Page 25 of The Bratva Sinner

I pull over the chair and sit, so we're level. I've done this before with women who've been through things. But I’m pissed. Angry she didn’t listen to me. Furious that she could have been killed.

She cries before I can say any of it.

Her eyes fill up and spill over. She drops her head like she’s ashamed to show emotion.

I know better than to move toward her. I stay where I am and let her have space. When she wants my comfort, she’ll let me know.

"My father sold me." I hear the pain in her voice, and I feel it in my soul. "He owed money to Arlind, and he paid with me. I was ten. My uncle said it wasn't just the debt. That something about my blood makes me worth more than money to the right man. He wouldn't explain it. I don't even know what that means." She wipes her face with the back of her wrist. "My mother found out, and she ran with me. And then they came to Texas and killed her in front of me."

My heart twists. I know that pain. It takes every ounce of self-control not to reach for her and offer comfort.

She looks at me. Excruciating pain mars her features, but it's not the kind of injury that can be healed with medicine or dulled with painkillers.

"He's been looking for me for nine years," she says. "He wants what he paid for."

I hold her gaze and don't give her anything that looks like pity because she would shut down. I know that much about her.

"I'm sorry," I say, and mean it. The words are inadequate but honest.

She nods once and exhales shakily.

I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and just stay in the space, close enough to offer support but far enough to let her breathe.

"You have to stay here," I say. "Not because I'm telling you to. Because it's the only arrangement that makes sense right now. He knows you're in the city. He knows you don't have resources. Out there, alone, you're a target that's standing still."

She stares at the floor and I watch her think through it. She didn't want to accept the harsh reality the first time around, but she understands now. Her life as she knew it would never be the same.

"Why would you do that?" she says quietly. "You don't know me. Why does any of this matter to you?"

It's a fair question. I've been asking myself why since I first laid eyes on her.

"It's what I do," I say.

She frowns.

"You don't have to understand it,” I tell her. “You just have to accept it. Believe it.”

Lila looks back at the floor. The fight has gone out of her posture. She’s not broken—I don't think she breaks easily—but she’s hollow. Like she used everything she had today, and there's nothing left to argue with.

"Okay," she says so softly I almost don’t hear the word.

"Okay." I get to my feet. “Let’s get you back to your room. Cinder is getting you something to drink.”

I move toward the door.

"Maksim."

I stop.

She's not looking at me.

"Thank you," she says.

“You’re welcome, Lila."

7

Lila