Текст книги "Skin of a sinner"

Автор книги: Avina St. Graves

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter 29

ISABELLA

1) The romance authors lied. Real-life mobsters are scary, ugly, the bad kind of dangerous, and should not be romanticized.

2) I am beyond sick of getting kidnapped and all the emotional and physical bruising that comes with it.

3) Fuck Roman Riviera.

I realize there’s something off-kilter about my current state of mind, but I think it’s highly justified.

My face hurts. My throat is raw. My lungs burn. My ribs are probably an unnatural shade of purple.

In the span of three days, Roman-fucking-Riviera almost got me killed twice. No guns were involved this time, but the prospect of all the horrifying things the cartel could have done to me is far more terrifying than getting my brains blown out.

And it’s all Roman’s fault.

Sure, I’ll take part of the blame. Yes, I should have had Damien accompany me. Yes, maybe I would have heard the man come in if I didn't drink so much. Yes, I should have insisted not to come. But I’m not the catalyst for all this.

Maybe I should be distraught about thoughts of what ifs. Like, what if Roman didn’t save me? What if Vargas sent more than one man? But I can’t bring myself to truly feel the anxieties regarding the what ifs because what’s done is done, and tomorrow is another day where Vargas and his men still live.

“Riviera killed two of our men. And now, he gives us a pretty, breakable gift,” the man said.

Me.

The Vargas Cartel put a gun to my head two days ago because of Roman. And tonight, the Vargas Cartel almost took everything away from me because of Roman.

I even talked to him last night about the Vargas Cartel, and he still brought me to the arena.

Maybe I deserve all this for being a bystander in countless deaths and beatings. It could be the universe’s way of getting retribution for all the depravity I’ve inadvertently participated in. So maybe I’m not mad at Roman that it happened, but I’m pissed that he could have prevented it, and he didn’t.

After every trauma, I’ve experienced a different reaction. When I found Marcus and Greg, I was shocked about what I saw, but angry that Roman was back. Then, at the Horror House, I was scared and sad, and I only became angry when he started talking. Now? Sure, I’m shocked. Any person would be. But that’s not the emotion pumping through my veins right now. What will I feel the next time Roman puts me in danger? Acceptance?

I’m done. I’m not letting myself get to a point where I’ll feel nothing when a gun is aimed at my head. I can still recall the click of the safety, but in my messed-up reality, my brain has already decided that the sound is something to expect in my everyday life. I always thought Roman’s recklessness would get him killed, but I was wrong; it’ll get me killed.

“Bella, talk to me.”

By my count, this is the third time he’s said those four words in the past five minutes.

He also rotates between a couple of other sentences.

I’m so sorry, Bella.

This is the last time, Bella. I promise nothing like this will ever happen again.

Bella, baby, please speak to me.

I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, Bella.

I relented and helped him bandage the cut on his arm that probably needs stitches. But other than that, I’ve refused to even look in his general direction. Instead, my entire body is angled outward, and my lips are sealed shut. My heartbeat is still thundering, the blood in my ears still roaring, and my lungs are still squeezing and burning for oxygen.

The pain in my cheek isn’t improving, and I can already feel a whole bunch of nasty bruises forming on my face and body. I’m convinced that the cut on my cheek will open back up if I look at him, and I’ll bleed all over him and his goddamn clothes.

But, of course, he came to save me, like always, with his fists and a damn inhaler.

I’ve slapped Roman’s hand away every time it comes near me, but my hand hurts from hitting the shit out of my abductor, and I think I pulled several muscles trying to get away from him. But ultimately, Roman’s hands still ended up on me, and, if I’m being honest with myself, they’re the only thing stopping me from bawling my eyes out.

Before Roman went to prison, I—the Isabella from before—probably would have found a corner to cry in and clung onto Mickey like a lifeboat on a sinking ship. She was a scared, traumatized, and weak little girl.

I used to only feel fear when Marcus looked at me in the leering way he did. I would toe the line of hyperventilating when I’d get groped or hit on by strangers. The fear was and is alive and well. But my terror made friends with rage, which makes a toxic combination.

I’m still weak; I admit that. If it weren’t for the support his hands are bringing me, my head would be between my knees as I struggle for breath as the shock and rage takes over. If Roman hadn’t found me when he did, who knows what sort of nightmare I would be experiencing. But the fact remains, he is the whole reason something happened to me.

I wouldn’t need a lifeboat if he hadn’t set the ship on fire.

The difference between directing my anger at him or having Mickey as a lifeboat is that one has the paddles in my hand, and the other has them placed in someone else’s, someone who might jump overboard at any second. Paddling will wear me out, but at least I’ll have control and can rely on myself.

We pull up in front of our motel room, and he locks the doors when my finger touches the handle.

“Let me out, Roman,” I grit out.

I need to wash away the feel of that man’s hands on me and all the dried blood beneath my nails, crusting on my hands and face. Then, I’m going to scream into a pillow while letting it soak up all my tears.

And after that…

Well, I need to put my safety first.

“Talk to me.”

Silence.

“Fine, we can stay here all night, then.” I hear him settle into his seat. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I don’t want your help,” I snap.

So much for staying silent.

“You’re right. That was the wrong choice of words. I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of my shit; it never should have happened. I’m going to make it right,” he promises.

I shake my head. “There’s nothing you can do to make it right. It happened. It’s done.”

“Look at me, Bella.”

“No.” His hands move, and I quickly add, “If I look at you, I’ll remember what his hands felt like around my neck and what his body felt like against my back. So, no, Roman, I won’t look at you right now.”

Roman promised nothing would happen to me, and I promised I wouldn’t leave Damien’s side or talk to strangers. I guess we’re both liars.

The air turns cloying. My words will cut him. And he has a point. He can’t do anything unless I talk. Actually, now that I think about it, I do have things to say. So here we are again: actions meet consequences.

I look him in the eye, and just like I thought, I’m picturing what it felt like to scream Roman’s name through a ratty gag. “It’s my fault I didn’t stay with Damien. But it’s your fault I was there to begin with. You put me in danger. Not me.”

The muscles in his jaw feather. “He needs to pay for what he did.”

Too many people fall under the word he. Vargas, Damien, Rico, the asshole who took me. Roman will go on a warpath with no end in sight, and I don’t plan on being a casualty of it.

“And so will you.”

His brows dip. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, if you go after him, I’m gone. And I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never get me back. You can tie me up, but you’ll never have me. I’ll never be yours.”

“This is the underground world, Isabella. Each person you meet is more fucked up than the last.”

I flinch. Hearing him say it makes those what-ifs bubble back up like molten lava. “Do you honestly think I don’t know that? When he dragged me out of the bathroom, I knew they could pass me around to every single one of his men, and there would be nothing I could do about it. I knew they could torture me the same way you tortured Marcus and Greg. And I was terrified.”

His lips tighten as he swallows roughly. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

This again? “You keep saying that. Stop being so delusional.” I flail my bloody hands and point a finger at him. “You can’t do shit. Do you remember what you told me last night?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “That no one would lay a hand on me because you’ll keep me safe. Look at me, Roman. Does it look like nothing happened? Do I look okay to you? No, absolutely fucking not, Roman.”

“I thought you’d run.”

I stiffen. “Excuse me?” I expected him to give me a grocery list of excuses, or a thousand and one different ways about how sorry he is or how he thinks he’ll make it up to me. Not this.

His throat bobs. “I didn’t want to leave you in the motel because I thought you’d run.”

I stare at his profile for a long moment. The only sound coming from the harsh rise and fall of our breaths. “So, you would rather put me in danger and risk losing me for good?” I can’t be bothered screaming anymore.

He turns to me, and his expression is a twisted mix of guilt and anguish. It’s wrong, but I want to kiss it away and make it so that only one of us has to feel the hurt. But I’m not going to be that for him right now.

“I didn’t think they were a real threat.” He twists his hands, rubbing his fingers and shaking his leg. “The worst thing they did in prison was try to trip me up.”

I drop my head against the backrest and sigh. I believe that he truly thought they would be harmless. But how can I be with someone who attracts danger but can’t see it when it looks at him right in the face. “Well, you thought wrong, Roman.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“How many times do you have to hurt me before you lose the right to another name? You disappeared on me for three years, and so much has gone wrong since you’ve come back.”

He swallows. “No more matches, Bella. No more fights.” It’s not just a promise; he’s pleading with me. “I’ll say and do anything you want.”

I huff, because it sounds ridiculous to my own ears when I say, “I couldn’t care less about the fighting. As unhealthy as it is, it’s your release. What I care about is how I’m the one facing the consequences of your actions.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Bella.”

I inhale sharply, staring straight ahead at the door to our room. “I know you didn’t want to cause me pain. But that doesn’t mean you wanted to help me. Or keep me sane.”

“Of course, I wanted to help you!” Roman taps his finger on the steering wheel. I can hear the cogs turning in his head. “You have to understand, unless I take him out, Vargas will keep coming. Look at what he did to you. That asshole can’t live, knowing that he made you bleed. He needs to die, Bella. They all do.”

I give up.

“Do whatever you want, Roman. You always do.”

He’s like a dog with a bone. If he smells his chance for vengeance, he’ll chase it down whatever road it leads. Even if it ends up killing him.

And me.

If I have learned how to care for myself, Roman can learn how to save himself.

From my periphery, I see him turn his entire body toward me. “No. No, don’t say that. That’s not fair. Everything I’ve done was for you. Everything I do is for you. You are the only one I think about. Am I impulsive? Yes. But I’m trying. I’m working on it. I swear. I’m doing this for us.”

“That’s not enough.” My stomach churns as my tongue rolls around each syllable. Roman Riviera was my everything once, and I never thought I’d want more. “And if you were really working on it, you wouldn’t entertain the idea of going after Vargas.”

“The fucker—”

I cut him off. “Unlock the door, Roman. This conversation is over.”

“We aren’t done.” His piercing stare heats the side of my face.

“It’s over.” I don’t deserve his kindness, and I don’t deserve this torment. I try the lock myself, and it opens. “Do whatever you want; I won’t try to stop you. Just remember that I gave you an out, and you chose not to take it.”

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Chapter 30

ROMAN

It’s silent.

I focus on the sound of her breathing to remind myself she’s alive and here—safe is another question entirely. It doesn’t matter what I say or how many times I say it, she doesn’t respond.

The only form of communication I’ve gotten from her is a scathing glare that could end a nuclear war when I slipped into the bathroom with her. But I barely noticed it. Or the wound on my arm that’s bleeding through the bandage. She can look at me however she wants because all I see is the patchwork of blue and red coloring her cheek. A chill strips another layer of warmth from me every time I see it.

I’m not letting her out of my sight for a second. From this day on, there will never be a moment where we aren’t breathing the same air. I’ll never make that type of fuck up again.

I’m tempted to step into the shower, carry Bella to the car and get as far away from Chicago as we can get. But first, we are in a silent agreement that she needs to wash that fucker’s scent off her.

Just thinking about that asshole’s face makes my blood boil.

Vargas.

I can’t believe I was so stupid. The warning signs were right there, and I ignored them. I can’t for the life of me think of excuses for why I did. I’ll never forgive myself because Bella has paid the price for it.

Vargas needs to be taken out, but I won’t do it at the expense of losing her.

The shower tap turns off, and the curtain opens, showing off her naked body, dripping in water and steam. She doesn’t acknowledge me when she steps out of the shower, wrapping a towel around her body.

“Bella,” I say, standing from the seat.

She passes me without a second glance.

Fuck.

“Please, talk to me.”

She doesn’t, getting dressed in a new change of clothes as if she’s decided we’re leaving the city tonight.

I sigh at her back. “Damien will be here in ten minutes to drop off our IDs.”

Nothing. No response.

“Bella, I love you,” I whisper, reaching for her chin while holding a bag of ice. “Please, just look at me.”

Without turning, she elbows me in the jaw when I touch her. I let her hit me. I’d let her kick me and punch me all she likes. I deserve it for putting that bruise on her face. I don’t let her move far away from me. After several careful maneuvers on my part, and several hits on hers, I manage to get her on my lap until her wiggling stops.

She winces every time the bag of ice moves on her face, and I feel every flinch like her pain is my own. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to her—making everything I’ve ever done wrong up to her.

My heart sinks below the earth when her stare grows blank, as if she found a spot within her consciousness to disappear into where I can’t follow her. I hold her tighter, both wanting her grounded back with me and wanting her safe, wherever her head is at.

I kiss her forehead and inhale her scent, rocking us slowly, which does nothing to make her relax. We stay like that until a knock on the door has Bella leaping to her feet and scurrying behind me. The guilt that hits me hurts like a motherfucking bitch.

A knock made her jump out of her skin. A single knock.

“It’s just Damien,” I assure Bella.

Her gaze bounces to mine, giving me a single, tense nod. I open the door and Damien holds out a brown paper package.

“It’s all there.” He nods behind me. “How is she?”

What the fuck do I say to that? It’s none of your business? She’d be alright if you actually watched her? She was scared of your knock because of how badly I fucked up?

“Fine,” I settle on.

“The rest of your cut is in there.”

We both stand in silence, then I ask, “Vargas?”

“I’ll deal with it,” he answers simply.

“How?”

He crosses his arms. “Word is they hijacked Alvarez’s shipment last week. Boss is waiting for proof before taking Vargas out.”

I raise a brow. They’ve been around, what? Three years, and they’re already going to be wiped off the map? What kind of idiot thinks he can steal from a cartel triple its size? Bella shouldn’t have been dragged into any of this shit.

“There’s a kid,” I start. “His name’s Jeremy. Lived with Bella.” I don’t need to explain any more than that. Even though it’s a closed adoption, Damien would be able to dig up information.

He nods. “He’s under our protection.” Damien gives me one last look. “Keep her safe,” he says before disappearing down the street.

I look inside the bag he handed me, ignoring the sour taste in my mouth. This is blood money. I’ve never had an issue with it before, but that was when the only blood on it was mine or another person willingly signing up for it. This has Bella’s blood on it now, too.

If we didn’t need the money and Bella didn’t go through hell just to get here, I would get rid of the cash without a second thought.

But this is us now, on the run from everyone and everything. As long as I have Bella, I don’t care where we go or what we do. She may not feel the same about that right now, but she will. She doesn’t have a choice.

When I’m back in the room, she goes back to doing everything possible to avoid looking at me. I want her to let all her frustrations and anger out on me. I want her to cry, scream, or sob—anything other than this grating silence.

Maybe we just need a change of scenery. Maybe getting some sleep and food will get her to actually look at me.

We pile everything and ourselves into the car without a word, and then get the fuck out of Chicago.

What a load of shit.

Maybe some sleep and some food will fix it? That’s the biggest bullshit I’ve ever told myself.

Bella has had plenty of sleep; I heard her little snores while her back was to me in the car. At this rate, I will know the back of her head better than I know my own hand.

I dragged her to the grocery store—yes, dragged. As I said, I’m not letting her out of my sight, which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea. She’s still all bruised up and didn’t wear any makeup to cover it, so the sight of me forcing her somewhere would be enough for someone to call the police.

I got her all her favorite snacks and takeout food—I even got her a teddy bear hugging a pillow that says, I love you.

Bella happily took what I had to offer her, then shoved it in my face. She accepted the teddy bear, but not without mutilating it first. She literally ripped out the cotton from inside with her bare hands and threw it in the back seat, then turned onto her side so her back was to me. Again.

And people call me a psychopath.

If I weren’t driving and we weren’t trying to get the hell out of dodge, I would’ve pulled off the road and put her over my knee for being such a little brat.

Yes, she’s traumatized over what happened, but keeping it bottled up won’t help any of us.

It’s been twenty-four hours, and she hasn’t said anything other than, “I need to go to the bathroom.” I saw it as an opportunity to blackmail her into speaking to me; talk, and I’ll pull over in exchange.

Did it work?

No. The stubborn princess held it in for almost a goddamn hour before I was the one who relented.

This girl really does have me by the balls.

I even tried saying things I knew would piss her off. Did she take the bait? Absolutely fucking not. Talk about giving a guy the cold shoulder.

Now we’re here, in a shitty motel. She’s still giving me her back—which is fine, because she’s trapped in my arms, and her hips are pressed against mine like the perfect little spoon. She still hasn’t said another word—not even when I stepped into the shower with her—but I’ve decided that she has another twelve hours before I go down the extreme route.

“Bella,” I say into her hair.

Silence.

Fucking hell.

“You better start talking real soon, or else you might regret it.”

Nothing.

“This is me giving you space. If you think I can’t get any worse, you have a whole other thing coming for you, baby girl.”

Zip.

Nada.

I sigh and pull her tighter to my chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Isabella.”

Soft light filters through the curtains, illuminating dust motes specked through the air. The stale air is aggravating my nostrils, but the faintest scent of something sweet is settling my nerves.

Jesus Christ, what time is it? I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. Based on how bright it is, it’s too early for me to be a functioning human. So, like, eight or nine o’clock in the morning, maybe.

I groan as I stretch my arms, reaching behind me to pull Bella into my chest. Instead of warm skin, my hands touch the flat cotton surface of the very empty bed.

My heart lodges into my throat as I snap upright. “Bella?”

I don’t wait for a response before throwing open the bathroom door.

Empty.

“Bella!” I yell, running to the front door and onto the walkway of the motel. The parking lot is empty; besides an old man, I can’t see anyone else.

Rushing back inside, I finally notice her shoes and coat are missing. So is Mr. Mouse. She’s on the run—she ran from me, just like I was scared of.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I spot her phone on the bedside table and our IDs exactly where I left them last night. My wallet is open on top of my jacket, but it’s still brimming with cash like she opened it and changed her mind, or only took a few bucks so I wouldn’t notice.

Throwing on a random pair of pants and shoes, I shove all our shit into the car and fire up the engine. I barely look back as I reverse out of the park and head onto the main street. The frost covering the windows slowly melts away from the blaring heaters.

My heart hammers erratically against my ribs as I speed down different roads. It’s a small rural town with two motels and a single grocery store. I park and check each and every building she might be in; she couldn’t have gotten far.

Unless she left earlier this morning and caught a bus.

I press my foot on the gas and fiddle with my phone to locate the station—any fucking station, bus, train, radio—I don’t care, as long as I find her.

I barely pay attention to the actual road, speeding along and heading to where my phone tells me to go. The tires screech to a stop in front of a brownstone building with only two bus stops in front of it. Bella isn’t in front of either one of them.

Running inside, I stop in front of a graying lady who looks like she’s never stepped out of the building in her life. She peers up over her glasses at me as I approach the counter.

“Tell me what buses left this morning.”

She scowls and opens her mouth like she’s about to protest.

“Tell me!” I roar.

She jolts in her chair, but raises her chin. “Manners.”

My lips peel back in a snarl. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

The old woman looks at me defiantly in an almost grand-motherly way. “Boys who don’t mind their manners don’t get what they want.”

“Fucking tell me!” I snarl, slamming my hand on the counter.

She blinks at me, bored and waiting.

For fuck’s sake.

“Tell me what buses left this morning,” I grit out. “Please.”

She scoffs. Without another word, she drops a pamphlet onto the counter and returns to reading her book. I snatch it up, running my finger and eyes over the information, matching times and dates with the route.

Only two buses have left this morning; one is heading to Chicago, and the other directly to Denver.

“A girl, pigtails, yay high. Which bus did she take?” I leave no room for negotiations with my question.

The lady stares at me for a moment. Just as I’m about to bark at her, she raises her hand to silence me. “Who’s she to you?”

I narrow my eyes. “Everything.” What is this girls stick together bullshit?

Sighing, she shakes her head. “She could only afford to go to Cheyenne.”

Where the fuck is Cheyenne?

I grunt and run back to my car, hearing the lady mutter, “No wonder she left you.”

Punching the place into my phone, I refer back to the pamphlet. Doing the math, I figure she’s got at least twenty-five minutes on me. Jesus fuck.

I can barely breathe as I speed onto the highway surrounded by nothing but greenery, a cold sweat covering my skin. Irritated and desperate, I tap my fingers on the wheel, trying to contain my scattered breaths and rapid pulse.

The silence in the car makes the voices louder, question upon question piling on top of each other. What if she catches another bus before I get there? What if Vargas somehow knows where she’s headed? What if she never went on the bus and hid in the city? What if that lady lied and Bella is on a bus to Chicago?

God, Bella, Bella, Bella. Please.

I can’t lose her. I can’t live without her. Fuck, what if I can’t find her once I’m there? I’ll spend the rest of my life looking for her if I don’t get to her in time. There’s no version that ends without Bella by my side.

I’m going at least ten miles over the speed limit. I’m not sure; I’m not paying attention to it, focusing on the arrival time dropping on my phone and the traffic. The minutes seem to drag on like hours, the drive going by in a blur. By the time I reach the exit for Cheyenne, I think I’m going to have a heart attack with how tight my body is.

I’m not sure how I make it in front of the Cheyenne station, but I do, parking illegally on the side of the road as I run inside. I don’t feel the chilly air on my bare arms or the drizzle slowly soaking my t-shirt. Bella would have arrived five to ten minutes ago, and who knows where she might have disappeared to in that time.

The sound of my thundering footsteps echoes through the station, but I can’t spot her anywhere. She isn’t lined up for another ticket or waiting for another bus.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I run back outside, searching left and right for even a glimpse of her. She couldn’t afford to go farther than Cheyenne. Did she even take enough money for a motel? Food? Fucking hell. I throw the car door open and slip inside, starting the truck without buckling my seatbelt. I’m on the road again, driving up and down street after street as the piercing pain in my chest amplifies to the point that I can barely breathe.

Twenty minutes later, pigtails catch the corner of my eye. I pull into one of the quieter streets and park in front of a driveway. A lump builds in my throat as I run in the direction I saw it as the rain falls harder, turning the air frigid.

Then I see her. Bella.

My Bella.

Walking along the street, staring straight at the ground, not noticing the boutiques and offices she passes. She looks so sad. Broken. I caused it.

I narrow the distance, pulling her into my arms and beneath the awning of a cafe, nuzzling my head against hers to inhale her scent. At once, all the voices quieten. I found her. She yelps and tries to fight me, but I ignore all of it because I can breathe again. My heart no longer feels like it will be ripped out of my chest.

“Fuck, I thought I lost you.” I wrap my arms around her tighter, ignoring the people running past who are trying to get out of the rain. “Don’t you ever do that again.” I’m meant to sound stern, maybe scold her a bit. But all I sound is desperate.

She can’t leave me.

She’s never allowed to run away from me.

“Get off of me!” the princess hisses, pushing against my chest.

I don’t listen, squeezing her against me. “I was so worried.” I should be angry at her for sneaking out when I was asleep, but I can’t bring myself to care beyond the fact that I have her back. “I almost lost you twice this week. I won’t let there be a third time.”

She shakes her head against my chest. “Let go of me, Roman!”

Bile lurches in my stomach from the sight of her red-rimmed eyes and the fading bruises when I let her pull away.

“I’m not going back with you,” she says, choking back a sob as a tear falls down her cheek.

“Either I follow you, or you follow me. There’s no version of this where we go our separate ways.”

Bella tries to squirm out of my hold, while also gripping onto my shirt like it might kill her if she lets go.

“Miss, are you alright?” We both snap our attention to the cop standing a couple of feet away, who has his hand conveniently close to the weapons at his hips.

It kills me to step away from her, but I do it, keeping one hand on the small of her back. I’m not going back to jail, but I can’t tell him that she’s fine when she very clearly looks like she’s not fine. In fact, my ruined knuckles probably make it look like I’m the one who caused her bruises.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to step away from her,” the cop says slowly, wrapping his fingers around the taser.

I grit my teeth, but do as I’m told, staring at Bella, pleading with her not to send me away like this when we haven’t talked about what happened. The only thing I can imagine that’s worse than being put in a box, is if Bella is the one who sends me there.

“Miss, I ask again, are you okay?” The cop slowly inches forward, muscles tense like he’s gearing up for a fight.

“I…” A shiver rips through her and she hugs herself tighter, glancing from me to the police officer as her bottom lip trembles.

Please don’t do this, I think, even though she can’t hear me.

The silence stretches for a long moment. She can tell them that I kidnapped her and held her against her will, that she had nothing to do with any of the murders. They’ll send me away for a long time, but I’ll still do everything in my power to make sure nothing bad happens to her. Then once I’m out, I’ll come crawling back to her, because since the day I met her, the only thing I’ve known for certain is that I’d die for her.

Her throat bobs with her swallow. “It’s fine,” she breathes out, staring straight at me. My shoulders sag in relief. “He’s… a friend.”

I curl my fingers into fists, but keep my mouth shut.

“Are you sure?” the cops asks.

She nods and gives him a forced, reassuring smile.

“Okay.” He narrows his eyes at me and gives Bella a comforting smile that she doesn’t need as he backs away to the other side of the street, out of earshot, but perfectly in his line of sight.

“I won’t come with you,” Bella whispers.

“Princess—”

“I was so scared, Roman,” she cries. “I was scared all my life, and you were there to protect me, but what if you’re the one I’m scared of?”

I reach for her, and she steps away. “I would rather kill myself than intentionally hurt you.”

“You got me out of the life I know, and however shit it was, I still had Jeremy. Now? What do I have? A life where I’m constantly at risk of getting killed? Where I don’t have Jeremy? All I have is the unknown, and you don’t know what we’re doing. Hell, you don’t even know what you’re doing.”