The words start to blur due to the sting in my eyes. A powerful emotion snakes through me and leaves me breathless.
It’s fear, I realize.
I’m scared of this part of Jeremy. The inhumane, ruthless side who wouldn’t blink before offing people. Though it shouldn’t come as a surprise considering his background, but it’s the first time I put him in a frame.
One in which I’ll probably suffer from incidents like these constantly. As long as I’m with him, he’ll find a reason to hurt others.
I need to leave this place.
After changing my clothes in record time, I grab my phone and storm out the front door but come to a halt on the threshold.
Ilya stands there, arms crossed in front of him. He’s dressed in casual clothing and a denim jacket that I think I saw a gun hidden beneath last night.
His face is a bit angular yet handsome, but his blank expression never changes. I don’t think I’ve seen any feelings on his face.
Sort of like Jeremy most of the time.
You know what they say about birds of a feather.
“Hi,” I say cautiously.
He nods in greeting.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
I know Ilya is Jeremy’s shadow, in a way, but I’ve never seen him at the cottage before.
“Boss said not to go inside the house if you’re in it.”
My eyes widen. “Don’t tell me you stayed out here all night?”
“I had to make sure you were safe.”
“Oh my God, but it’s freezing.”
“It’s okay. I’m Russian.”
“That’s bollocks. I bet you didn’t eat anything either.”
Not that I did. At the reminder, my stomach growls, and Ilya does a perfect job of maintaining his poker face.
I open the door wide. “Come in. I made some soup we can share.”
He shakes his head once. “You go eat.”
“If you don’t come with me, I won’t.”
He shakes his head again.
“If you don’t, I’ll tell Jeremy you came into the house.”
“I didn’t.”
“Try convincing him of that after he beats you up like he did the guys from the other night.” I narrow my eyes and he narrows his back before he finally steps in.
After I heat the soup, we sit around the table. It brings back memories of Jeremy and his crazy Russian roulette.
My skin gets goosebumps as I remember how the crazy bastard nearly killed us both.
I should’ve known he lacked limits after that happened.
Ilya eats in silence, definitely uncooperative in offering any insight into his overbearing boss.
“So.” I clear my throat. “Why did you beat up those guys from the club?”
“Ask Boss,” he says point-blank.
I purse my lips but force myself to remain calm. “He’s not here, which is why I’m asking you.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Okay, but can you tell me why you beat them up until they were in a critical condition?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Because they deserved it.”
Of course he’d think they did.
“Where’s the third guy? Why have you taken him away? He didn’t even approach me.”
“We didn’t.”
“But he disappeared.”
“Wasn’t our doing. We left the three of them together.”
I frown. If it wasn’t them, then who—
Eli.
Of course.
Not sure how Ava will feel about this tidbit.
I move the spoon in my bowl and only raise my head when I feel eyes on me.
Ilya. He’s staring at me with that serial-killer gaze.
“What?”
“I know you’re not like Boss and have no clue how dangerous and complicated his life is. So if you’re not going to put the effort in understanding it, I suggest you leave.”
Okay. That was direct and bold.
I think Ilya doesn’t like me.
But it wasn’t said with ill intent. He really thinks I’m not fit for Jeremy. I agree.
I place the spoon on the table, losing my appetite. “I can’t get behind his acts of violence. I might turn a blind eye once or twice, but it’ll kill me if it’s a recurring theme.”
“Boss only inflicts violence when it’s the last resort or if it’s personal, and only against individuals who’ve earned it. Have you tried to understand why he did that last night?”
“Because they talked to me and touched me and he needs to protect his ownership.”
“He did it because your safety and mental state are important to him. Do better. You have a long way to go.” He shakes his head, drinks straight from the bowl, then stands up and gets out.
Leaving me with a myriad of questions and emotions.
CECILY
What started as a simple trip home so Annika could convince her father to accept Creighton turned into a nightmare.
Not only was she taken from here by force and coerced to relocate to New York indefinitely, but she also broke up with Creighton, and he was left to pay the price.
The past two weeks have been an exhausting mash of events and tragedies that none of us could keep up with.
I think we all wish we could rewind time to that night at the pub, where Creighton was being territorial of Anni, and Remi was giving him shit about it.
We were all laughing and having the time of our lives back then. We were a group, and now, we’re broken up by Anni’s absence.
Ava has been downright depressed since she left, despite clearly cutting her off and taking Creighton’s side.
We all did.
We’ve known him since we were young and we’re well aware of his bloody past prior to when he became a member of the King family.
So whenever the stitches of that wound open, we all feel obligated to take his side no matter what.
With everything that went down, everyone is exhausted both physically and mentally. We’re pushing ourselves to study and try to heal together.
Papa told me that it might be a good idea to go home and recharge for a bit, but I can’t leave everyone here alone. I’d be worried sick and wouldn’t get any rest.
So I stayed and have tried to be there as much as I can for Glyn and Ava, who were hit by Annika’s departure more than they’ve let on.
Sometimes, they call her name in the flat and either pause or curse themselves when they realize she’s not there anymore.
Most of her stuff is still in her room, and none of us have dared to touch it or even open her door.
When I’m missing her, I like to believe she’s in there listening to Tchaikovsky and practicing ballet.
At the shelter, the other volunteers, technicians, and even Dr. Stephanie miss her like crazy.
She was always the fun and cheerful soul who made sure everyone around her was content.
Now that she’s gone, it’s like she left a dark spot behind.
After telling the staff good night, I step out of the shelter, shoulders drooping and heart so heavy that it weighs me down.
I pause at the corner of the street in search of Ilya.
He’s been following me around ever since that day at the cottage, acting like his boss’s pseudo-stalker.
During the first week everything went down, I was so rattled and worried that I barely paid him any attention.
I lacked the capacity to think straight back then.
After that, I asked him to leave me alone, but he flat-out ignored me and continued his mission of shadowing my every move.
I haven’t met up with Jeremy since that night at the club.
The first week, he was as busy as I was, considering Nikolai got hurt and Annika had to leave.
Then he traveled for a few days, probably to New York.
I only saw him a couple of days before Annika left—the encounter was brief and without any actual conversation.
Despite the dull ache that spreads through me at the reminder of him, I needed the space.
I needed to figure out whether or not I’m willing to try to understand him like Ilya told me that morning. If I’m willing to go down the rabbit hole with him and possibly never get out.
While I still haven’t found the answer to that, one thing’s for sure. I’m a bit hurt by the fact that he disappeared on me.
Not that I’ve gone out of my way to contact him. I haven’t called or texted him.
I haven’t known how after that loaded confession he sent me.
I feel that if I do, if I give in, then I’ll have nothing left of me. That he’ll suck me dry and leave me empty.
My chest gets tighter the longer I look for Ilya and find no sign of him. At my insistence, Ilya had started walking me from the shelter to the flat instead of following from afar.
And even though Ilya is more silent than the night, he was welcome company.
Not to mention a reminder of him.
But tonight, he’s nowhere to be seen.
Maybe he decided that he was done with me, after all, and ordered his guard to stop following me.
That thought should make me joyful, but instead, I’m dragging my feet on the pavement.
It’s all for the best anyway.
Hopefully.
Probably.
I start to pull my earbuds out of my backpack when I spot a shadow under a tree. Leaning against a bike.
A sudden flutter dips in my stomach as I watch him.
Black jeans mold against muscular thighs, a T-shirt outlines his sculpted chest that I know is inked full of tattoos, and a jacket strains against his broad shoulders.
Then, finally, I study his face that’s shadowed by the darkness but still looks no different than that of a warlord who’s on a mission to conquer everything in his path.
Starting with me.