Chapter 20

The doctor gives me some medication and sleeping pills. At first, I think I'm going to be too filled with adrenaline for the pills to work, but then it's like the sheets are swallowing me. I fall into a studio of light with ballet shoes fitting snugly, dancing around as a little girl laughs. I try to turn toward the laughter, but no matter how much I spin, I can't see the girl. I can only hear her.

As soon as I whisper, "Hello," I wake, covered in sweat, my heart pounding hard.

A surprisingly soft voice comes from beside me. "It's okay."

I turn slowly, feeling sluggish. Aiden sits on a chair next to the bed, a glass of water in his hand.

"Here …" He leans forward, bringing the glass to my lips and tipping it softly. "Slowly."

I slowly sip, letting the cool water filter down my throat. He places the glass down.

"When you're ready, you can shower and have something light to eat. How are you feeling?"

I force myself to sit up. "Tired, but not hurt. My ears have stopped ringing."

"That's a good sign."

"Do you know anything yet?" I ask.

Aiden shakes his head. "You don't need to worry about—" Then he stops, perhaps reading my expression. "No, you deserve to know. The Kozlovs are a relatively small Bratva on the East Coast. They're the ones your brothers liaised with to rescue you. It was a mistake. Apparently, the Kozlovs see this as a chance to make a name for themselves."

"So now what?" I ask as the sleepiness and the dream slowly leave me.

"Now, we make them regret their mistake," he snarls. "Now, we teach them a lesson."

"Wait, who's we?"

"Well …" A smirk touches his lips, but then he gets rid of it as though he's guilty. "Your brothers aren't exactly happy about what happened, either."

That pierces the haze I've fallen into. I lean forward slightly, letting a smile touch my lips. I swear this is the most magical part about whatever's happening here if anything is happening. It's the fact that, no matter what, we can smile. Somehow. "You're working with my brothers?"

"Is this the part where you say I told you so?" he mutters.

"Well, do you still think they're bad people?"

"I don't know enough about them," he replies. "When I met them earlier, my instincts told me they were two men who cared about their little sister. Since then, their actions have proven that. They've moved more of their men into the city. They're ready to go to war for you."

"I don't want that," I murmur. "They both recently got married. What about Mila? What about Lia?"

"Their wives are currently on flights out of the country," Aiden tells me. "Until this is sorted, the Sokolovs want to keep them far away. I've been digging deeper into their operations. It turns out, behind the scenes, your brothers have stopped a lot of bad stuff from happening."

"Hmm," I mutter, then glance across the room. A row of wooden ballerinas sits on the display unit, all in different poses. "How long have you been waiting here?"

He shrugs. "A couple of hours."

"Have you slept? What time is it?"

"It's late—almost ten. No, I haven't. I can't sleep at the best of times."

"Why?"

He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Does it have anything to do with you needing to sit with your back to the wall in the diner?" I ask.

"You read me too damn easily."

"Hey, I'm learning from you."

"I'm on high alert," he says. "I always am, and this has made it worse."

"Because of the military?"

"Maybe. I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"What if we play the food game again?" I ask.

Another smirk touches his lips, this one with a hint of pride. "That doesn't leave me with much choice, does it?"

"See, I can be cunning, too."

He presses his hands on his knees like he's about to stand up, but then he leans forward and brushes his lips against mine. I gasp and lean against him. I can't help it. He kisses me far softer than last time, with more tenderness, and then he pulls away. As he stands and leaves the room, I'm left wondering if it actually happened.

I touch my lips, feeling the wetness, a buzzing heat moving through my body. It's new and exciting and already beginning to feel wildly addictive. He returns with a small plate of food: breadsticks, cheese, small pieces of meat, grapes, and cocktail sticks.

"One stick for one question?" he says.

My stomach warbles, but there's so much support in his expression. He looks so ready to accept me for who I am.

"Okay, yeah, I can do that."

He loads up a stick with cheese and a grape, then hands it to me.

Learning from the last game, I take my time thinking of the right question. "Was there one thing that made you always on alert? One event?"

He considers my question. That's one thing I find so appealing about him. He takes everything I say seriously. He never seems tempted to wave it off as though I'm some kid bothering him.

"Yes," he says after a pause, his voice breaking, then he nods to the stick.

I scrape the food between my teeth, reminding myself what he said, the calories, the importance of being an athlete. Chewing takes a long time, and it feels odd going down my throat, but I manage to do it.

He nods, loading up another stick.

"Tell me what happened."

"We were in Ramadi," he replies, handing me the stick. "It was all urban warfare. You never knew when you were going to get hit." He speaks distantly. I think maybe he has to. "We got bad intel and walked right into an ambush. All nine of my friends were killed. I escaped without a scratch." He shudders. "Without a scratch. How is that even possible?"

I eat the food, then put the stick on the plate and reach over, taking his hand. He holds me tightly, letting me feel all the agony burning through him.

"You were lucky," I murmur.

"Yeah," he growls, "and my friends weren't. They had kids. Wives. I had nothing, but I was the one who got away. It's fucked. The world is fucked."

"Maybe it doesn't have to be," I whisper. He holds my hand even tighter. I tug on him. My throat tries to close with nerves when the words rise up, but I don't let them rule me. "You look like you need a hug."

"Ania …" His tone gets deep and breathy.

"What?"

"Do you have any idea how tempting you are to me? Do you have any idea how difficult this is?"

"I thought we were sort of avoiding that," I tell him. "A couple of kisses …"

"I want more," he groans. "So much more, but you're young. You're my stepsister, and your brothers aren't exactly fans of me."

"None of that matters. Only here. Now. Let's just hold each other." My cheeks feel like they're actually about to set on fire. "Can't we worry about all the rest later?"

"Okay, but first, let's finish this."

He puts the plate on the bed between us and then loads up a stick. My belly already feels full, but every time he looks at me, it's like strength floods into me—support, the knowledge that I can do this. I can be this new version of myself. I know it won't be this easy. I know there will be setbacks, but a new future feels possible for now.