Page 43 of The Bratva's Innocent Forbidden Bride
“No one’s here. No one’s going to hurt you,” he said quietly, seeming to know not to reach for me until I slumped over and put my head in my hands,
His hand smoothed down my back as I sorted my past into its little box in the back of my mind, and tried to force out the new images Kon had supplied me with.
“I’m fine,” I said, throat still raw. How long had I been screaming?”
“I don’t think so, but you will be.” He sighed and ran his hand down my arm to take my hand. “I’m sorry, Tati. I shouldn’t have been so blunt.”
He thought his tirade was the sole source of my nightmares, just like the last time. I let him, slowly raising my head to see that light streamed between the curtains. It was morning. I was okay, at least until night fell again.
“What was it about?” he asked. “I’ve been told it helps to speak about nightmares. Might purge it from your subconscious.” I turned and raised my brows at him, and he shrugged. “What? Someone like me can’t read a psychology book?”
Someone like him. I slowly shook my head. “I don’t remember,” I lied, and it was clear he saw through me.
I refused to tell him about my past bullying. Why would I, when I never told my closest family? There was no way I wanted Kon to see me as a victim, someone who needed coddling even more than he already believed. He looked so tortured, I decided to use his guilt to my advantage.
“You wanted me afraid,” I said with a shrug.
He winced. “I wanted you to know what we’re up against. But I won’t let anyone near you. You’re completely safe.”
“What we’re up against,” I repeated scornfully, pulling away and arranging the tangled bedclothes around me. “There’s noweabout this. It wasn’t what you said that made me so upset; it’s the stress of not knowing anything. Of not doing anything.”
“There’s nothing—”
“No,” I snapped. “Stop telling me I have to wait. There has to be something else I can do. Even if it’s in this damn apartment.”
With a smile, he laid his hand on my back. “That’s a spine made of steel,” he said, then stood. “Come on, then.”
The odd compliment had me glowing, and it scrubbed away the last stains of the nightmare. No one had ever told me I had a spine of steel, but I must, or how could I still be upright under this terrible burden? And it seemed like he was going to let me help.
It took me less than five minutes to step under a stinging hot shower and change into fresh clothes, and I found him in the living room, sitting on the floor like we’d done with our picnic. Instead of takeout food, there were papers strewn across the glass surface, and his laptop was open in front of him.
“About time,” he grumbled, patting the space beside him.
If I were thinking about a detour to the kitchen for coffee, the work scene made me forget it. The chance to get more information or help in any way gave me a stronger jolt of energy than caffeine ever could.
First, he shoved over the sheaf of papers, which were densely packed with columns of names, places, and dates. “Look over all of this carefully. Anything at all you can remember, or that jumps out at you, let me know. No matter how insignificant it seems. If your father bought socks from one of these companies, it could mean something.”
He wasn’t grinning when I turned to him in confusion. As useless as this task seemed, he was serious about it. “This isn’t just busy work?”
“It is, but you wanted to help. This is what I do in between stakeouts and gunfights. It’s not all high action. And if something jumps out at you, it might be important, so I’ll get CJ to dig deeper.”
I got to work, pleased despite the tedious nature of the chore. I read every name twice, searching my mind for any recollection that my father might have mentioned them. Kon tapped away at his computer, a soothing background sound, and we lapsed into a somewhat comfortable silence as we concentrated.
After a while, he got up, laying a hand on my shoulder to keep me working. He came back with coffee and cinnamon rolls, and I ate and drank without taking my eyes off the endless sheets of information.
None of it jogged a single memory. When Kon gave me a stack of photos to sift through, none of the people in them meant anything to me. Frustrated and stiff from sitting so long, I shoved it all aside.
“This isn’t enough,” I complained.
“It has to be,” he said, not looking away from his screen. “I’m not risking your safety again.”
He looked up when I slapped my hand down on the table, rattling the coffee mugs against the glass. “I’m sure that’s expensive,” he said, trying to tease me out of my snit.
But I wasn’t about to be teased or sidelined by his so-called concern for my safety any longer.
“Why do you act like you care so much?”
His head whipped up to look at me, gray eyes narrowed under furrowed brows. “You think it’s an act?”
