Page 38 of Beautifully Damned
Roman pulled back into himself. Every inch I try to gain, he vanishes a mile deeper. I push, he shuts down. I try to soften, he hardens. But I can’t lie to myself anymore.
There’s something between us. A sick, twisted, impossible thing that keeps threading itself into my ribs no matter how hard I try to cut it out. It’s there. And it’s not going away. Which makes me hate myself a little more.
To forget the storm in my heart, I bury myself in work. I’m on my knees in the foyer, dragging the cloth over tile that’s already spotless.
Should I have taken Emir’s offer? Should I have run? The thought alone makes me bite down on my lip until the taste of metal hits my tongue.
If I had left, I wouldn’t feel this way about Roman. That much I know. He’s not kind. He’s not gentle. He’s violence and venom and something so deeply broken it echoes in every room he walks into. He burns everything he touches and dares you to beg for more.
There’s nothing lovable about Roman Volkov.
Nothing.
In a split second, it feels like life itself is sucked out of the space. The air grows thick with violence. I turn my head to seeRoman standing behind me, and the look in his eyes—God, it’s inhuman. He lifts his gun, and the sound of the bullet tears through the silence. I flinch so hard I nearly fall forward, my hand scraping the wet floor. I turn my head just in time not to see the blood, but I hear the sound of the guard hitting the tiles.
Bile rises in my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth and curl into myself, pulling my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth in an attempt to silence the panic roaring in my ears.
A shadow looms over me, and I’m suddenly weightless. His scent wraps around me.
Elena stumbles out of the kitchen, pale as death. Her mouth opens to speak, but no sound comes out. Roman doesn’t spare her a glance.
"Pozvoni Lare. Pust' priyedet i uberot eto der'mo." He growls. I manage to catch the words “Lara” and “clean” from that string of Russian. Morbid curiosity gnaws at me. I turn my head, searching for the body. Before I can see, his hand covers my eyes. He then climbs the stairs, carrying me with the same ease someone might carry a bag of groceries.
Roman kicks the bedroom door open with his boot and deposits me. I stumble forward, catching myself on the edge of the bed, my legs still trembling from what just happened downstairs. He turns to leave before I can collect myself.
“No,” I whisper at first, but it bursts out of me before I can stop it. “No—what the hell is wrong with you?”
The more time I spend in this place, the less my mind functions like it used to. Logic doesn’t live here. Safety doesn’t exist.
"Why did you shoot him?" I yell. “He didn’t do anything! He was just standing there!”
Roman turns around slowly, and he looks at me like I’m something pathetic and fascinating all at once.
His voice is calm. “He looked at you.”
“What?” I screech.
“He looked. At you.”
“That’s it?” I shout. “That’s the reason you ended a life? Because helookedat me?”
“This is my kingdom,” he hisses. “My rules. I don’t care if he fucking breathed in your direction—if I don’t like it, it dies. Understand?”
“You’re insane.”
He walks closer towards me. “You can’t keep doing this,” I say, backing into the bedpost. “You don’t just get to play god.”
He smirks. “Oh, little girl. That’s exactly what I do.”
I want to slap that expression off his face, but I haven’t reached that point of stupidity just yet.
“Why?” I whisper.
Roman stops inches away from me. We’re practically chest to chest, I can feel his breath when he speaks. “You want to know why?” he asks.
I stare up at him, fists clenched. “Yes. Tell me. Tell me why.”
He leans in.
