King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

“No more, brother. It was Mikhal and Farrah who were plotting to overthrow America.” I look to see one man standing in the front of the room. I don’t know who he is. “Since Tomas backed away from the slave trade in America, the rest of us decided we wanted to follow suit.” Murmurs of agreement surround us.

Demyan nods. “Good. We have better ways of ensuring our income and influence than in slave trade.” He nods to Makar. “Brother, we’ll meet again when you’ve recovered. Do you have room for his recovery here on your compound?”

“We do,” the man says. On his arm he bears the signature star tattoo of the Thieves.

“I will be in to see you,” Demyan promises. Makar is taken out of the room, then momentary silence descends.

My hatred for his group runs deep, but when the brigadier comes to me, he holds his hand out to me. “Stefan,” he says. “On behalf of my brotherhood, we’d like to extend the olive branch.” I blink in surprise when he reaches for my hand and shakes it. This isn’t just about what happened now, but runs much deeper, back to when my Amaliya was victim to the Thieves. I swallow hard and take his hand. I could go the rest of my life and not make peace with the Thieves, but I can’t blame modern day leadership for the sins of their ancestors.

“Thank you,” I tell him. “We will talk at Demyan’s?”

He nods, smiling in agreement.

Taara stands awkwardly by my side.

“Let’s go,” I tell her. Demyan nods, giving me permission to leave, and I take Taara to where our ride waits outside. But she doesn’t hold my hand. She walks apart from me and barely acknowledges I’m there. I want to yank her to me, to kiss those pouty lips of hers and remind her that she’s mine, but I can’t.

And it’s better off this way. We’ve come this far for something that’s already over and will be dealt with by high ranking brothers within our brotherhoods. I’ve fucked up bringing her here. She needs to get back to America.

So when we get to the waiting car, I reach for her, and when she pulls away, I let her. I fucking let her. Because it’s too dangerous for her to be with me. She’s so much better off not being attached to a man like me who dwells in the dark and dangerous places. So much better. But she’s trembling. She’s been through fucking hell, and it’s all because of me.

“You did well,” I say to her, keeping my voice distant and aloof. “Thank you for helping us achieve our mission.”

“Sure,” she says.

Sure?

I clear my throat. “Tonight, you’re getting back on a plane for America.”

“Wait… what?” She asks.

I ignore the way she looks at me, the betrayal in her eyes slicing through my heart. I have to steel myself against it, because I want to gather her to me and hold her close. I want to tell her that I love her, and that I will go to whatever lengths it takes to protect her… even if it kills me. Even if sending her away from me is the most painful thing I’ve ever done.

But I have to. Being in that room with the Thieves… It was impossible to forget what they did to my Amaliya. And though we’ve made our public peace, I will not, I will not put Taara through that kind of danger.

She needs to be home. Home in Atlanta, with her mother. Sitting on the porch of the facility where her mother lives, drinking sweet tea. Waking up in the morning and taking pictures of the flowers that bloomed in her absence.

I can’t fully love another woman. I can’t fully give myself to a woman again, knowing that she’s in mortal danger by being connected to me in any way.

But Christ. My head says one thing and my heart another.

I love her. And it’s going to kill me to send her away.

“Why are you sending me back to America?” she asks. Her voice wavers, and she doesn’t even bother checking the tears that fall. It’s a knife to my heart seeing her like this, so distraught and knowing I put her in this position. “I came here to help you.”

“You know where to take her,” I say to the driver.

“Aren’t you going?” she asks.

But my going with her puts her in more danger. I won’t go with her. I can’t, even though it kills me that I have to trust her to the care of others.

I don’t kiss her. I don’t hug her. If I get too close to her, I will not let her go and I have to let her go. It’s been a mistake allowing myself to draw too close to her. A huge fucking mistake. But when the car pulls away, and I see her face buried in her hands, I am instantly filled with regret and the need to go after her has me following. One step, two, until I’m running, but I can’t keep up with the speed of the car. I finally give up, panting, bent over from the exertion. What the fuck is my problem?