Page 39 of Love Me (Touch of Death 3)
“Malyshka,” he whispers into the darkness without moving.
“Do…do you love me?”
The silence that follows is deafening, lingering for so long that I feel sick. “Always.”
One word, and it nearly chokes me. Pain I wasn’t ready for splits my chest wide until I can barely breathe. He loves me, and I hate that he does because there is no happy ending here. I thought he was the white knight in this story, and he was, until he became the monster. The princess doesn’t end up with the monster; she slays him. His love though, that makes everything harder.
For a moment, I don’t know why I’m doing this. My heart beats pitifully in my chest as though it’s already breaking at just the thought of a world without him. On a trembling breath, I swallow heavily, forcing myself to remember what he’s done. He killed my father, and then allowed me to think he was a friend, a lover. All that time, and to this day, he’s never told me. What kind of person does that? And now…now I have no choice. This was always what I intended to do; it’s just been moved up. I can feel the clock ticking away, and I can picture the twisted smile on Enrique’s face.
Sasha rolls over slowly, and I press my lips to his. The kiss is strained and desperate and full of pain. He turns until his body faces mine, his hands clasping my face as though he can sense my hurt. Slowly, I move, straddling him. A hitched sob slips from my lips to his, and my finger slides over the safety on the gun. That tiny click feels deafening in the tense silence. I know he heard it. His entire life is killing. That sound is as familiar to him as his own breaths.
He stills beneath me, and I expect him to throw me off him, to bat the weapon away as easily as he would a fly. I almost want him to. He doesn’t. With a trembling hand, I bring the gun to his head, pressing the barrel beneath his chin. I pull back an inch, and his eyes meet mine, not a trace of fear to be found in them.
“You killed my father,” I choke out, tears already welling in my eyes.
“Yes.”
Yes? That’s it? That’s all I get. Anger and pain and the sheer injustice of everything builds inside me until I feel like I want to burn everything around me to the ground in a fit of rage and sob and scream.
“Why?” I demand, my voice wavering.
Still, he makes no move to grab the gun or stop me, and if anything, it just makes me angrier. “It was a job, a faceless name on a piece of paper. Had I known then…”
My vision blurs, and tears break free, sliding down my cheeks. “What? You wouldn’t have done it?”
“No.”
“You kill people; that’s what you do.” I now sound hysterical, even to my own ears.
“Yes, I do. I killed your father. I caused you untold pain, and I wish I could undo it.” He lifts his hand, grabbing the barrel of the gun.
I let him, too fragile to just pull the trigger. I expect him to pull it from my grip; instead, he presses the weapon to his skin, not allowing me to move it.
Clear blue eyes meet mine, completely rational, totally sincere. “Kill me. I’ll take that bullet gladly if it will bring you peace, malyshka.”
I close my eyes, tears coming harder now.
“Just promise me something?”
My eyes flash open, meeting his. Reaching out, he tentatively grips my face, his touch so gentle. My hand trembles on the gun as his thumbs swipe beneath my eyes.
“Stop going after Bianchi. Disappear. Be safe. Consider this closure.”
“He ordered the hit.”
“I know, but. . . revenge will consume you, malyshka.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” My voice breaks as the sting of betrayal burrows deeper under my skin. “When I first suggested going to him? When you came to me before the wedding.”
His eyes soften, and he strokes a strand of hair away from my face. “I loved you. At first, I was terrified of leaving you. The day you married Bianchi, if I’d told you then, would you have believed me? Or would you have thought it was a ploy?”
I waver, my grip on the gun, loosening. “And now?”
“Now, I love you. If this is what you need…” His fingers wrap around mine, enclosing them around the hilt of the gun. “Do it. I have escaped death many times, killed for money without question. Why not die for love?”
I have to do this. Enrique will rain down things I know I’m not ready for if I don’t. I should hate Sasha, but I can’t. To him, my father was a job. Enrique was the one with the vendetta. Enrique was the one who was too cowardly to even do it himself. I’ve always known Sasha was a killer; I knew what he did. I was okay with it until it was my father he killed, someone I cared about.
