by Katee Robert
Dmitri exhaled slowly. Aiden was alive. He hadn’t lied to Keira, unwittingly or not. He hated that he’d doubted himself, even for a moment, and that irritation had him sniping at the other man. “You did promise that she and I would be married. Were you going to break your word, Aiden?”
He ignored that. “And you promised her a choice.”
“She had a choice. She chose me.” Under duress and with a healthy dose of manipulation, but Dmitri had never promised to play fair. He wanted Keira, and so he ensured that he acquired her. End of story. It was done, and Aiden damn well knew it.
“I want to talk to her.”
“That’s not an option. She’s resting.” More likely, she was drinking herself into oblivion. He’d recognized that wild look in her eyes when she walked away from him. It was the same one he’d seen the few times they’d interacted at the raves she always seemed to be at.
But if he didn’t throw Aiden a bone, the man would undoubtedly do something ill advised. “She’ll call you tomorrow. I’m sure Charlie needs time to recover, and you’ll be wanting to focus on that.”
“Don’t tell me what I should or should not be focusing on. Charlie wouldn’t have been hurt in the first place if you took care of your own territory. Don’t think I’ll forget that.”
This was getting them nowhere. He shouldn’t have called in the first place, should have waited for Aiden to contact him, but Dmitri at least had the answer he’d needed. “Your opinion is noted. Have a nice day, O’Malley.”
“Romanov.”
He sighed. “Da?”
“You do a single damn thing to damage my sister, and you won’t like what happens next.”
The threat wasn’t unexpected, but it was wearisome all the same. Dmitri tsked. “She’s mine now. I think, of the two of us, I’ll be taking better care of her.” He hung up before Aiden could say something truly regrettable.
He’s promised to do what he could to keep the peace, after all.
Dmitri sat back and checked the time. Too soon to try to talk to Keira. She’d retreated after their interaction in the car, and he needed space to figure out how best to approach her going forward. They had to find a way to work with each other, and that wasn’t going to happen if she shut him out every time he said something she didn’t like. It was obvious that he’d injured her pride over the course of their interactions to date, but Dmitri didn’t possess a time machine to go back and change that. Even if he could, he wouldn’t. He’d made the only move available in the moment. Losing his head over Keira O’Malley when she was a complete wild card and beyond his control was not an option.
Losing his head at all wasn’t an option.
I won’t. I might want her, but that changes nothing. I’m still completely in control of the situation.
Chapter Three
Dmitri’s wife was drunk. Again.
He stood in the doorway watching Keira sway around the kitchen island, a bottle in her hand. This is a problem. He’d known she liked to drink, but he’d foolishly assumed she had it under control. There was nothing controlled about the woman in front of him.
She went up on her tiptoes and opened the alcohol cabinet. She set her bottle on the counter with a thunk and grabbed two more, humming under her breath. He couldn’t even enjoy the sight of her here, in his home, because of everything wrong with this picture. Not only was his wife drunk in his kitchen, sourcing more alcohol, but she still wore the same pajamas she’d come into his home with two days ago, and had her hair pulled back into a messy bun that was more bird’s nest than chic.
He’d given her space to settle in, thinking it would be enough.
Dmitri had underestimated Keira once again.
He cleared his throat and she spun unsteadily to face him. Twin red spots appeared on her pale cheeks, but he couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or the alcohol. Dmitri crossed his arms over his chest. “What, exactly, are you doing?”
“You have eyes, Russian. You tell me.” She swiped the open bottle and took a long pull, her gaze never leaving his face. Daring him to do something.
Goddamn it.
“You’re sober, starting now.”
She laughed. “Go fuck yourself. If you think I can survive a marriage to you sober, you’re insane.”
“You’ll have to survive. You don’t have another option.” He stalked toward her. “Put the bottle down.”
“Fat chance of that.” She backed away from him, the fucking bottle firmly in her grasp. He tossed the other two into the trash and made a mental note to have Pavel empty every drop of alcohol in the house. The men wouldn’t like it, but Keira obviously couldn’t be trusted.
“The bottle, Keira. Don’t make me chase you.”
“You’d like that too much.” She sneered, but there was no heat in it. Instead, fear lurked in the depths of her eyes. Apparently the thought of being sober terrified her.
He could make several guesses as to why, but the why didn’t matter. Alcohol was a crutch. It might prop her up at the moment, but it was a weapon that could be used against her—against both of them—just as easily. That was the only reason he needed her sober. She was a goddamn liability in her current state.
Dmitri darted forward, fully intending to grab the vodka out of her hands, but his sudden move startled her and she stumbled over her own feet in her attempt to get away from him. Keira toppled, and he only barely managed to grab her before she bashed her head on the floor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She was completely limp in his arms, her head lolling against his bicep as she tried to look at him. “Maybe because you’re the enemy and you basically only mostly kidnapped me and have locked me in your house-slash-tower and if I think about it too hard, the walls start closing in.”
She was totally and completely wasted. “Keira—”
“Shh.” She pressed her hand to his mouth, covering the lower half of his face. “I know I came with you. I don’t need you driving home that point every single time we talk. I get it. That doesn’t mean I like it.” She closed her eyes and, for all intents and purposes, passed out cold.
Fuck.
Dmitri adjusted his grip and scooped her up. He couldn’t leave her alone like this because she was just as likely to drown in her own vomit as she was to wake up, trip over something, and hurt herself. He strode out of the kitchen and nearly ran into Mikhail.
His man raised eyebrows but didn’t comment on the fact that Dmitri’s wife was snoring softly in his arms. Dmitri gritted his teeth. “All the alcohol is cleared out of the house—now. You and Pavel are responsible for seeing it done. The men bitch, you tell them they can bitch to me directly.”
Mikhail opened his mouth but seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say. “We’ll take care of it.”
“Good.” He headed upstairs.
As tempting as it was to take Keira to his bedroom, he walked to the second floor, where he’d set her up in one of the guest rooms. She hadn’t had much time there, but there was evidence of her in the smell of smoke lingering and the sheets kicked onto the floor. He laid her on the bed on her side and then sat next to her, using his body to ensure she didn’t flop onto her back.
She might be out, but there was nothing relaxed about her. Her brows pinched together as she shifted, restless despite the alcohol in her system. She murmured words that sounded like her dead brother’s name, and shuddered.
Dmitri reached out before he could stop himself and smoothed a hand over her forehead. “Shh, moya koroleva. You’re safe now.”
It was the first lie he’d told her.
* * *
Keira woke up in her bed with no memory of how she’d gotten there. The last thing she could place was arguing with Dmitri in his kitchen and then…blessed blankness. Her head pounded and she desperately needed some water, so she rolled over, reaching for the cup she’d left on her nightstand the day before.
“You’re awake.”
She
froze, blinking against the light from the bathroom door that had just opened. “Dmitri? What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” A quick mental check found her clothes firmly in place. He wouldn’t touch her without permission, but she had no illusions about herself—for better or worse, she wanted him. It would be just like her to get blackout drunk and throw herself at him. Again. Maybe she even had, but he’d turned her down. Again.
He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms over his chest. “You never answered my question.”
“What question?” She might be hungover, but he definitely hadn’t asked her anything in the last thirty seconds.
His gray eyes held no emotion. “When is the last time you spent twenty-four hours sober?”
They were not having this conversation while she lay prone on the bed and he stood over her. She didn’t want to have the conversation at all. She pushed to her knees, waited for the sudden rush of dizziness to pass, and climbed to her feet. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”
“A week? A month? A year? Come now, Keira. Try to remember.”
Why was he demanding this of her? She squared her shoulders, refusing to let shame take root. “What does it matter? I’m here. I married you like you wanted. You win, Romanov. Congratu-fucking-lations.” She slow clapped. “Now, get out of my room and I’ll stay the hell out of your hair until you need a convenient wife to prop up and display.” There’s another purpose for a wife…Keira shut that thought down real fast.
Damn him to hell, but he laughed at her. “Do you think that I can display you like you are now? You’ve been in my home three days and I already had to save you from falling down drunk and giving yourself a concussion.” He shook his head. “You’re a mess.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“A mess with a limited vocabulary.” He stepped forward, but stopped when she flinched away from him, his dark brows dropping. “When I met you, you dazzled me with your bravery, ill-advised as it was. You’ve never feared me until now, when I threaten to take away alcohol and drugs.” He touched her chin, the contact so brief, she was half-sure she imagined it. “No, this cringing thing before me is not the woman I chose as my wife.”
The barbs in his words hit true and dug deep. Keira had been so many things in her short life, but all of those were gone, leaving only ashes. There was nothing left of the girl she’d been—the closest she could come to recovering that fearlessness was when she drank.
And he’d just taken that option away from her.
She tried to keep her chin up and failed. “Then let me go home and be done with this. We can get the marriage annulled and move on with our lives.”
“Nyet.” A sharp shake of his head. “You are mine now.”
And round and round they went. She swallowed past a burning in her throat that was most definitely not tears. “What do you want from me?”
“A number of things.” This time he did make contact, feathering his fingers over her cheekbone and down to her jaw. Dmitri stepped back before she could decide if she wanted to slap his hand away or lean into his touch. “But, for the moment, I will be satisfied with removing any trace of drugs from your system.”
Keira snorted even as her stomach lurched. “Good luck. Unless you’re planning on sending me to rehab, that’s not going to happen.” Aiden had tried to sober her up a number of times, but she always found a way to get what she needed, and eventually he stopped trying. Keira was something of a functioning addict—if one could call her life functioning—and so her brother settled with restricting her drug choices to pot and alcohol.
“You’re right. I’m not sending you to rehab.” He pushed gently on her shoulder, and she was unsteady enough that it toppled her onto her back. Keira shoved her hair out of her eyes as she sat up, but froze when she saw Dmitri now stood in the doorway to her room. “I’m bringing rehab to you.” He shut the door and she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in a lock.
Keira stared. He hadn’t…he had. He locked her in her room. She jumped to her feet and grabbed her bag off the floor. It was significantly lighter than it should have been. Even knowing what she’d find, Keira upended it on the bed. Her backup bottle of vodka was gone, along with her bag of joints. Dmitri really was forcing her to get clean.
Goddamn bastard.
* * *
Time ceased to hold meaning for Keira. It started with the sweating and only got worse from there. Distantly, she knew she was going through withdrawal, but the thought couldn’t take root. She lay on the bed in her underwear and a tank top, and stared at the ceiling. An addict. I am an addict. The word felt as dirty as she did these days.
What would Devlin think if he could see her now?
There was no sheen of delirium to hold the memories of her late brother at bay. They assaulted her, one after another, an endless cascade of grief that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel since the day she came home to realize she had lost the sibling she loved most in the world.
Ten-year-old Devlin, so much smarter and more mature than her eight-year-old self, taking her into the woods surrounding their Connecticut house and showing her a litter of baby rabbits, and then telling her every single detail he knew about the animal. Being Devlin, he knew everything.
Devlin at fifteen, using a huge chunk of the money he’d earned working at one of their family’s legit businesses to buy her the fancy set of paints their father said was a waste of time and money. Her brother had been so damn proud of her art, so proud that she had something of hers. Something she loved.
Rushing into his room when he was nineteen to tell him that she’d gotten into RISD. Keira hadn’t told anyone else that she was even applying, and it was Devlin who insisted she submit her work for the scholarship competition. Four years in art school, paid for because she earned it—a step she never would have thought to take without his urging.
Devlin at twenty, pale and still in his casket, shot in the street like a fucking dog because he was an O’Malley and their father had pissed off the Hallorans. A casualty in a war he’d never wanted any part of. A life snuffed out far too early. He’d had ambitions that actually meant something, and after he graduated college, he’d had every intention of putting his considerable knowledge and skill to use. For good.
What was her silly art when compared with that?
She blinked, her eyes gritty. Keira hadn’t cried at his funeral. She hadn’t allowed herself to. Instead, she’d done everything she could do to numb the pain.
There was nothing numbing it now.
She swallowed past her dry throat. “I miss you, Devlin. I miss you so fucking much. The world went to hell without you in it, and I don’t know how to do any of this without you.” Her chest burned, each breath a physical fight she didn’t know if she would win. “You left and the rest of us fell like dominoes. One right after the other.” She reached a shaking hand to mime tipping over the first domino. “What a fucking waste.”
Keira closed her eyes in an effort to keep the burning inside, and when she opened them again, the light had changed. Darkness reigned, which was fitting, because he was there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his expression unguarded for the first time since she’d seen him. She couldn’t work up the energy to do more than turn her head to get a better look at him. “Come to gloat?”
Dmitri didn’t move, but she felt his attention sharpen all the same. “You think so little of me.”
“Why should I think better?” She dragged in a breath, oxygen flooding her lungs. “You would have let my sister die. You would have let them all die.” A different shootout, a different enemy. Endless. The tide against her was endless.
“My priorities are not your priorities, moya koroleva.”
As if that made it better. As if she should be thankful that he apparently didn’t want her dead. Keira turned her face away, preferring to look at the strange wallpaper instead of his treacherous gray eyes. Was the curving print moving? She closed her eyes and opened them aga
in. This time, there was no time jump. It was still dark. He was still here, taking up too much room. She shivered. “I’m cold.”
“You’re burning up.” A cool hand against her forehead. “The good doctor assured me this is normal, but…” He smoothed her hair back, the touch gentle. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend this was another time, another place. That she was just a woman and he was just a man, and nothing stood between them and the fabled happily ever after.
Hers wasn’t that kind of story.
If Dmitri had a role in her life, it was as the villain who locked the princess in the tower. But Keira wasn’t a princess, and the Russian was hardly a beast looking for a magic kiss to turn him into something less monstrous.
She had to remember that, but it was so hard to keep her eyes open. “You promised peace.”
“I promised to do everything in my power to ensure peace, short of sacrificing myself on the O’Malley altar.”
He had such an infuriating way of twisting her words to make them unrecognizable. Keira wet her dry lips. “Peace.”
“It takes more than one to broker peace.”
“Then do it.” Unconsciousness threatened to pull her under despite her best efforts. She twisted around to find him watching her with a strange expression on his face. “I’m coming out the other side of this…” She had to pause and wait for her dizziness to pass. How could she be dizzy when she was flat on her back? “When I do, if you haven’t kept your word, I will make you pay, Dmitri. Every single day for the rest of my life.”
“I have no doubt about that.” It wasn’t a reassurance, but she didn’t expect that from him.
Keira nodded, and then grimaced when the top of her head felt like it might just explode and end her misery. “Why are you doing this to me?” The cry of a lost child with no safety in sight and a wolf breathing down her neck.
He didn’t answer, and unconsciousness won the battle, sucking her down into the deep dark. But as she closed her eyes, she could have sworn he answered her. “For you, moya koroleva. I do this to you so you have a fighting fucking chance.”
