Page 21 of Silenced

Dmitri: I get to sleep in?

My lips twitch.

Me: The Lord giveth and he can taketh away…

Dmitri: Now you’ve got a God complex. Great. 8 AM is fine. Until tomorrow.

Me: Sleep. No hookers. Not tonight. And make it nine AM so you can get a goddamn haircut.

Dmitri: Da, Otets. Fucking wet blanket.

Smirking at the term of endearment, ‘Father,’ I tuck my phone back into the pocket of my pants just as the limo brakes and idles outsideNav’sgates. When they shift inwards, the driveway lights up as we roll forward onto my estate.

Five minutes later, Karl delivers us to the front entrance.

She doesn’t stir until he opens the car door for me, and I twist in the seat with her in my hold, carefully straightening up, making sure that I don’t knock her head in the process.

As I cross the courtyard, she shifts against me with wakefulness but doesn’t fight me. If anything, she studies me as I walk her past the line of staff awaiting my arrival.

Ignoring them all as they respectfully bow their heads and murmur a polite ‘welcome’ in Russian when I pass, I head upstairs to my suite.

“Who are you?”

I don’t look at her.

I can’t.

Fuck, if I do, I’ll…

Blyad, I don’t even know what I’ll do.

What happens to the shadows when the sun touches them?

They fade to nothing.

Disintegrate like they were never there in the first place—

“You’re Russian. Maybe you don’t understand me?” she mutters, more to herself than to me. Then, she almost makes me smile when, in broken Russian, she asks the opposite: “I don’t understand you?”

As I requested of Nikita, the only one with the key when I’m away fromNav, the door to my suite is open when I arrive on the third floor. Everything, I take note, is arranged how I wanted.

I’ve been thinking on the fly, reacting with never-before-triggered instincts, but the journey back to Miami gave me the breather I needed to figure out what I have to do next.

She will only know safety from this point on—my vow is silent but struck nonetheless.

I know Dmitri thinks I’m crazy, and he can continue thinking that as long as he never looks at her again.

I tighten my arms around her fragile form as the urge to hide her away from the world mushrooms.

The need to keep her safe has grown exponentially.

The number of those who’d wish her harm now that she’s mine will have expanded beyond an abusive ex-husband and a bunch of Albanians who are baying for her blood in payment of a debt.

Ignoring the sourness of the vomit in her hair, I press a kiss to her temple. She jolts but remains passive in my hold.

“Who are you?” she mumbles.

Kicking the door closed behind me, I head over to the bathroom in the master suite.

---