We’re pressed against one another so closely that I want to stop time right at this moment. Lately, whenever we’re this close, she pushes back or tries to put as much distance between us as possible.
But right now, she stares up at me with expectant eyes, eyes so full of light, I want to kick myself and throw my body into a ditch for ever tainting her with my darkness.
These eyes are only meant for light.
We continue swaying slowly, gently, and she doesn’t stop staring at me. Whenever the rain gets in her eyes, she blinks it away to watch me closely, as if wanting to peel open my exterior and peek inside me.
“Does this mean you’ll forget about the past?” she murmurs hopefully, expectantly.
And I hate to crush that hope, or decimate it, but that’s exactly what I have to do to give her a new beginning.
One where I’m not tarnishing her life.
I was always meant to break Annika Volkov. I just didn’t know I’d be the one broken instead.
“I can’t erase my past.”
Her feet come to a halt as everything shakes—her chin, her body, her lips. “What about your present and future?”
“I’ve already lost those.”
“That’s not—”
Her words are cut off when a commotion erupts on other end of the beach.
I frown.
No one is supposed to be here. This island is owned by Grandpa Jonathan and only he and Dad use it whenever they need a holiday. But they wouldn’t come over, considering they both know I’m here.
Unless they decided to come uninvited. Maybe Mum and Nan pressured them into bringing them here to see me?
No.
Something is wrong about this.
“Stay here,” I tell Annika and start to take the road down.
When I turn around to make sure she didn’t go back to the rocky shore, I find her hot on my heels.
“What?” she asks. “I want to know what’s going on.”
It’s useless to try to stop her and we don’t have time anyway. The rain has stopped as abruptly as it started by the time we reach the beach.
Several men in black patrol the whole area like some special agent soldiers.
I don’t hear footsteps, but I hear Annika’s shriek as I’m hit from behind.
Pain explodes in the back of my neck and I fall to my knees. My wrists are wrung behind my back as a Russian-accented voice mutters, “Got him, Boss.”
When I lift my head, I find none other than the man who murdered my childhood and bathed in its blood.
The man who gave Annika life.
Adrian Volkov.
And he’s holding a gun to my temple.
39
ANNIKA
It’s strange how the world can flip upside down in a matter of minutes.
A few moments ago, I started hoping again, pining, dreaming of convincing Creighton to give up on his vendetta.
And that was after two days of nightmarish, bleak surrender. Due to his complete inflexibility, my heart broke to pieces. I lost all hope and became a shell of my former self.
The thought of him turning into this heartless person who only sees vengeance has been ripping me apart and I couldn’t withstand the torture. So imagine my surprise when he finally listened.
He stood there and heard me out.
He didn’t attempt to antagonize me. He was even…scared. It was the first time I’ve seen that fear in his eyes.
Hell, even when I pointed a gun at him, he wasn’t afraid. He was more like resigned.
He said he’d let me go home.
He embraced me in his safe arms and danced with me under the rain.
We were going somewhere and now we aren’t.
Now, he’s being held down by Kolya’s massive hand as he stands like a wall behind him and Papa points a gun at his forehead.
And the worst part is, he looks ready to kill him, and not just in a normal way, no. This is the second time I’ve witnessed Papa’s detached murderous face. The first was during my attempted kidnapping. His face is set, lips thinned, and his eyes are so dark, they’re unable to reflect the light.
I’ve always known Papa killed people, but this is the first time I’ve seen him as a killer.
A cold-blooded, ruthless killer.
His men circle us with methodical stratagem, all tall, dressed in black, and with assault rifles slung over their chests. It’s like they’re out to snuff out a rival organization, not a simple college student.
I search every face, but there’s no sign of Yan or Boris—the only two who might get on my side. They were probably left behind to protect Mom.
“You have the audacity to kidnap my daughter?” Papa’s calm words reverberate in the gloomy air, but the amount of rage that bubbles beneath the surface leaves me panting.
Creighton stares him straight in the face, his gorgeous features sharpening, showing no hint of backing down.
Grown men beg and implore in his position, especially if they know who Adrian Volkov is and what he’s capable of.
Not only is Creighton not panicked, but he also apparently has a death wish. Because he says, “Just like you had the audacity to take her from me in the first place.”
Papa hits him with the butt of the gun, sending his face flying sideways, and blood explodes from his lips.
“Papa!” The blow might not have been directed at me, but I feel it deep in my soul, and I don’t think about it as I run to Creighton.
To the gorgeously haunted man with demons who refuse to leave him alone.
“Stay back, Anoushka.” Papa stares at me, still holding the gun to Creighton’s forehead.
The way he looks at me is different from the way he regards the world. He’s not an emotionless killer right now. He’s a worried father with molten eyes and a rigid posture.
I can only imagine what he, Mom, and Jeremy have been through during the time they didn’t know where I was.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks slowly, menacingly.
“No, Papa. Please let him go.”
“I will do that after he’s tortured to within an inch of his life. I’ll hang him from the ceiling and lash his skin for every day he thought he could take you from your family.”
A full-body shudder slashes through my limbs and it takes everything in me to remain standing. “Papa, please…don’t.”
“Do it.” Creighton bares his bloodied teeth in a snarl. “Torture me. Kill me. Stab me to death then continue slicing my corpse like you did my father. You shouldn’t have left me alive back then, but now is your chance to fix that mistake. If you don’t kill me, I’ll come back over and over, and fucking over again.”
“What the hell are you saying? Shut up!” My limbs shake and a shiver skids through me and it has little to do with my wet clothes.
Papa tightens his grip around the gun, probably considering whether he wants to torture him first or just kill him and get it over with.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” Creighton speaks to me, but his cold gaze is locked with Papa’s. “Isn’t your family everything that matters? I’m making it easier for you.”
It hits me then.
The realization is so fierce that I stumble a step back, my flip-flops sinking in the sand.
All this time, all those words, all that torture was because he thought I was choosing my family over him.