Page 8 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

Stiffening, Emory adjusted in her chair with a frown. “Let’s focus on the here and now, Mr. Ustinov. I’d like to keep any mention of last night to zero.”

“Whatever you say, doc,” it read off. “How do we set a baseline?”

Refocusing, Emory crossed one leg over the other, and I couldn’t help but watch the motion, momentarily fixated on how the smooth skin of her calf brushed over the other. She’d worn a skirt today, and I had…thoughts about that.

“We’ll keep things simple today. I’ll ask a few questions, sort of like we were in a sesson, but I’ll be using them to find a suitable care provider. I’ll give these notes to the therapist who’ll be seeing you next time, and I’ll be sure to have my office email you with the new counselor’s name. On that note, what isyourpreferred name? many of us like to use our patients’ first names if that’s all right.”

I clicked for TalkBack when I’d finished typing. “Go for it. I think we’re just about on a first-name basis.”

Emory glared at me for only a moment, and I knew my jokes would get me booted out of there if I kept it up. Which was actually perfect. I didn’t want to stick around for more of these“sessions.” If Emory wanted to see me outside the office, that was another thing altogether, but no head-shrinking, by anyone.

“Great. Thank you, Vlad. So, why don’t you tell me what brought you in today? I want to hear about the situation in your own words. It’s been a while since you filled out the information for your appointment, too, so if anything’s changed, let me know.”

I smirked, rolling my eyes as I typed up my rundown of the actual events that landed me in her office, which were far less typical than most, I assumed.

“Actually,” the voice read off, “I didn’t set up the appointment. My brother did, using my info. He’s on a bit of a self-improvement kick since he settled down. Well, as settled as he’s going to get anyway. He’s roped me into it, and I intend to show him howgratefulI am after this is over.”

The robot wasn’t great at conveying tone, but I had a feeling that Emory was picking up what I was putting down when she met my eyes and frowned ever so slightly. She sucked in a breath and jotted a few things down on her notepad.

“So, you don’t want to be here then? Why did you come in?”

That one hit harder than expected. I didn’t want to be with a shrink, true. But Emory was selling herself short if she didn’t think that she was a damn good salesperson. That look of hers had sold me more than anything.

My thumbs hesitated over the keyboard. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. Being honest would probably be the right thing to do, and it may be easier in the long run. But I wasn’t very smart, and lying was my go-to, so…

“Booked the appointment. It’d be rude to cancel on you when you were expecting it. Plus, Ivan watched me like a hawk, ensuring I left the house for it.”

She studied me, her calculating, insightful gaze too intense. It was like being under a microscope, and I had a feeling I knew why she hadn’t mentioned her job last night. I mean, I didn’t because I was a contract killer and informant for the mob. But going on a date with a shrink sounded like it could be even worse.

“Ivan is your brother, correct? Didn’t you mention another?”

Snorting, I remembered chatting about the assholes at the bar last night. And as much as I wanted to say something about how the shrink was clearly using that information even though “last night never happened,” I didn’t bother.

I didn’t actually want to piss Emory off. I just didn’t want to be “treated.” While I was aware that there was technically something wrong with how I operated, I did not believe anything was “wrong” with me. And I wouldn’t be treated like some poor sap who had a real problem like alcoholism or dissociative identity disorder.

“Yes, and yes.” The voice read out my words about as blandly as I wanted them to come across. “I have two brothers, Ivan and Abe. They’re assholes, but hey, they’re family right.”

Emory cleared her throat, adjusting in her seat. She was doing a damn good job of being hard to read and keeping up that professional mask, but I could tell that, at the very least, she was assessing how I talked about things. And whatever, she could think whatever she wanted to about me professionally. I didn’t intend to come back here.

“Why do you say that? Is it just the typical brotherly rivalry, or do you really not like them?”

I hadn’t had much reason to analyze my relationship with my brothers for most of my life. While the odd thought came up here and there, it wasn’t like I was looking to understand more about why we were the way we were. I knew why, and knowing didn’t change shit.

“Yes?” The TalkBack said. “I mean, we’re all assholes, but it’s not like I’m fighting with them constantly. If anything, I’m the one keeping them from tearing each other’s heads off. Abe and Ivan are both a bit too stubborn and similar. Causes tension.”

“Hmm,” Emory hummed, “I don’t have siblings, so I don’t know what that’s like, but I often mediate between my parents. That can get exhausting.”

I nodded, my thoughts drifting a bit, and the silence settled between us. It was enough to make the juices of my memory and self-evaluation start churning, and I fucking hated it.

“All right,” Emory’s tone was much more direct, and I could tell that she was gearing up for something, “well, we’re almost out of time, and I want to ask one more thing to assist the next provider with their sessions moving forward. I know we’re keeping things basic, but you came to to the office for a reason, and despite your statement about just going along with it, any counselor who sees you still want to address that concern.”

I swallowed hard, not ready for the question that I knew was coming next. I’d been asked it so many damn times. From dates, clients, the Vadims even. I usually brushed it off or made something up. Hell, I’d told someone I had my tongue cut outonce just because I didn’t want to deal with the fallout that came after admitting the truth—or at least a part of it.

“Why did you stop speaking, Vlad?”

Emory didn’t beat around the bush. She didn’t try to sugarcoat it or play it down. She just asked. Something about that decision made it…easier? I wasn’t sure if that was quite it, but it had still been enough for my fingers to get moving over the keyboard.

And this time, I didn’t lie.

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