Page 99 of Requiem of Sin

“I never hear her cry. Or scream. We’re safe here.” The kid eyes me with a twinkle of knowing mischief. “And she really likes you.”

I damn near choke on a ball of cookie dough. “Is that so?”

Willow nods with that same grin stretched from ear to ear. “She talks about you a lot. And she looks for you all the time.” She leans forward and cups a tiny hand around her mouth. “I think shelikelikes you,” she whispers fiercely.

“And how wouldyouknow?”

She shrugs. “Mommy told me.”

Hm. Sounds like Mommy’s been doing a lot of talking when I’m not paying attention to the CCTV, which is quite a feat, since I’m nevernotpaying attention. And despite Clara’s hesitation and clear attempts to stay as far away from me as possible, I’m less inclined to believe it’s because she despises me.

“Demyen?”

I tear my gaze away from where Clara’s bent over a table and give Willow my undivided attention as much as humanly possible. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you have any kids?”

Well, fuck.I’m not ready for this question, nor am I prepared for the way it backhands me with her sweet innocence as she asks it.

I blow out a puff of air. Shit, she should start coming with me to interrogations. I haven’t broken into a sweat like this since I was tied to a chair at seventeen. And it’s not because I’m afraid of giving her the wrong answer.

It’s because I’m afraid of the answer that comes immediately to mind.

“I’d be a terrible father. I don’t know the first thing about dealing with kids, and I sure as shit don’t know how to be a good husband. And I don’t want to have kids with just anyone because if I ever did have children, I’d need to know their mother loves them as much as she loves me. And no one is stupid enough to love me. That’s just fucking dangerous.”

The kitchen falls silent. I’m painfully aware I’ve just dropped some juicy word-bombs in front of a five-year-old who is officially staring at me like I’ve grown three extra heads.

From the sounds still coming from the dining room, Clara didn’t hear a word of it.

Thank God.

Willow tilts her head to one side and peers at me. But then she smiles. “You’re silly.”

I slide the chair back and take the empty bowl to the sink. “Thanks.”

I nearly drop it into the soapy water when I suddenly feel a tiny human wrap herself around my leg and squeeze. I don’t know what to do. Willow is hugging me like her life depends on it, and when I look down at her, she beams up at me.

So I do the only thing that seems rational and I very lightly pat her on the head.

“See?” she asks like I should know exactly what she’s talking about. “You’re a great daddy.”

And before I have a chance to processthatbombshell, Willow lets go and skips away to join her mother in the dining room. She leaves me to clean up the ice cream, and worse—she leaves me with my darkening thoughts spiraling into panic.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

41

CLARA

“Mommy?”

“Yes, baby?” It’s a half-attentive response, since I’m more focused on weaving her braids tight so they won’t fall out in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I have the perfect grip and rhythm, and other times…

Well, none of those other times ever involved me being distracted by a strong, chiseled, dangerous man who makes me flush with heat every time I think about him.

“When are we going home?”

My fingers pause mid-weave. I swallow hard, trying to quickly come up with an answer that won’t upset her. “I don’t know.” I also don’t think we’ll ever actually go back to that place—not if we can help it.

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