There’s a heavy beat before Abram chokes out, “Every problem has a solution.”
“Kirill,” I whisper, but he won’t look at me. His attention is laser-focused on Abram, his entire body coiled tight.
“Say it,” Kirill hisses. “Say it to my fucking face.”
Abram meets his gaze, hatred twisting his battered features. “We cut the brake lines on your mother’s car. Made it look like mechanical failure, a tragic accident.”
The words hit like a physical blow and Kirill staggers back.
The terrible, bitter irony isn’t lost on me. Ruslan killed the Voronins because my mother ran. Then he killed Kirill’s mother to make room for a forced marriage. Two families destroyed because my mother didn’t want to marry a monster.
“Marina was never auctioned,” I say slowly. “Was she?”
“Auction the pakhan’s bride? Are you stupid? Your mother was valuable. As soon as Ruslan could prove she was a Voronin, he inherited the empire and the woman. Except she ran before that could happen. She was being held in the basement of Velour with the others to teach her a lesson. She broke out and took everyone with her. We tore the city apart looking for her, but she was gone.”
A desperate spark of hope ignites in my veins. If she escaped, she could still be alive. But any relief is swallowed by the weight of Kirill’s grief.
He’s staring at Abram, his face stone, his breathing ragged, before he snaps. Kirill lunges, wrapping his hands around his throat and squeezing, cutting off his air, making him sputter and choke and thrash uselessly. The chair screeches against the concrete, tipping backward until the legs catch and it rocks back upright.
“Kirill!” I grab his arm, solid as granite. “There’s still more to learn.”
But my words don’t get through to him. He’s lost somewhere, and he needs this. He’ll never find peace without it.
The old man’s face is turning purple, his one good eye bulging, but Kirill doesn’t let go. His fingers dig deeper, knuckles white with the pressure.
“This is for Tasha,” Kirill grates. “This is for all of them.”
Abram’s struggles weaken, his thrashing turning to twitches, his eye rolling back. Kirill holds on, steady and relentless, until Abram’s body goes limp and the wet rasp of his breathing stops completely.
Kirill’s hands remain locked around Abram’s throat, chest heaving, staring at the corpse like he’s waiting for it to move again.
I lay a hand on his shoulder. “He’s gone.”
He finally lets go, stumbling back from the chair. When he looks at me, his eyes are hollow.
I pull him against me, trying to drag him back from wherever he’s gone. His skin is cold under my palms, his muscles rigid. When his ice blue eyes focus on me, what I see breaks my heart. Grief and rage and betrayal, all of it surfacing at once.
“Use me. Channel everything you’re feeling into me,” I tell him.
“I’ll hurt you,” he says, his voice cracking.
“I trust you. I want this. Let it go. Let me feel this with you.”
He stares at me, searching my face for doubt or fear.
I let him see everything. The heat, the need, the absolute certainty that this is what I want.
“Use me,” I repeat, pressing into him. “I’m yours. All of me. Take what you need.”
CHAPTER
FORTY-FOUR
DINARA
Kirill’s mouthfinds mine in a kiss that’s brutal and all-consuming.
I kiss him just as hard, tasting blood on his lips, copper and salt mixing with the heat of his tongue. My hands fist in his shirt, dragging him against me, needing to share what we’re both carrying.
