Page 29 of Wicked Proposal
My son.Ourson. The son I spent the last four and a half years hiding from him.
A familiar sensation grips me: the urge to bolt. To hurl us into my beaten-up Honda and drive across state lines. Just me, Eli, and the open road.
But bolting isn’t an option. Not this time. When I left home over five years ago, I had a clean slate. I didn’t have loans, or debts, or problems with the law.
That’s all changed now.
I lean over the sink and force myself to breathe. In, out, repeat—like I teach my patients. Finally, my eyes meet their reflection in the mirror.
I look like a mess. My makeup’s all ruined, blotting around my eyes in dark, looming circles. I can see red smears on my skin that have nothing to do with lipstick.
I scrub until it goes raw.
Calm down, Mia. Breathe.I try to fish out my therapist’s mantra, but somehow, it’s not her words that come to mind.
It’s Yulian’s.
It’s over now. You’re safe.
I don’t know why, but I believe him.
Slowly, the tremors ease. My heart stops racing. When I glance at myself in the mirror again, I almost look like I did when I left home.
All thanks to him.
He saved me.The realization hits like ice water: Yulian Lozhkin, the ruthless CEO-slash-criminal mastermind,saved me.
He shielded me with his body, protected me with his life, and made sure I’d be safe.
And he protected me from Brad, too, before all that.
But he’s a killer,that nagging inner voice reminds me.You heard him in the car. He was having a freaking corpse melted.
Yeah. He was. But somehow, right now, I can’t find it in me to care.
No one ever helped me when I needed it. Not the cops, not the neighbors, not anyone.
The system that was supposed to keep me safe? It failed me, over and over again.
So, if the devil gives a shit? That’s who I’m sticking with.
My mind made up, I finally emerge from the bathroom.
I find Yulian at a corner booth. “Sorry. I made you wait.”
“Not at all.” He slides a cup my way. “Coffee’s still warm.”
Gratitude wells inside me.He ordered me coffee. He didn’t have to, but he did.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I take a long sip. The coffee burns on the way down, grounding me. Warmth starts spreading through my body again, slowly bringing me back to life.
I end up downing the whole thing in one go.
Yulian’s eyebrows rise. “Rough night?”
Somehow, I find myself laughing. “Not the roughest I’ve had,” I offer. “You should try manning the E.R. triage desk on the Fourth of July. If that doesn’t take away your faith in humanity…”
