Page 46 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
“Flush us out? How?”
“They blew up the apartment in Ischia.” I swipe a hand over my face. “I thought they had issued a kill order on you.”
“And we ran.”
“Yes, and they were waiting. I’m sorry, malyshka.”
“For what? Trying to keep me safe? You aren’t a mind reader, Sasha. You can’t possibly know what they’re going to do next.”
But I should. I was trained for this, honed. The year away has made me soft, unable to trust my own instincts. “They almost had you.”
“There’s a long way between almost and actually, but…” She hesitates, dropping her gaze to the paper coffee cup clutched in her hands. “When we first met I asked something of you.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I said that if they got me, then I wanted you to kill me.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t. Let them have me.”
“What?”
“You said they may have issued a kill order. If it’s between dying or getting close to that bastard, you know which one I want.”
“It won’t come to that.”
“If it does though, just…let me go.”
I lean forward on the bed, grabbing her jaw. I force her to look at me because I want her to hear loud and clear. “You want revenge. I understand, but do not let your emotions cloud your judgment.”
She swallows slowly, her eyes dropping to my mouth before flicking back up.
“All I have is emotion, Sasha. He took my father. I’m broken and angry, and it feels like nothing will ever be right again.”
“You’re too good to be treated like nothing more than livestock sold at market, Adelina. Even if you get close to him, he’ll watch you like a hawk. You’ll have to bide your time, build his trust…”
“I know,” she whispers. Her hand comes up and gently wraps around my wrist.
“You know what he’ll do to you.”
She nods. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I have nothing else.”
“You do.” I can feel desperation clawing up my throat like a rabid beast, and I don’t believe she wants this.
“The only family I have left is Gabi, and she betrayed me.” Deep down she knows that’s not true. She’s just angry. “My father is dead. There’s no one left to care.”
“I care.” The words leave my mouth in a rush, driven by a foreign fear. I care.
Her eyes lock with mine, the blue so intense, so captivating.
“He will not have you,” I vow, and I can feel the weight of the promise in the air. It suddenly feels important, vital even.
I’m aware of her in a way I haven’t been before. Every rise and fall of her chest, the thrumming of her pulse at her throat, the slight parting of her lips. My world zeros in for a moment, and it’s…nice. I no longer hear the train rattling over the tracks, the tinkling of cutlery in the dining carriage, the person coughing three rooms down… It’s just her, the gentle hiss of her inhaling and exhaling, the lemon scent of her hair, the traces of whiskey on her skin, the coffee on her breath. All I see is her. Blue eyes and chocolate hair. Full lips that seem to continually tilt in the hint of a smile, sinking a small dimple into her cheek. My world is always so broad, a constant strain on the senses, but for a moment—as I stare into the endless depths of her eyes—the world is tiny.
“Thank you,” she whispers, lifting my hand and placing it to her cheek.
Turning her head, she brushes her lips over the inside of my wrist. Electricity skitters up the length of my arm, and my pulse quickens. Then she releases me, and my hand falls away from her skin. The second our connection is broken, everything rushes back in, and it’s like waking from a dream. I frown and stand, taking an unsteady step back. She’s making me weak, vulnerable, and yet, I’m powerless to stop it.
Sixteen hours after we left Rome, we arrive in London. The station is once again busy. Adelina is still weak, though she can support her own weight. I wrap an arm around her waist and keep her close to my side. I don’t expect the Elite to be here. It should take them a few hours to work out where we are, and by the time they do, we’ll be long gone. As soon as we step outside the train station, I spot the license plate that Nero texted to me. A man leans against the side of a black BMW, his gray hair slicked back, and a self-rolled cigarette hangs between his lips.
I approach him. “You work for Mr. Verdi?”
“Mr. Ivanov,” he greets me, his cockney accent particularly thick. He offers me a meaty hand, but I ignore it.
On a shrug, he takes the bags from me and puts them in the trunk. I open the back door and wait for Adelina to slide in before following her. The moment the car pulls away, I’m on high alert, constantly look around, watching for any cars that might be following. After ten minutes, I’ve seen none, and I settle back in my seat. Adelina holds her injured arm across her chest as she stares out the window. She looks pale again, and I know I need to find her some pain killers.
