shaking so violently I could barely hold the gun.
And none of it washes off.
The tears roll down my cheeks, and I can’t suppress them anymore.
We almost died.
I killed someone.
A small sob breaks free, like my body is finally able to feel it all.
The door creaks open behind me, and I catch Aleksei walking up to me through the glass.
“Fiona? Are you crying?” He pulls open the door.
I shake my head, wiping at my cheeks even though it’s pointless. He already heard.
“No. I’m fine.”
The muscle in his jaw flexes, and without another word, he yanks off his hoodie, shoves his sweats down, and steps out of them like nothing else in the world matters except getting to me.
He doesn’t ask permission. He simply steps inside and closes the door behind him, the steam curling around us as he pulls me into his arms.
The moment I feel him, I break. My body sags into his, my sobs muffled against his chest. His hands trace down my back in calm, reassuring strokes, easing the frantic tremor beneath my skin.
“I’m here.” He drops a kiss to my temple. “It’s over now. You’re safe, moya ptichka.”
My vision blurs as I look up at him.
“I don’t want to see it anymore,” I whisper. “His body…after I killed him. I need it to stop.”
“It is hard the first time.” His hand comes up to frame my cheek. “But remember this. Your father and mother would be dead if you hadn’t done it. You would be…” He trails off, like he can’t bring himself to imagine the very idea of me gone.
I tilt my head, searching his eyes through the mist. “When did it stop for you?”
I don’t even know if he ever felt what I’m feeling now, but I need him to tell me that eventually, it won’t be like this.
His thumb brushes under my eyes, sliding away the water and tears that mix there. “The first time I killed someone, ithaunted me for weeks. I would wake soaked in sweat, heart pounding like I was still there.”
