Page 74 of Always Been Mine

“I did what was necessary to perpetuate my reputation.”

“I’m sick of your vague answers. I’m not even sure why I let you get away with them for so long. Maybe I’m in denial!” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I’m tired of this roller coaster, Gabe. How can I let myself love you freely when ugly truths about your past keep cropping up unexpectedly?”

A hand gripped her left shoulder, while the other tilted her chin up. “Believe me, Beatrice, I wish I could tell you everything, but to do so would put lives in jeopardy. You have to trust me.”

Beatrice stared into Gabe’s eyes. There was a pleading in them she had not seen before, almost begging her not to force him to tell her. And in his eyes, she finally saw the truth he couldn’t say in words. A singular clarity replaced her earlier uncertainty: the man she loved wasn’t capable of killing children.

She melted into him. Her hands clutched his hips. She wanted to embrace him and never let go, but her injuries prevented that impulse.

“Thank you,” Beatrice whispered softly. “Tell me this is the worst of it, that our enemies can’t use anything else against us.”

She felt Gabe shudder against her. “That’s all of it, babe.”

“You won’t feel a thing.I’ll be quick.”

Dmitry administered the Hybernabis, a precise dose to sedate the boy and keep his vital signs undetectable. If there was anything Dmitry wasthankful for, it was that Zorin didn’t believe in torturing children. They still had to die, but this sleeping death was preferable.

Zorin’s physician walked in. He examined the boy and then nodded. “He’s gone.”

Dmitry had done this a handful of times. Each time wasn’t easier than the last. There was something gut-churning about putting fear in innocents who were in no way to blame for the sins of their parents. But that was the way of the Russian mafia.

He carried the unconscious boy out of the cellar door and deposited him inside a van. Closing the vehicle’s back doors, Dmitry got into the driver’s seat and drove out of Berlin into a forest where he could bury the body.

This time he had to be more careful because the boy was the son of a high-ranking lieutenant of Zorin’s who had betrayed the Bratva to a rival mob. Dmitry parked the vehicle behind a black van. A CIA operative was waiting for him.

Without another word, the man opened the back of his vehicle and shined a light on a corpse.

“This is the best I can do.”

The corpse bore some resemblance to the unconscious boy, but one familiar with the victim could spot the difference straight away. But it didn’t matter.

“The elements should take care of the difference soon enough,” Dmitry said.

“You can’t save them all, man.”

“I have to,” Dmitry said shortly. He went to the back of his van to retrieve the boy. The boy would find a new life in the United States. A life away from the violence he was born into. There were families who would be eager to take him in, people who had escaped the Russian mob with the help of the CIA.

Dmitry just had to do his part.

Gabe gingerly stretchedhis right arm over the back of the couch to restore blood circulation to that limb. Beatrice hadfallen asleep against him and he loathed moving and waking her up. He’d been watching her sleep; disturbing as that sounded, he couldn’t help it. Her eyes had been vacant when she woke up from her drugged unconsciousness, and her ensuing disdain for his touch had driven him out of his mind. He thought he should give her space, but he was afraid she would build those walls again. Finally coming clean—well, as much as he could—about the myth surrounding his “Angel of Death” persona was a cathartic relief. A spark of life returned to her eyes before she laid her head on his chest and pressed her body into his. At that moment, Gabe felt the ultimate gift of her trust, and he wasn’t going to let her down ever again. He could never tell her straight about what happened to all those children he supposedly had killed, because even the slightest fracture in its secrecy could jeopardize the integrity of the relocation program.

He couldn’t risk the safety of those kids for his personal happiness. This reinforced what he knew all along: there was no one else for him but Beatrice. She understood where he was coming from, not demanding detail but just the assurance that she could trust him not to have done anything irredeemable. Redemption was subjective, but he was fast gaining an understanding of what she could accept.

The sensors in the driveway triggered the CCTV cameras. An Escalade was approaching. Travis and maybe Nate. They didn’t waste any time hauling ass to the safe house after Gabe let them know Beatrice was safe. He didn’t have the opportunity to tell them that the admiral would also be arriving shortly.

The situation was about to get awkward.

13

Awkward was an understatement;tense was more appropriate.

Travis was clenching his jaw so hard when Porter walked into the house, Gabe thought he’d break it. It was the first time the two men had come face to face after Crowe had shot Caitlin, nearly killing her. Gabe also had to reel in his jealousy when the BSI men fussed over Beatrice, especially Nate. The shithead almost had his woman on his lap again. It was probably through extreme throat clearing—all right, growling—from Gabe that Nate must have figured it was certainly not okay.

Caitlin stood back chatting with the admiral. Travis was casting suspicious glares their way.

So, yeah, tense.

Clearly, Beatrice was having none of it.

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