Page 117 of Assassin: Part 1

“You say that now, but things can change very quickly, Ilya. What happens when someone comes along, takes Mila, Zakhar, or Oleg? Or, fuck, all three? What happens when they tell you that they are dead, or start sending them back in pieces, and giving me up is the only way you save them? Because those are very real possibilities. And they will not happen overnight. They will happen when you’re good and comfortable. When Mila is away at school, college, or married with kids of her own.”

His lips thin. “I will always love my family, Lane, but that doesn’t mean I will betray you for them.”

“Wrong answer, Ilya. They are your family, and they should come first. I can take care of myself.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should, Lane. Don’t you miss having someone in your corner? Someone who will always be there for you, no matter what? Even if it’s just someone to remind you that you don’t have to be a badass assassin all the damn time? You can be a normal person for a short time.”

“And what normal do you want from me, Ilya? Shopping? Getting my nails done? Baking in the kitchen?” I sneer at that last one. I haven’t baked anything more than the basics in a very long time, and I hated every damn second of it.

Though, that was probably because my assignment at the time wanted a Suzy–Homemaker type woman, and I had a role to fill. Thank fuck I was able to poison his dumb ass and call it a day quickly.

“The normal I want from you is having you here, lisichka. You want to shop and all that, fine. You want to spend all your time scouting the house to find weaknesses, then that’s what you do. I want you, Lane. I want you in my life, in my bed, and I want you to have the life you planned. Because you don’t do shit without one, Lane. Even I know that. What did you want when you pictured everything finished? What was it that you saw with the Butcher dead, the school finished, and your freedom finally within reach?”

Simple questions. Easy ones. Ones I should have an answer to, and yet, I have nothing.

49

ILYA

Ican see the turmoil in her eyes, and as much as I want to quiet it, to stop this, I don’t. We can’t move forward without it. We can’t be ourselves until it’s out in the open.

I force myself to keep quiet, wait patiently, and she finally closes her eyes, slumping back into the wall.

“I don’t fucking know what I planned,” she whispers, voice so low I almost don’t hear her.

“Yes, you do. You always know.”

“I… I figured that we would have crazy monkey sex for a few days, and then I would get back to work. Even with the school gone, things still need to be seen to. I figured I would help Mishka get his territory in order, but he doesn’t actually need me. And I figured I would ensure you had the same while I did my own thing.”

I try not to feel disappointed but can’t quite manage it.

“So you wanted a booty call, and you come and go as you please. You don’t actually want a relationship, Lane, do you? You want the ease and convenience of having someone to fuck when you have an itch, but no actual connection.”

She swallows hard. “That’s not how I looked at it.”

“But that’s how it is.” I ease back, putting space between us as I try not to rage at how much of a fool I’ve been. Bitterness sours my mouth. “That is exactly what you want, no matter how you try to paint it.”

“I… I don’t know anything else, Ilya.” Her words are tight, but there’s a pain in them. My heart cracks and twists.

“Maybe not, but you want something else for your life, and how the hell are you going to get it if you don’t try? If you don’t finally allow yourself some risk?” Unable to hold back the words burning the back of my throat, I launch them, knowing the bomb they’re going to ignite. “I was trying to goad you before, but now I’m starting to realize that I was right. You’re scared, Lane. If it doesn’t fit into what you know, it doesn’t matter or exist. You will put your life on the line, take giant risks to better the lives of others, but when it comes to you, your own emotions, and the ones around you that want to be a part of you, you’re a coward.”

Three. Two. One…

The walls slip away; the cold stare disappears. Her face flushes, and her body vibrates with rage. Whatever edge she was standing on, she’s fallen off.

“Because if I fucking try, everyone fucking dies, Ilya,” she spits. She steps forward, and I step back, but we don’t stop until my knees hit the mattress. I manage not to fall, but I can’t look away from her. “You have no fucking idea what I have done, or the shit I have done to keep people away from me. To keep them off of Pasha’s radar. Off the radar of those sick fucks that worked with him. Abused me. Tortured me. Killed the kids around me for being too fucking weak. The ones I killed to put them out of their misery. Or because they were as rotten and poisoned as the rest of them.

“Do you think I haven’t fucking wished and wanted things? To see my family and know I was sent away while they got to live their fucking normal lives? Away from the darkness that will never let me go? But I had to be practical. I had to be the person Pasha and those cunts created. The ruthless villain in every fucking story. I don’t get to sit in a bath with a man because it’s nice. I don’t get to spend time with a teenage girl and talk to her about school. I don’t get to be fucking normal. I am not wired that way.”

“You can’t⁠—”

“Don’t. Don’t fucking tell me what I can and can’t do. You have no fucking clue, Ilya. None.”

The rage in her eyes is incandescent. A sliver of worry rushes down my spine, and I’m suddenly very aware just how naked and vulnerable I am.

“Do not fucking make me out to be a misunderstood girl who can be fixed. I cannot be fixed. I will not be fixed. Because I don’t fucking want to be anything else. I am not a broken fucking toy that you can put back together with love and some sweet words. This is who I am. You accept that now or don’t. That’s up to you. But don’t you ever fucking tell me what I can and can’t do, Ilya Romanov. And don’t you fucking ever act like you fucking understand. Because you fucking don’t. No one does. Not you. Not Mishka. Not fucking Rori O’Brien. No one.”

She spins away, her shoulders trembling, and I do the only thing I can. I grab her and haul her back, throwing us back on the bed and holding on tight as she fights me. As she tries to break free.