3. Chapter 3

3

I t's crazy how one moment everything fades away, and you can feel this calmness rush over you. The inner peace you feel that no one—that nothing—can touch you. Then the smallest thing, a smell, the look of someone, something so simple, and the memories come flying back. Then the overwhelming urge to off myself floods my brain.

I think about killing myself all the time. About what it would be like if I just took a blade to my wrist and felt the warmth leave my body. To feel the coldness wrap around me, the oxygen leaving my lungs. I could swallow those final moments, a smile on my face, knowing I would finally be at peace.

I could open the passenger door and feel the wind against my skin one final time before jumping out, my head connecting with the concrete. I'm not sure if it would hurt, but anything would be better than the doom I feel in the pit of my stomach. The uneasiness grows from sitting next to this man with a decent-sized man-bun and annoyingly masculine energy. I don't like him, and I don't trust him.

Granted, it's not very hard for me to not like or trust someone—not anymore .

I stepped out of the bathroom into my room earlier, finding more people in my personal space than I preferred, including this stranger who wouldn't stop staring at me. I'm used to people having their gaze on me. It's been that way since I was born. Growing up with a father being the Pakhan in Russia and a brother being Pakhan in America, you become accustomed to the public, the staring, meeting random people, and then the killing. That's nothing new. Just like the women in this world are either sold or married off.

Which is why I'm currently stuck in a car with a man I don't know, on my way to a place I also don't know, having to put my trust into a stranger.

I don't like it. Not at all.

Imagine my surprise when Dad told me Antonio–the leader of the Italian Mafia–wanted my hand in marriage. Not only is he thirty years older than me, putting him at fifty, but he also wants to kill my Aunt Salem. Almost everyone wants to kill her. After her entire family was murdered in front of her years ago, she took it upon herself to seek revenge, making a mess out of the cartel, the Italians, and even us—the Russians. All because she fell in love with Dad's enforcer, my Uncle Zane. Not that I'm complaining. I'm happy for them; she got her happy ending. It just means our involvement with her puts a target on our backs.

It's been a week since I found out Antonio wants to marry me, and a day since my parents decided to ship me off. I'm supposed to go into hiding until they figure out a way to get Antonio off their backs. I'm not sure why they don't just kill him. It would make things a lot easier. But as my brother Tobias says, we can't just go killing off everyone that crosses us. I'd call him a bitch, because that's exactly what it means.

But I have no room to speak. I was beaten and stopped talking.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I hear is a loud bang and my body being jerked. My heart pounds behind my ribcage, the tips of my fingers go numb, and my eyes flutter. I feel myself being pulled in too many directions. My eyes fall on Jace standing in front of the windshield, staring at me. I gulp for air, but it's too late.

"Bucket!" someone yells. I yank my head to the side, trying to stop them, but it's no use. The cloth falls over my face. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out. Water pours over my face, filling my mouth, no matter the amount of spitting or struggling. The water fills my lungs; it burns. Everything burns, my body is on fire, and when I don't think I can take it anymore, it all stops. The pressure in my head intensifies, my vision is blurry and all I can do is scream when the whip lashes against my stomach. Every sound I make only encourages the men around me to whip me harder and faster. The lashes break my skin open, forcing blood to pour from my body. I try to scream only the water fills my mouth, drowning me. I can feel the fuzziness invade my head.

"Blake?"

I blink my eyes open. Jace frowns inches from my face. Jerking back, I scramble over to the driver's side. I need to get away, I need to get out. They're after me. They're going to find me. I won't escape .

Anger and panic lick up my spine. My fingers brush the door handle, giving me enough room to yank, and causing my body to tumble out onto the ground.

I can hear Jace saying something, but because of the blood rushing in my head, everything is muffled. The stares from others around me aren't helping and when someone grabs a hold of my bicep, I'm yanking the small knife from my pocket, plunging it into their side.

"Fuck."

Oh, no.

My eyes widen, my vision clearing as I look up, finding Jace's pinched expression. I yank the knife out. I know what I did, but I can't bring myself to handle physical contact. Not when he's looking at me like he did something wrong. I was the one who panicked and stabbed him. I'm the one who has too many issues that no one deserves to deal with.

My hands start moving before I know what I'm doing, signing random words, trying to get him to understand.

Jace frowns at my hands, shaking his head. It's the typical response I get. Most people don't understand me.

"Stop," he grits out. "I need the first aid kit from the trunk."

Biting my lip, Jace walks around popping the trunk open, before he reaches inside and grabs the first aid kit, handing it to me. My hands shake as I take it from him, my legs nearly buckling as I follow close behind Jace into the gas station. Pulling my hood back up, my eyes bounce around, the uneasiness of a public place rooting in my chest. I don't like people, and I surely don't like public spaces. Once we reach the bathroom, Jace stumbles inside, peeling off his jacket and shirt. His entire stomach and chest are covered in large tattoos. Ranging between a skull covering the majority of his stomach, both sides and chest. A mix of skulls along his left arm. Each pec holds a clock. I don't understand the significance of the times, and I'm trying my best not to ogle the man.

"Lock the door," he orders.

Shaking my head, my eyes refuse to leave Jace's. I hold the medical kit in front of me as if this small thing will hide me from the irate look he's shooting at me .

"Lock the damn door," he says again, wincing a bit when he tries to stand taller.

I smirk into my hood, enjoying his pain a little too much. I shouldn't have stabbed him, but he shouldn't have touched me. It's common sense. Plus, didn't my family warn him not to touch me?

"Blake, lock the fucking door. I'm not trying to bleed out here while arguing with you. I just don't want someone walking in and asking questions you can't answer."

I glower at the ground; my black vans are caked with mud on the sides. Rubbing the heel of my foot on the toe of the other, I try getting the mud and dirt from my shoes. I know Jace was making a dig at me for not talking, and I know it shouldn't bother me. I don't know him, nor do I want to. I hate him, in fact. But the digs, the snarky comments about my being mute–I thought I had gotten over them. It's been three years. They can't touch me.

"We're not doing this." He motions between us. "Lock the damn door so I can stitch this up."

I shake my head, refusing. I can't and I won't just lock the door for a man. My heart squeezes in my chest. I'm trapped inside that room again.

"Hey, Sunshine."

My head snaps up at his words. Sunshine . I'm far from that. I'm a ball of darkness, trapped inside, begging to be let out.

"I don't know your past. I don't know you and hell, you don't know me, for that matter. But I need you to listen to me." He inclines his head toward the door.

I'm shaking my head before he can even finish. I can't be locked in a room with a man again. I can't. My hands fumble, and the knife and medical kit clatters to the floor. My eyes widen, the panic rising in my throat. I feel like I can't breathe. Then Jace is suddenly in front of me, gripping my throat. My hands wrap around his wrist, my nails digging into his skin. I jerk back, trying to get him off of me. I need to get to my knife; I need it. I can't protect myself without it. I don't trust someone to protect me from Antonio and his crazy idea to marry me. Jace reaches around me and the moment I hear the sound of the latch, my fist slams into his side, causing my hood to slip off my head. Jace grunts but refuses to let go of my neck.

"You're freaking out, and I don't have time to make sure you're good. So, you're going to have to just put your good ol' faith in me right now. You stabbed me and now I have to stitch myself up; I can't have a random person walking in here asking questions." His words fall on deaf ears. I know the words he's speaking, but I just can't comprehend them.

"It's not me you want to stab, Sunshine. But once I get you safely out of here, I'll gladly let you stab me all you want. Once you're safe." He smiles down at me. Jace's hand drops from my throat, breaking away from my grasp. Backing away, he bends down, picking up the first aid kit and my knife. I expect him to toss the knife, pocket it, or do anything else but hand it to me.

Taking it from him, I watch Jace head to the sink and slowly start cleaning his wound. How is he okay with me just stabbing him? I don't understand. The last person I stabbed was a guard who stood too close, and I freaked out. Dad got so mad he took all the knives from the kitchen and locked them in his office so I couldn't access any weapons in there. Thankfully, Gabriel understood my need and always got me a new one.

"Come on, Sunshine," Jace mutters. Glancing up, I hadn't realized I had zoned out. He now stands in front of me in just his jacket and the medical kit in hand. His shirt lies forgotten on the ground. "I would reach around and unlock the door, but for the sake of you feeling a little stabby again, would you mind doing it?" he asks, motioning towards the door.

Narrowing my eyes up at him, I stop myself from smiling at his words. Pulling my hood up, I slide over, letting him unlock the door himself. Blindly following Jace once more out of the gas station and back to the car, I get inside while he finishes pumping gas. Once he slides in, I peek over at him when he fails to start the car right away.

"You don't trust me," he states. Even though he's not asking me, I shake my head. I don't trust anyone. Not anymore. Jace nods his head, eyes moving to the windshield .

"You might not trust me, and that's fine. I've already stated we don't know each other. But for the time being, if I tell you to do something, it's for a good reason. Can you understand that?"

I shrug. I understand where he's coming from. He might have been sent in for my protection, to keep me safe until Antonio is dealt with, but that doesn't mean I can trust him.

"Was it someone close to you?" he asks, his eyes still on the windshield. I don't know why it's easier to nod with him not focused on me. Jace must have seen me from the corner of his eye because, once again, he nods.

"I was in the military a few years back, and there were sixteen of us. Information got leaked, one of the men turned against the unit, and a lot of the men were hurt. Only two survived."

I nod my head along with his words, understanding his pain. Someone was close to Jace, and he was betrayed. It doesn't take a genius to know that he doesn't trust much either.

"I understand that you're scared. I understand you don't trust me and that's fine. But if we're being attacked and I tell you to run, I need to know you're going to do that. I can't worry about making sure you're doing what I ask when I'm fighting or doing whatever I'm doing at the moment." Finally turning towards me, Jace's gaze washes over me. And for the first time, I feel the truth in his words. I might not know him, but the sincerity in his eyes is enough for me, for now.

"Can you do that for me?" he asks.

Glancing over at the window, I watch people get into their cars and drive away. Some get out and begin pumping their gas, others stay in the passenger seat on their phone. A part of me longs to be normal, to have a boyfriend that I fight with for normal reasons. The idea of packing up and going to a college, somewhere far, far away from here. Longing for some type of normalcy. I hadn't always wanted to be a regular twenty-year-old. I loved growing up in the mafia—I had loving parents, and a brother who would do anything for me. But now? I feel lost and trapped under a cloud I can't get out of .

"Blake?" Jace mutters.

Peeking over at him, he frowns when I fail to do anything. Slowly raising my hand, I touch my finger to my lip before pulling it down to my other hand.

"I don't understand," he frowns.

Taking a deep breath, I bring my pinky between us. Jace's frown deepens, eyes traveling to my hand before backing up to my face. Slowly he intertwines our pinkies together. My skin ignites and the feeling of his skin against mine makes me stabby. Pushing it down, I focus on the confusion in his eyes.

"Promise?"

Nodding my head, I pull my hand back and repeat what I signed.

"Promise," Jace mutters, a smile spreading across his face.

Blinking, I give him a tiny smile. It's not much, but it's a start and when he brings his finger to his lips, repeating the action, my heart squeezes and my lungs freeze.

Thankfully, Jace saves me from having to sit in the awkward silence when he shoves the key into the ignition and music filters through the car.

I sink into my seat. Maybe Jace isn't so bad.