Page 92 of Brutal Reign
It’s crazy. He forced me to marry him. But every hour, it feels like I’m losing this battle with myself, piece by piece, kiss by stolen kiss.
And every time Kin looks at Pavel with pure adoration is like a knife twisting deeper. Watching Pavel with his own son while keeping the truth locked away.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I warn.
“Too late,” he says, satisfaction thick in his voice.
I watch his profile, remembering this morning when he helped Kin tie his shoes, the patience in his voice when he explained why Russians drive on the “other side of the road” than we did in Hong Kong. Pavel deserves to know howmuch I appreciate this, even if everything else between us is complicated.
“You’re a natural with kids, you know,” I say. “You’re very sweet with Kin. He really does like being with you.”
Pavel’s smile falters. Something shutters in his expression, and his grip tightens on the steering wheel. I don’t know what I said, but the sudden tension in the car makes me wish I’d kept my mouth shut.
“I had practice,” he says quietly. “I raised my younger sister after our parents died.”
The words hang between us like a confession. Dinara had mentioned something about a sister, but she was cagey with the details. Still, curiosity gets the best of me.
“What happened?” I ask softly.
His hands are white-knuckled on the wheel. “Our parents were killed in a car crash when I was fifteen. Kamilla was six. The state wanted to put her in the system, split us up. I couldn’t let that happen.”
My lungs seize. I already know this story doesn’t have a happy ending.
“I dropped out of school, tried to find legitimate work, but who’s going to hire a fifteen-year-old with no job experience? So I started working for a local gang. It was the only way to keep us fed, keep the lights on.” His voice goes flat, emotionless. “It meant leaving her alone for hours at a time, sometimes overnight. I hated doing that, but there was no choice. There was no one to look after her.”
Instinctively, I cover his hand resting on my lap with my own. His fingers turn under mine, gripping tight like I’m the only thing keeping him afloat.
“One night, my boss wanted me to work this underground boxing event. Big money, but it meant being gone all night. Kamilla was upset—she’d been having nightmares, didn’t wantme to leave.” He takes a shuddering breath before forcing the words out. “She begged me to stay until she fell asleep. Only an hour or two, but I couldn’t. In that world, you don’t get to say no. I promised her I’d spend the whole next day with her, told her we’d do whatever she wanted.”
His profile is carved from stone, jaw clenched so tight I’m afraid his molars might crack. “When I got home at dawn, she was gone. Just vanished. No sign of a break-in, nothing disturbed. I thought someone had taken her, maybe a rival gang, someone with a grudge.” He swallows hard. “I looked for her for days, then weeks, months, then years. I never stopped. Poured everything I had into finding her.”
“Oh God, Pavel.” I bite back tears as the full horror of it hits me. “I’m so sorry.”
Something changes in his eyes. The successful, powerful man beside me disappears, replaced by that broken teenage boy who lost everything.
“She must have gone out looking for me.” The words come out like they physically hurt him. “Maybe she had another nightmare. I’ll never know. She left our apartment wearing only her pajamas and a thin coat, carrying that stuffed rabbit she’d had since she was a baby. February in Moscow is brutal; she didn’t make it three blocks before...”
He doesn’t have to finish. I know what he’s going to say. She froze to death. A sob catches in my throat. Six years old, alone and scared, looking for the one person who made her feel safe. The image of that little girl in her thin pajamas, shivering in the dark, breaks something inside me.
“The police didn’t give a shit about a missing kid from our neighborhood. They found a body and listed her as a Jane Doe. It didn’t even make the papers.” His voice is completely flat now, like he’s reciting facts. “It was only years later, when I had theresources, that my tech guys were able to hack into the police database and match her DNA to mine.”
My heart feels like it’s been crushed. The paintings in his room, all that raw emotion. He’s been carrying this guilt for years, painting his way through the pain.
“Pavel,” I whisper, but I don’t know what else to say, so I reach out and cover one of his hands with my own.
“All those years, I thought someone from a rival gang had taken her, something to prove a point. But the truth is worse. She died because of the choices I made. Because I left her alone and terrified.”
I shake my head, desperate for him to hear me. “You were trying to survive. To take care of her.”
His voice goes hard. “I was her guardian. Her brother. I was supposed to protect her. I tried so hard, but I failed her.”
Without thinking, I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean over, wrapping my arms around him as much as the car allows. He’s driving and is so much bigger than me that it’s awkward, but I don’t care. I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone else’s life, to carry that crushing weight of knowing their safety depends on your choices.
“Aren’t you supposed to hate me, Hope?”
“I’m trying to, but you keep making it impossible,” I say back, my face pressed against his shoulder.
He pulls back to look at me, and even through his flimsy smile, I can see the devastation in his expression.
