Page 136

“It’s just hard. To talk about that time.” Her throat worked, the effort visible. “Even after years of therapy.”

“Take as long as you need.” His voice was rough.

After a moment, she opened her mouth and said, “Sergei … he saw to our … sexual education. First Tatiana. From thirteen until she was married off at sixteen.” She didn’t look away. “Then it was my turn. He raped me. Repeatedly. For almost three years.”

Even half-expecting them, the words stole his breath. Twisted his gut.

His thumbs stilled for a fraction of a second before resuming, just as steady. “I’m sorry. So goddamned sorry.”

She gave a faint shrug. “He was the Pakhan. Nobody stopped him. Nobody told us it was wrong. No one tried to get us out.” Her voice dropped. “It was … normal.”

Normal.

Ronan locked everything down. Forced himself to stay steady.

There’d be time later to deal with the rage building under his skin.

She’d survived. That’s what mattered.

“Inessa’s thirteenth…” She let out a wry breath. “Not Inessa. Raegan.” A crooked smile touched her lips, softening her expression. “My little sister. She’s so strong, Ronan. A born warrior. Incredibly smart, too.”

Felicity’s fingers shifted in his. “She’d planned our escape. The next new moon. Just a few days to go.”

The softness vanished. Her expression hardened, turning flinty. “Sergei came back early from a business trip. Brought guests with him. There was a birthday dinner. Cake. Candles.”

She pulled a hand free, swiping it across her mouth. “And then he announced that his most honored guest — a Russian oligarch — was to be my husband. The wedding was set for the next day.”

A quiet, cutting laugh escaped her. “Sergei was depraved. But Stepan Volodin was something else entirely. Marrying him…” She exhaled slowly. “That was a death sentence.”

She lifted her coffee, but her hand shook.

Ronan removed the mug from her before she could spill, setting it aside. He took her hand again, grounding himself in the simple fact of the miracle of her — alive, here, trusting him.

“Tatiana escaped her hell of a marriage by jumping off a building.” Her voice didn’t waver. “I figured I’d follow her example. Then—”

She dragged in a shuddering breath. “It was after dinner. The vodka flowed. The jokes turned lewd.” Her fingers bit into his. “Sergei decided it was time to start Inessa’s education. He dragged her to his office. And I” — her mouth twisted — “obedient little Pakhan whore, asked to join.” Felicity tilted her head, her expression closing off. “To help coach Inessa.”

Her gaze snapped back to his. “You see…

“I knew he kept a loaded pistol in his desk. And I’d finally found my backbone — Sergei Liminov was going to die that night.”

Ronan couldn’t stop himself. “I hope you put a bullet between his eyes,” he ground out.

She shook her head, slow and deliberate. “I failed. But Inessa stabbed him. Right in the carotid.”

He stared at her, the image hitting hard and fast.

Her sister. Thirteen.

His jaw tightened, and he forced himself to stay with her. “Tell me what happened,” he said, his voice rough.

“I didn’t pull the fucking trigger. That’s what happened.” She shook her head, breath uneven. “I had the pistol. Had it trained on him. But I was shaking so badly, and I couldn’t…” She looked down, her swallow harsh. “Pull. The fucking. Trigger.”

She wrenched her hands free. “You shouldn’t touch me,” she snarled, and surged to her feet, the chair tipping over behind her. She stalked to the back door, rubbing her arms.

Ronan watched, his heart aching. But he didn’t reach for her. Didn’t close the distance. He wanted to. Dear God, how he wanted to.

“Okay,” he said, voice low. “No touching.” His gaze stayed on her. Steady. “But I’m not going anywhere.”