I think of the man at the auction. The way Misha looked at him when he blocked our path. The way his voice dropped to something barely above a whisper when he made his threat.
Touch her, and I'll send your hands back to your family in a box.
He meant it. I saw it in his eyes. He would have done it right there, in front of everyone, without hesitation or remorse.
Who are you? I asked him two years ago, when he broke my heart without explanation.
Someone who will only hurt you, he said.
I didn't understand then. I thought it was a line, an excuse, a coward's way out of a relationship he'd grown tired of. But watching him threaten mutilation with the same calm he once used to order wine at dinner, I'm starting to understand.
He wasn't exaggerating.
"Ask," he says without turning his head.
I flinch. "What?"
"You've been staring at me for five minutes. You have questions. Ask them."
"I thought everything could wait until morning."
"The full answers can wait. But you'll drive yourself mad sitting in silence." Now he does turn, and his ice-blue eyes meet mine in the dim light. "So ask."
A hundred questions crowd my throat. I choose the most immediate one.
"Where are you taking me?"
"My home."
"Where is that?"
"San Francisco."
San Francisco. Hours from Los Angeles, from my apartment, from my life. From my exam tomorrow morning that I'm definitely going to miss, no matter what Sal said in the car.
"And what happens when we get there?"
"You'll eat. Sleep. In the morning, we'll talk." He turns back to the window. "The situation is... complicated. I need timeto assess threats, make arrangements. Tonight, all I can offer you is safety."
Safety. The word tastes bitter in my mouth. An hour ago, I thought I was safe. I thought my family, for all their flaws, would never truly harm me. I thought the worst thing that had ever happened to me was the man sitting beside me walking out of my apartment without looking back.
I was wrong about everything.
"You said you were watching me," I say. "For two years."
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Yes."
"What does that mean? You hired someone to follow me? You hacked my phone? You—"
"I had people keeping an eye on you. Making sure you were safe. Reporting back on your movements, your activities, your..." He pauses. "Your wellbeing."
"My wellbeing." I let out a laugh that sounds slightly unhinged. "You were spying on me."
"Yes."
"And you don't see anything wrong with that?"
"I see many things wrong with it." He meets my eyes again, and for a moment—just a moment—I see something beneath the ice. Something raw. "But the alternative was letting you walk through the world unprotected, with your father's enemies circling and no one watching your back. I couldn't do that."
