“Stop protecting me. I messed up. I…”
I shrug, pretending nonchalance. “You woke up and realized it was just temptation. You wanted a taste of the forbidden.”
She blinks, looking horrified. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s what I know. Sin and innocence are like water and oil. They simply don’t mix long term.”
I don’t even care if it was my sexual proclivities, or she realized that I might be her Mika, but I am also Mikail Morozov, the Pakhan, a monster who hides behind a legitimate front.
“Then I’m not so innocent anymore, am I after…?” She closes her eyes for a moment, sighing.
I press the pedal to the floor. If she regrets that, I am going to blow my brains out. I can take everything but not that.
“I’m sorry I ever touched you. I am sorry for everything, malishka.”
It’s a lame apology that doesn’t convey the depth of my feelings.
“Mika…” She says my name with such haunting sorrow it kills me.
What fucking ghosts disturb her peacefulness, so I can slay them for her?
In front of the mansion, I wait for her to get out and leave me to succumb to my love for her. Instead, she looks ahead and says, “Bring me back to Paris.”
“That was a mirage, baby girl.” I gulp. “You’ll wake up and...” Shatter me. Again.
In an instant, she unlocks her belt and climbs into my lap, bursting into a fit of hard cries. Sobbing into my chest, I don’t know how to make it better, so I just hold her. Hold and caress her.
“Please, don’t cry, zhizn moya,” I whisper in her hair. “I’m so sorry. Fuck, I should have known better than to give in. You’re confused.”
She whips her chin toward me, eyeing me through blurry eyes. “What?”
“It was an infatuation that got out of hand. I am older. I shouldn’t have taken advantage. You bonded with me because of trauma. I’m a piece of shit… Fuck.” I shut my eyes for a minute, but I don’t deserve solace.
I open them, facing what I caused to the woman I love.
“Is that what I made you believe?” Pain strikes her features, and she covers her face with her hands. “Then I’m the monster. Not you.”
She slips out of my arms, which fall to my side, lifeless, just like I feel. It’s like my strength is gone. She moves so fast that I can’t reach her before she trips out of the car. That sight makes me break out of my paralysis. I dart toward her side. She’s down on her hands and knees, eyes closed, with tears streaming down her face.
I crouch to her, assessing the injury, but I don’t see scrapes or bleeding.
Her chest pants with her labored breathing. “Go. Just go.” She pushes at me, but I grab her hand, rubbing my thumb along her palm.
“Dahlia, baby girl, you’re hurt. I can’t…”
I help her up, but she hisses the moment she puts her right foot down.
I’d rather endure an eternity of pain than witness her hurting. “How bad is it?”
“It’s nothing.” Her voice sounds so broken, as if she doesn’t care about anything anymore.
Gathering her in my arms, I bring her inside. She curls herself into my embrace, palming my chest.
“I don’t deserve your kindness,” she hiccups.
“Don’t let me hear you say that shit ever again,” I grit out.
“I’m sorry.” It sounds like she says it for something completely different.
