The Promise (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  She stared at him, considering that—would it be such a bad thing?

  Instead of waiting for her mind to come up with its own answer, Karine pushed open the door and stepped inside the apartment. Roman made his way in behind her, reaching beyond her shoulders to flick on a row of switches that lit up the open-concept floor of space to her view. Black marble pressed into the soles of her shoes while high, vaulted white ceilings waited overhead. She could see through the main floor of the space to where a long, glass dining table welcomed guests into a kitchen full of stainless steel, white marble countertops, and more black brick.

  Roman remained at the door while she took slow steps further beyond black marble pillars to see the living space and entertainment section overlooking more floor-to-ceiling windows, but these were different than the ones in the entry. Curved outward in a domed shape. The life and buzz of an unknown—but strangely beautiful—city stretched out in front of her.

  This high, it was like she was floating in the air above it.

  “You still didn’t answer my question, Roman,” she said, enjoying the view but knowing he’d left something unsaid. Karine didn’t like that. Turning away from the windows, and forcing her stare up from the shiny black marble under her feet to meet his gaze, she couldn’t allow herself to get carried away. Not in anything. Not even in him until she had an answer. “You didn’t want to take me with you, did you? You were forced to.”

  If he was shocked at what she asked, Roman didn’t show it. Lucky for him that he didn’t have to answer her question, either, because the approaching footsteps from the entry they had just come from had Roman turning away.

  Masha didn’t seem at all aware that she had interrupted them. Karine hated to admit that she was relieved at the sight of her—she wasn’t sure if she wanted to hear what Roman’s response would be.

  She had a habit of doing that. Asking, but not wanting to know.

  Karine was fine to let Roman busy himself with showing Masha where things were and disappearing with her down a back hallway where he said one of three bedrooms and the main bathroom could be found.

  She remained standing where she was—quiet by the glass wall where she could see the hustle of a city. Where she really didn’t have to think.

  Of course, she still did.

  Overthinking.

  Entirely numb.

  Who was Roman?

  Who was he really?

  Despite being told to explore, she didn’t do much as Roman and Masha’s voice carried out from the back hall. She did marvel a bit at the touchscreen panel on a pane of the glass that controlled everything from the automatic blinds covering the glass dome-shaped walls to the massive, curved flatscreen television next to the oversized, squared leather sectional. There was even a full-fledged bar at the corner of the living space, melding between there and the dining space.

  The apartment seemed fit for a man who had priorities for a good time, and few responsibilities. A bachelor’s life. There she was, ready to disrupt it all.

  She still couldn’t come up with a single good reason why he would have willingly done this—taken her.

  “Hey.”

  Roman’s firm, but not unkind tone, had Karine jumping in her skin. She hadn’t heard him come back into the room. Spinning around, she found him standing at the entry of the hall, his shoulder pressed into another one of those black marble pillars as he looked her over.

  Masha was nowhere in sight, clearly having chosen to stay out of focus. Maybe wisely.

  Karine licked nervously at her bottom lip, determined not to blurt her thoughts, and making a conscious effort to keep the words inside the longer he stared and said nothing.

  “What?” she eventually asked.

  A little too sharply.

  Roman still gave her a crooked smile—it was just as tempting as everything else. Then, he told her, “Just because I was forced in to taking you doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to.”

  She hadn’t expected that.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Seconds ticked on as he took in a deep breath, and his shoulders rose and fell from the effort. His reply wasn’t what she was looking for. “I don’t really have an answer for that, Karine.”

  “That’s a lie.”

  If he could say he wanted something, then he should be able to say why. Besides, everything else about her life was a lie. It wouldn’t even hurt her feelings if he lied about this, too.

  “The real question is whether you want to know the truth,” Roman returned just as fast, never once breaking her stare. “Because that requires accepting certain things, you know? I think we’ve both established you have—just a bit—of a problem doing that in different aspects. Think about it.”

  That truth was cold.

  He also wasn’t wrong.

  Karine chose not to reply, and that time, it wasn’t hard to keep the prattle of words induced by her anxiety and fears inside. Maybe he understood her better than she was willing to admit.

  She still thought he shouldn’t.

  TWO

  Roman woke up already tired the second he opened his eyes. Back in a familiar bed, in his own apartment, he could almost believe for a second that it had all been a bad dream. The sounds of a city he knew well told him he wasn’t in Chicago anymore, and that only meant one thing.

  There was a beautiful, troubled woman sleeping in one of the other bedrooms. He really didn’t have the time to enjoy being back in his bed, considering that little detail.

  Swinging his legs off the bed in a rush to start his day, a splintering pain pierced through his ribcage. Reminding him all at once that nothing was a fucking dream. He groaned, pressing a palm to the most tender rib as he straightened up.

  One breath.

  Then, another.

  It really didn’t get easier.

  Hell, a bad dream would have been better than the reality. Maxim Yazov certainly made sure Roman had no choice but to remember that baseball bat. For days, likely.

  Fuck.

  It took all of his energy to not wince with every step he took. He had to make a conscious decision to not limp as he crossed the room to head for the bathroom. The pain hadn’t been so bad yesterday because he kept going on pure adrenaline. Nothing more. Too damn much had happened in the span of twenty-four hours for him to even process, let alone physically.

  Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and what he was left with was a torn and broken body. Covered in dark bruises that ached at the sight alone, especially around his wrists where Maxim had notched the rope and chain, he eyed his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

  It looked as bad as it was.

  But hell.

  He’d looked worse.

  However, his injuries were the least of his concerns. Nothing was bad enough to keep him in bed currently, and he certainly wasn’t dead. That counted for something. It was almost noon when he caught sight of the clock in his room. Half the day had already passed with him prone on his back. He needed to make sure Karine was okay more than he needed the aches and pains to settle.

  Splashing his face with water in the connected bathroom, he surveyed the current version of his reflection. At different angles, he hardly recognized himself. Between the bruises, the exhaustion in his eyes, and even his beard that was becoming more unkept by the day, he looked sick.

  More than tired.

  Getting himself involved in this shitshow was taking its toll—physically and mentally. And yet, there was no way for him to untangle himself from it when the more prominent concern on his mind revolved around the woman sleeping somewhere in his apartment and less on the pallor coloring his skin.

  Karine didn’t have a single clue about what was really going on here—at least, not the full scope of it. Her father had forced her on him, yes, through an agreement Roman really couldn’t back out on, all things considered. But that didn’t mean she understood any of it. There was no turning back now.

  Maxim made the bed.

 
; Roman laid down in it.

  • • •

  It didn’t take long for Roman to find Karine. She apparently hadn’t bothered with a bedroom, instead opting to sleep on a chaise in front of the glass wall. The shutters hadn’t even been pulled to keep the bright afternoon light from pouring in on her face. Not that it mattered. Nothing disturbed her sleep.

  One thing to be thankful for, he supposed.

  Given that Masha was nowhere in sight, he assumed that she had utilized one of the bedrooms unlike Karine.

  At least, she had found a pillow and a blanket to make herself comfortable on the chair. Although, could she really have been comfortable spending the whole night there? It wasn’t like the firm chaise had any kind of give to it when it came to rest.

  If she had spent the night there, actually. He supposed the events leading up to their arrival at the apartment would be enough to keep anyone up for a while. God knew he hadn’t heard a fucking thing to say otherwise once his head hit the pillow.

  Masha assured him Karine would be fine before he went to bed. He’d trusted her only to say she wasn’t comfortable enough with New York City to do anything but stay right where she was, and keep an eye on Karine.

  Which was all he needed.

  Just long enough to sleep ...

  Roman didn’t want to think about what else Karine might have done to pass the time if she hadn’t slept the night and morning away like the rest of them. That would just end up fucking with his head, and she was there.

  Right there, in front of his face.

  Fine.

  That’s what counted.

  Roman, ready to turn on his heel and head back to the bedroom where he could at least do something productive—like fix the way he looked—but something made him pause. A notebook peeked out from underneath the pillow where Karine rested her head. His spine straightened. It wasn’t a sketchbook, but that didn’t mean anything. He bet Katee could draw on anything she found to do the job.

  His next breath came slow, and deep.

  What had he got himself into?

  What’s it fucking matter—here you are.

  Yeah.

  Standing next to the large metallic slab at the other end of the room—the counter to his kitchen islands—he turned his gaze away from a sleeping Karine and that notebook. For a second. Long enough to clear his head and attempt to appreciate the fact he was home. He’d been very specific with his interior decorator when he knew the place would feature the marble and black brick. He wanted an industrial vibe where it could be fit in. Something to suit what he did for a living, to make him feel like he was back at the loft over the garage.

  His first home that he kept—one that actually felt like his. In a way he couldn’t really explain. Call it nostalgia.

  From his position leaning against the counter, he could still see Karine’s slender body gently rising and falling underneath the blanket in the corner of his eye. Even making himself stare elsewhere did nothing for what his mind seemed to want. He was struck by how innocent she seemed while she slept—how vulnerable and fragile she was to anyone who might want to do her harm.

  As she slept, she reminded him of the Karine he first met. The lost, beautiful woman who carried a starry daze in her eyes and confusing words on the tip of her tongue. The one who had instigated their night together, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and courage. All at the same time.

  Roman was only starting to realize that Karine was just one part of her—the one he initially felt an urge to protect, the one he wanted to keep safe from Dima. He didn’t think it was by accident that he came upon Karine as she was first, and not the versions of her that came out to play with people she must have known she couldn’t trust.

  Not that he was in any way educated enough to understand what was happening in her mind—because he didn’t. Wouldn’t pretend to, either.

  Yet, he wondered ...

  Was there a connection there?

  A reason?

  He had to turn away from the sight of her altogether, knowing he needed to keep the part of him in check that seemed to grab hold of the idea that it was his responsibility now to do what she needed—anything she needed. If only because he liked it, and he wasn’t ready to deal with that.

  Roman still had to figure out how he was going to fit Karine into his life—in New York with his family, and business. It wasn’t like he could just show back up here without some kind of an explanation about the chick that came along for the ride. The agreement with Maxim got her here, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to do now, either. Not that he really had an option but to make it work.

  That was the thing about choices.

  Once made, it was done.

  Besides, he wasn’t sure here was where Karine wanted to be, anyway. She was suspicious of him—didn’t trust his intentions. And why should she?

  At most, he’d given her a good lay. At worst, he’d taken her away from a man that wouldn’t take kindly to a missing bride on his wedding day.

  He bet she was so used to the illusion of a choice—or none at all—that Roman demanding she do as he told her, even leaving with him, was just another thing Karine did. What happened when she learned she could do things for herself—be her own voice?

  Roman figured that was for Karine to work out—however she wanted and needed to. Grabbing a bottle from the bar, he headed back to his bedroom with quiet footsteps. He had to make a phone call, and quickly.

  In the privacy of his room, Roman still didn’t feel like it was enough. He slipped between the sliding glass doors that led to a small veranda where two chairs sitting between a glass table faced outward. On the table, he sat down the bottle of vodka he’d grabbed from the bar.

  It was the only thing that was going to help the pain that was beginning to spread everywhere. It didn’t matter what time of day it was; he didn’t need a fucking excuse to drink. He still had a pretty good one.

  He dropped into one of the chairs and dialed his father’s phone while working the top off the vodka bottle. Nobody could say he wasn’t capable of multitasking when life got tough—right?

  The last time he’d spoken with Demyan was a few days before the shit went down in Chicago, but that felt like a hot minute now. His father had no idea what had happened, or just how much had changed. The advice he’d given Roman to keep his head down, stay out of trouble, and to get the job done was entirely fucked at this point. He couldn’t have screwed that up any worse than he did.

  “Roman,” came Demyan’s calm greeting the second his father picked up the phone.

  If only he felt the same.

  What was it like to be unaware—blissfully, so, even?

  “We need to meet up,” Roman said.

  His father’s answering silence said a lot, and even though he couldn’t see him, he was fully able to imagine Demyan’s furrowed brows. Or even the disappointment cloaking his father’s stare.

  He had to give Demyan credit, though. He didn’t ask Roman to repeat himself, or even confirm that his words meant he was in the city—home.

  In fact, all his father asked was, “Where?”

  • • •

  Roman eventually wandered back to where Karine was still asleep. Only to find she had moved slightly, making the notebook—secured under the pillow earlier—fall to the gleaming floor.

  He knew better, but he also couldn’t help himself. Getting close enough to kneel beside her without a sound, he reached for the notebook but doing so faced him directly with her. She slept peacefully, not even a knot between her brows to say her dreams were unpleasant. Like this, it was hard to imagine that she was the same troubled soul who had been in the passenger seat when he left Chicago.

  The walls were up during that car ride.

  All the way up.

  If she regretted coming to New York with him, by her own choice or otherwise, could Roman really blame her?

  No, he knew it wasn’t her fault.

  Sighing in her sl
eep, Karine’s eyelids fluttered as she shifted a bit on the chaise. Roman straightened up and backed away with footsteps that weren’t exactly quiet, but at least put some distance between the two.

  She didn’t wake up.

  Roman let out the air he’d been holding as Karine rolled to her other side. Her shoulders lifted with a loud exhale, but that was it. She seemed to fall into a deeper sleep, unbothered with her surroundings. Her dark, sleek hair tumbled over one side of her face so he couldn’t see her, but the rhythmic rise and fall of the blanket said she was fine for the moment.

  Roman resisted the urge to just carry her to a bedroom where she would sleep comfortably, and not be in the way. That really didn’t seem like the brightest idea. He didn’t need to wake her with a startle because he was touching her, or whatever.

  Fuck it.

  She could sleep where she wanted—for today.

  With the distance between them, he felt safe to flip through the notebook. One he recognized. She must have discovered it in the kitchen junk drawer where everything that didn’t have a specific home found a place. Random doodles and angry marks from a pen filled the first couple of pages. Nothing he could decipher as important. On the third page, he found a sketch of himself.

  Roman studied the pen strokes that made up an image of him asleep on his bed. It was a precise and artistic representation, including the peek of the tattoo on the back of his neck while he laid on his stomach, and arm stretched under his pillow to offer more support. It captured the same thing in his sleeping expression that he had found in Karine’s.

  At first glance, the sketch seemed like a crude job done by a kid. It was only upon closer inspection that it became clear the messy strokes that repeated around the main lines of the sketch were only to distort the more perfected image beneath. Like the hand of the artist had been taught to hide what she was drawing ... or seeing.