Sordid (Sordid 1)

“Okay,” I said, devoid of feeling.

Luka pressed his lips together and struggled to hide the worry from his face. I was cold all the time now. Not even Luka’s heat could melt through the ice that surrounded me.

He sat beside me at the funeral visitation and forced me to do what I was supposed to.

“You’re not the only one grieving,” he’d told me softly. “It’s important to go through the motions for other people, to offer them comfort as well. You’re strong, Addison. You can do this.”

“Is that what Vasilije said?” I asked. I’d come into the kitchen last night to see the brothers talking over beers, and had interrupted Luka asking his brother for advice.

Luka frowned. “We weren’t talking behind your back. I’m shitty at dealing with people. He’s not, so I wanted his help, and Vasilije’s concerned about you.”

I gave a humorless laugh. “Right.”

“He knows what it’s like to lose a parent, doesn’t he?” Luka’s gaze softened. “We get what you’re dealing with.”

“A parent, not an entire family. And you can’t,” I said. “Even I don’t know what I’m dealing with. It’s all just . . . cold.”

I stared at Jonathon’s friends bawling at his casket, and wondered if I’d ever feel warm again.

The day of the funeral was tedious. My bones hurt as I suffered through the service, and rode in absolute silence beside Luka in the back of the limo, trailing three hearses. When I stood at the gravesites, I got angry.

This was unfair. It was so fucking unfair I could hardly stand still. My grip on Luka’s hand was ferocious, and I gnashed my teeth together. What had I done to deserve this? What the fuck had my family done?

I wanted to break something. I needed to hurl everything to the ground, to tear out my hair, and to lose myself completely in the madness. Better to feel rage than nothing at all.

Luka set me in the back seat of the limo and recognized the change in my demeanor. He waited until we were in motion before speaking. “Are you angry?”

“Yes.”

“With me?”

“No.”

“You should be.” He stared at me like I was missing the obvious. “This is all my fault, Addison. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for me. I brought that down on your family, and you’ll never know how fucking sorry I am about it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“My father is convinced this was the Russians. They figured out who you were, or followed me when I took you home for the break.”

“Why?”

“We’re not sure. He’s still working on it.”

I stared at him in his crisp black suit, and hated the guilty expression on his handsome face. The hate was a feeling I could respond to. I’d gone so long without any emotion other than sadness, it felt new and exciting.

So I leaned over and slapped my palm across his face, punctuating the silence with the crack of skin smacking skin. It felt good. A needed release. Luka’s cheek flamed pink, but otherwise he had no reaction.

It only fed my anger. He should have been livid. Last time I’d slapped him, he’d threatened to destroy my hand, but now he just sat there with his gaze fixed forward. So I did it again. This time I hit him so hard my palm stung, and the force of it turned his head to the side.

But otherwise he was unfazed. He took my outburst without a word.

“Goddamnit, Luka. Stop me. Get mad. Fucking do something.”

I reared back to strike again, but this time he caught my wrist. “You think I don’t deserve this? We just put your whole fucking family in the ground. That was my fault. Everything that’s happened to you, all the shit I put you through . . . I destroyed your life.”

He had, there was no denying it, but how the fuck was I supposed to reconcile the fact that I still loved him? He’d taken everything from me, but he’d also become my everything.

His grip fell away from my wrist and he looked prepared to receive further punishment, but I didn’t want to punish him. If it was true the Russians were responsible for the fire that took my family, Luka wasn’t responsible. He didn’t want to be a part of the Markovics’ dark world.

“Their death is not your fault,” I said, my statement burning in my throat. “It’s your father’s.”

Luka’s head slowly turned my direction, and there was understanding in his eyes, perhaps even relief that I didn’t completely blame him. But I needed to feel the burn of anger, to soak in the heat of my rage, so I could finally feel warm again.

I grabbed him roughly and slammed my lips over his, shoving my tongue in his mouth and catching him unprepared. He tried to slow the kiss down, but I wouldn’t have it. Already tiny flames flickered in my body, and made me thirsty for more. We hadn’t truly been together since I’d left him at the mansion, and the pent up lust mixed with my depression, creating a dangerous storm.