I freeze at her admission. I know this, logically. There was no other reason for her to go there, but still, there's something uncanny about hearing her say it.
"Would you have let him?" I'm not sure if I want the answer, but I need it. I need to know where the fuck we go from here.
She's quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. Maybe. A few hours ago, death seemed easier than—" She gestures vaguely. "This. Existing as nothing."
I want to tell her she matters. That, to me, she's everything. I bite back the words. She needs more from me than empty reassurances. She needs proof. Apologies without action are baseless, and I've done a lot to prove her right, and nothing to prove her wrong.
That changes.
"But you fought back."
"No." She looks at her hands. Clean now, but she's staring at them like she can still see the blood. "Honestly, he wasn't trying to kill me."
"No?" I'm surprised.
She shakes her head. Her dark hair is wet, and she shivers slightly. "No," she blinks, like she is clearing a fog from her mind. "At least, I don't think so. We didn't get too far."
"What made you kill him?"
Her eyes turn hard, like steel. She's pissed. Whatever Alexei did, it was bad, and I bite my tongue so that she can come to me. This is what she needs, to tell me this herself. "He called me a fucking pet."
My brow raises in surprise, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Shit, I was expecting something so much worse. Something I couldn't fix. After all, Alexei has a reputation.
She looks at me sharply, frowning, and I try to hide my happiness. "He called me a pet, a pretty bird who needs a master, and I don't know, Saint, I just snapped."
Her hands are steady, but she's twisting the skin around her ring finger. I want to bring up the engagement and weddingrings in my pocket, but this doesn't feel like the time. "I should have just left," she says. "I put us all in danger."
"Yes," I say. Her eyes flicker, but luckily, that fire, that steel, remains. "But you handled it."
"I'm a murderer, and I didn't just kill anyone. I killed the head of a family."
"Everyone in this world is a killer." I squeeze her hand. "Alexei was a predator. He hurt people. Used them. He was going to use you, trust me on that. Even Igor knew it. It's why he called me that night. Alexei was dangerous—to you most of all."
"Don't justify this," she says, getting up and pacing. "Not like that."
"Meaning?"
She glares. "Don't be stupid, Saint. You just described our relationship." She places her hands on her hips. "Should I stab you?"
The words make rage flare in my chest. "Don't fucking compare me to that asshole. I never wanted to own you," I remind her. "Everything we did, you consented to."
"I feel—" She struggles for words. "I should feel guilty. Or horrified. Or something."
"Do you?"
"No." The admission seems to cost her. "I feel powerful. And that scares me."
"Why?"
"Because good people don't feel powerful after killing someone."
"Says who?" I turn her face to me. "Gemma, you've been told your whole life what good women do. How they act. How they feel. Fuck all of that." I lean closer.
"Is that how you justify it? The killing?"
"I don't justify anything. I just do what needs to be done." I trace her jawline. "And sometimes, what needs to be doneis violent. That doesn't make you a monster. It makes you a survivor."
She's quiet, processing.
