Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“You’re buying that shit too?”
I shake my head. “No, not to me, but to everyone else. They’re not going to let me get out of it even if I beg. It’s too late. I’m trapped.”
The cage bars. The space heater turned to maximum. Sweat rolling down my skin. The knife blade rattling inches from my face.
Trapped all over again.
Evan grunts and sits down beside me. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and tugs me close. I let him give me an awkward, sideways hug. We’ve never been really physically affectionate, even if we are close. That’s just not his style.
I must really be screwed.
“We’ll find a way,” he says, but he can’t really believe that. I sure as heck don’t. I’m a mentally broken hermit, not a moron. “And if we can’t, maybe I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I ask gently, fighting tears. “Move to Baltimore so we can hang out once a week? Come kill my monster husband? Save me from the Armenians? Come on, Evan. We both know that’s not happening. Can’t we just enjoy this little time?”
He stiffens. His jaw works. I know it’s not easy for him, giving up like this. But I’ve learned over the years that it’s better to be soft and pliant.
You don’t break if you can bend and twist.
“Yeah, all right, Dash.” He pushes off the bed and gets up. “This place is a dump, you know that?”
“I’m packing.” I throw an old shirt at him. He catches it, makes a face, and tosses it aside. “Are you going to help, or are you going to keep whining?”
“Probably both,” he grumbles. “Well, why don’t you tell me about the hotel? What was it like going back out into the world?”
I smile to myself. Evan’s a good brother. He doesn’t want to do this, and he sure as heck doesn’t care about the hotel, but he’s trying.
That’s more than Dad’s done. I’ve barely seen him.
We talk about normal things while I fill a couple of suitcases. I’m bringing everything I need for the next few weeks, and Evan promises to send some more stuff through the mail when I need it.
For a while, I can almost forget that my monster husband is waiting for me downstairs with his equally dangerous driver.
But the real world intrudes eventually.
I’m folding the last of my sweaters when Dad appears in the door to my suite. He clears his throat, looking extremely awkward. Evan sits on my couch, glaring at him, arms crossed.
“Tigran says you two need to leave soon,” Dad says hesitantly. “Something about traveling while it’s still light out?” He looks at Evan, who just glares back and says nothing. “I know you’re both upset with me—”
“Upset is an understatement,” Evan snarls, his hands rolled into white-knuckled fists. “You sold your goddamn daughter.”
“She was the only option,” Dad says, looking at me. I frown back at him, emotions welling up in my gut. “Valentin made it clear that there was no other choice. I didn’t want this.”
I believe him. For twelve years, Dad has indulged me. He’s kept me safe, away from the Bratva, secluded from the men who frequently come to visit him, all because it makes me more comfortable.
The family talks. I know what they say. I’ve heard the house staff mumbling to each other.
Dasha’s crazy. Dasha’s a spinster. Dasha’s a freak.
It hasn’t been easy for him, having a weirdo for a daughter, but he blames himself for what happened to me when I was just thirteen years old.
“I don’t blame you,” I say gently.
Evan stares at me in outrage, and he’s right to feel that way.
I feel that way too.
But I can’t do anything about it, and I’ve learned a dozen different times that it’s better to hang my head and get on with it than to spit and scream and rage.
“Dashenka, my good little girl, I know this is hard, but the Armenians have made assurances. You will be safe and respected. You will be treated very, very well, I can promise you that.”
“Yes, Papa.” I hate myself for saying that. Don’t I want to stab him in the throat right now?
Maybe maim his stinking face the way I got sliced up.
Now, now, Dasha, that’s not how a good girl thinks.
“Would’ve been nice to warn her before selling her off,” Evan says sharply. “You owed her that much.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything,” Dad snaps back, glaring at his son. “And you should be careful. You’re not the one getting married.”
“Yeah, just your shut-in daughter.” Evan shoves himself to his feet. He stares hard at Dad for a beat before turning to me, his face softening. “You’ve always got a home here, you know that, right?”
Tears choke me. Is this really happening? Am I seriously going to say goodbye to my brother, to my father, to the only home I’ve known for twelve long years? It feels like I’m cutting off a limb.