Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 348(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I saw a bit of shock cross her face. Her eyes widened, her lips parted. And then that anger slowly faded. Although she was a little spitfire, my girl, she also wanted to know what was happening more than she wanted to show me that I wasn’t the one in control.
If I had any kind of emotions, that might’ve given me some amusement. As it was… it turned me on. The very idea of exerting dominance over her had my cock growing hard.
I walked closer to her and stopped at the edge of the bed, and was pleased when she didn’t shy away. I knew deep down she knew I wouldn’t hurt her.
And not just because I could’ve done it many times already and hadn’t, but because her mind and body, although at war with each other, knew deep down she’d always be safe with me.
Even if my visage looked like the beast before her.
We didn’t speak for long minutes as I tended to the little scrapes and cuts on her body, as I washed the dirt from her limbs as gently as I could. My hands were too big though, my very DNA makeup fighting against doing anything soft.
Her legs were long and lean, toned from dancing over the years. And the shirt and shorts she wore did nothing to hide her figure.
My little ballerina.
I was cleaning off the soles of her feet when she finally broke the silence with her first question.
“Where have you been all these years?”
I didn’t look into her face after that, not for several seconds as I let the sound of her voice soothe me from the inside out.
“You didn’t even say goodbye.”
I felt this pain in the center of my chest and absently rubbed the spot over my heart. “How much truth do you want, Ana?” I looked at her then, our gazes locked. She didn’t answer at first, the hesitation clear on her face. “Because I’ll give you all of it. I’ll drown you in it if you want. But once it’s out there’s no taking it back, no pretending to know otherwise.”
Long seconds passed with just heavy silence between us. It was clear she was mulling what I’d said over in that pretty head of hers.
She glanced down at her hands, twisted in her lap, before looking at me again. “I want to know it all. I want to know where you were, what you’ve been doing. I want to know why you look like this now. I want to know the truth, Kostya.”
Hearing her say my given name would never get easier. I hadn’t heard it for the past decade, but I liked it spilling from her lips, reminding me that I, at one time, could have been the hero instead of the villain.
“It takes a certain kind of bastard to be in the Bratva, to be a soldier in organized crime where money and power, killing and degradation all go hand in hand.”
I kept my voice even and smooth, not wanting to be as crass or lewd as I should be speaking about the Russian mafia… especially about her father.
“You know the fucking world we live in. You’re not immune to the ugliness, although you have been sheltered.” God, she’d been sheltered, with Vladimir doting on her and protecting her from a lot of the grittiness that he dealt in.
“I know my father isn’t a good man.” Her voice cut at the end, and I felt that pain in the center of my chest again. God, I hadn’t felt any kind of emotion in so long, not like this, not where it was wrong and I was wounded, and it felt like my insides were being dug out with bloody claws.
“I don’t think there is such a thing as a good man, Anastasia. I don’t think there has been for a very long time.” I curled my hands into tight fists and I saw the way she glanced down at them, her gaze moving over all the tattoos. I was covered from neck to ankle, marks and insignias, designs that spoke of my brutality, of the violence and abuse I’d been dealt. They hid a lot of who I was on the inside.
“Keep going,” she whispered.
“You know my father was a piece of shit. He was one of Vladimir’s loyal soldiers, willing to get as dirty as his Pakhan ordered.”
I thought back to growing up. My father didn’t know what love was. He knew how to deliver pain. His form of affection was using his fists. My birthday gifts, the holidays, anything special I was given bloody noses, black eyes, and bruises all over my body. All for the purpose of strengthening me, turning me into the monster I was now.
“I’m corrupted, sweetheart, created this way by my father for all those years growing up, molded by the men who surrounded you daily, who gave you sweet smiles and soft words all because you were the Pakhan’s innocent daughter.”