Page 10 of Leave Me (Touch of Death 2)
It doesn’t work. With a swift tug, he catches me off guard, tearing the dressing away from my skin. I drop my gaze, focusing on a single point on his chest. The air seems to get sucked from the room, and his anger is a palpable thing.
“He’s already dead,” he says, his voice baltic. He pushes away from me and strides toward the door.
I scramble off the bed and hurry after him, grabbing his arm as though I could physically anchor him to the floor. “No! You can’t.”
He looks at me, and I recoil. Even knowing exactly who and what he is, I’ve never once been scared of him. Right now, though, he’s terrifying. There’s not a trace of humanity in his eyes. Sasha suddenly rams me against the wall with all six-foot plus of him looming over me. His palms press either side of my head, imprisoning me. A snarl—that’s the only way to describe it—slips from his throat. “Why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not!” I press my hand on his chest and shove him, though it does nothing. “But Enrique is not one man. You kill him, take me, and then what? His family will hunt us like dogs.” It’s an excuse but a plausible one.
His body tightens further, and I try to put space between us, but there is none. “That’s very rational from the woman who plans to do the exact same thing. Whether he dies now or later, they’ll come after you at some point. Why delay it?”
I duck my head and silence stretches between us. I can feel his eyes on me, studying me like some kind of laboratory specimen.
“You have no intention of ever leaving this house,” he says.
“I haven’t gotten that far. I just need some time.” I don’t want him to think I’m outright suicidal. I’m not. I just need this right now, possibly more than I need to remain breathing. “I need to gain his trust, place myself in a position of power.”
“By marrying him.” A fissure of pain crosses his features, though he hides it quickly.
“If it comes to it.” The void between us widens, and I know I’ve lost him. I don’t think I realized until this exact moment just how much I wanted and needed him.
A breath hisses through his teeth. “You know what you will have to do,” he says, the muscle in his jaw ticcing erratically as he allows the sentence to hang in the air between us.
My stomach churns, and I swallow against the acid that threatens to rise. “I know,” I whisper.
Sasha doesn’t make decisions from the heart. He doesn’t allow emotions to penetrate that icy shell. He works only on the cold, hard basis of necessity and getting a job done. He should understand this, so why is he looking at me as though I disgust him.
“I will do what needs to be done,” I say defensively.
He grits his teeth, and the look on his face has me wanting to retreat, but I have nowhere to go.
“None of this needs to be done. You’re making a choice, Adelina.”
I hear the words he doesn’t say. I’m choosing Enrique. I’m choosing my father and the revenge I seek so desperately. I’m choosing them over him. But he was never really a choice. Sasha was always more of a whimsical dream from a broken little girl who needed a hero. I’m not broken anymore. My fractured pieces have been welded back together by the simple promise of Enrique’s blood. I’m a little battered, ugly, and I don’t work like I used to, but I’m here. I have my purpose. It doesn’t make this right here any easier. I’ve already shot Sasha, but comparatively, that was easy. This, looking him in the eye and turning him away, is infinitely harder. I never thought I would have to face him. Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes and utter words I don’t truly mean.
“I want you to leave, Sasha.”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him, though he’s bristling with anger, his touch is gentle. “Not without you.” Releasing my face, his fingers wrap around my bicep, and he tugs me forward roughly.
I jerk away from him just as violently. “No, Sasha.”
“Adelina, I do not have time for this,” he hisses.
His frustration is palpable, tainting the air between us until I feel almost as desperate as I sense he is. I’ve accepted my fate, but Sasha—hard, violent, invincible Sasha—can’t. This is beyond his comprehension, in the perilous grey zone that lingers on the periphery of his domain. He stares at me through narrowed eyes, peering into the hazy unknown as though begging for clarity. As far as he’s concerned, he will protect me, and that’s all there is to it. The fact that Enrique hurt me is something he simply cannot tolerate, but the fact is, I’m no longer his responsibility. I close my eyes, steeling myself to say words that I know will cut deep. And I hate myself for it.
