Page 19 of The Bratva Sinner

"This is different."

“Areyoudifferent?” I ask.

“I am.”

I want to believe him. I want to believe there are knights in shining armor. Handsome princes who rescue you from evil.

But I know better.

“I don’t think you are,” I whisper.

He says nothing else. We’re in the city now. I can get lost in a city.

"Pull over," I say. "Here. This will do." I'm looking at a busy intersection with people moving and streets I can disappear into.

He pulls over.

I reach for the door handle, ready to jump out and run nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

"Lila."

I keep my hand on the door and don't turn around.

"You're making a mistake."

"Maybe.”

"The offer stands. Any time. For any reason."

I turn and look at him. I’ve dealt with some assholes on the ranch I worked at. Some men just had an energy you could tell was bad news. Maksim doesn't have that energy. I don’t know who or what he is, and I suspect that he’s dangerous on some level, but I can tell he’s not a threat to me.

He opens the console between us and pulls out a wad of cash and a phone. “Take this.”

“No.”

“Lila, you’re smart. You know you need this money. My number is programmed into the phone. You call, and I’ll come. No conditions."

My instinct says to trust him.

"Okay," I say. “Thanks.”

I push the door open and climb out into the Miami heat. I don't let myself look back when I hear him pull away from the curb. My heart is pounding, and I feel sick, but it has nothing to do with drugs or the concussion. I just walked away from the only security I had.

I stand on the sidewalk for too long. People push past me. They have places to go. I have nothing. I remember the money in hand and quickly count it. Five hundred dollars. I've never had five hundred dollars in my hand at one time. My mother and I lived for a month on less than that.

I fold it and push it into the front pocket of my shorts.

The phone is a prepaid one with a full charge. One contact saved in it, under the letterM.

I shove it in my back pocket and walk.

There's nothing to go back to in Texas. Whatever I left behind wasn't much anyway. My clothes, boots, and old photographs from a life I don’t remember.

The horses. I think about the horses, and that’s when the grief threatens to take me down. I’m not doing it. I can’t grieve. Not yet.

The problem with Miami is that I was a little girl the last time I lived here. I didn’t tell Maksim that there was a connection. Not one I know or understand, but I lived in Miami until Mamma took me and left. My memories are stilted, and she always warned me to never talk about Miami. I’ve never forgotten theone thing my mother said to me years ago when the wine made her talk about the past we were never supposed to speak of.

If something ever happens to me, your father has a brother. Dritan. Little Havana, near the old church on Eighth.