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Stunned silence fell between us like a heavy blanket, thick and oppressive. I’d done a phenomenal job over the past six months keeping our relationship professional. Too good, it seemed. She truly believed she meant nothing more to me. That all ended the second Machail answered her phone. It was time she understood.

“From the moment we met, the only future I envisioned was one where you were by my side.” I pushed on. “I told myself you’d be safer without me, so I kept my distance. In the end, my enemies got to you anyway. You have no idea how terrified I was when I found out Machail had you. If I’d listened to my heart instead of my head, none of it would’ve happened.”

“You’re a good man, Zakhar Vlaschenko. The life you were born into didn’t shape the man you grew into. You did that all on your own.”

“My hands aren’t clean. I killed people––”

“To save my life,” she interrupted.

“I’d do it again without blinking.” I stood, dragging a chair to her bedside. Taking her hand in mine, I kissed along each knuckle softly. “Don’t you see? I’d do anything for you.”

“What exactly are you saying?”

“Give me a chance; give us a chance. My timing is royally fucked up, I know, but we can take it slow. Please think about it.”

My heart thumped wildly in my chest. Thankfully, she didn’t make me wait long for a response.

“Slow?” she snorted. “Do you know how to do slow?”

“I can try.”

“I’m not saying no, but I’m also not saying yes.” A heavy sigh left her lips. “Listen, my whole world is about to change in a way I haven’t even begun to comprehend. Throwing the expectations of a relationship on top of that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Can we start as friends and see what happens?”

I squeezed her hand. “Whatever you want.”

“Okay. Friends.”

Chapter 3

Symphony of Retribution

Prudence

Two days passed. Four dressing changes where I closed my eyes, refusing to look at the place where my leg used to be. Forty-eight hours of sympathetic looks. Two-thousand, two-hundred, and eighty minutes of whispered conversations between Daria and Zak when they thought I was asleep.

I hurt.

I ached.

I wanted my life back.

That’s when I got angry. Not at Zak or the other men, but at myself. Being aware of my surroundings was one of the only things my father ever did for both of his daughters. Yet the night of my kidnapping, I was distracted by a commotion across the parking lot of my apartment complex. In hindsight, it was probably planned. Stupid, so stupid.

Bargaining came next, during which time I realized I wasn’t a good negotiator, even with myself. Finally despair sank its vicious claws deep into my belly. It festered there, getting worse by the day, until I went completely numb. Food tasted like cardboard, water like dirt. No one understood what it was like to feel something that was no longer there, to reach down to scratch an itch on your foot only to have reality smack you hard in the face. Physical pain I could handle, it was the tricks my brain would forever play on me that were harder to deal with. The doctors called them phantom sensations. I called it hell.

My waking nightmare had only just begun.

Zak tried his best to comfort me, even going so far as having my favorite foods delivered. Instead of being grateful, I told him to leave. He never did. No matter how hard I pushed him away, he dug his heels in deeper.

By the third day following my partial amputation, Daria finally had enough. She stood in the center of my hospital room, hands on her hips, eyes blazing, and delivered a threat disguised as an ultimatum.

“You’ve got twenty-four hours to get your ass outta bed and start working with physical therapy or I’ll drag you down to their gym myself. Don’t make me call Mom and Dad. Understand?”

“You’re a bitch.”

“Eh.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You still love me, big sis.”

Inwardly, I smiled. Outwardly, I glared. Calling our parents was where I drew the line. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them, but once I left Nebraska, our relationship became even more strained. When they heard about my injury, they sent flowers and a “get well soon” balloon. Parents-of-the-year material.