Page 45 of Ruthless Sinner

No. No, no, no—no I couldn’t go back to him, back to the man I’d be forced to betray, or who’d find out who I was and have to kill me—I couldn’t do it.

It was so odd that now was the time I panicked. My breathing turned into hyperventilation and tears leaked out the corners of my eyes. I’d been able to handle Misha no problem, the pain no problem, but the idea that I might have to go back to the terrible choice I thought I’d escaped—that was what got to me.

I couldn’t hear any footsteps. If this was a police raid, I’d hear shouts ofclearand heavy footfalls, but whoever else was with Marco—and I hoped to God he hadn’t come alone—made no sound as they investigated the area. If there were any other goons around, and I was sure there must be, they would never see the Russo team coming.

“Kennedy.” Marco hurried around the chair and came into view. His gun was in his hands, and I knew without asking that he’d been the one to fire just now and kill Misha.

I tried to speak, but it just came out as a sob. I hated that I was crying. I had struggled my whole life to be strong—as I lost my father, as I took care of my mother, as I became a federal agent—and now I was falling apart, and for such a stupid reason.

Marco looked around as if to make sure the coast was clear and then tucked his gun away. “Son of a bitch,” he snarled under his breath. His eyes blazed. He looked like a wolf on the hunt. “I killed him way too quick.”

His fingers hooked gently under my chin and lifted my head, ever so carefully turning it this way and that to examine the damage in the light. Even as his eyes continued to burn with fury, his voice was feather soft. “It’s okay now, baby. I’ve got you. Let’s cut you loose and I’ll take you home.”

He flicked open a wicked sharp knife and began to expertly cut away at the ropes that held me. Now that I was crying I couldn’t seem to stop, and Marco continued to make quiet, soothing noises as he freed me.

I wondered what most people would think to see bad boy Marco Russo being the definition of gentle with me, gently pulling away the ropes that held me and rubbing circulation back into my hands and feet.

“You must’ve really pissed him off,” Marco noted. “Never heard of Misha losing control like that.” Pride slid into his eyes. “Atta girl.”

In my state of adrenaline, I couldn’t hold the truth back. And I didn’t want to anymore. I didn’t want to hide from him. “It was so he’d kill me quickly.”

Marco’s gaze went sharp. “Why would you want that?”

“Because I knew Antonio and Vincent wouldn’t let you give into the Petrov demands. You can’t—be weak.” Without the ropes holding me up I realized how dizzy and weak I was, and I slumped forward.

Marco caught me and held me in his arms. “Of course I came for you, baby. Nobody takes my girl. I’m always going to come for you, keep you safe.”

I weakly clutched at his shirt, unable to resist resting my head on his shoulder, breathing in the scent of motor oil and leather that always clung to him. “But you weren’tsupposedto,” I whispered. “You were supposed to let me die.”

CHAPTER19

Marco

“You were supposed to let me die.”

Kennedy’s words were soft, but they echoed in my head, rang in my ears, ricocheted through my chest. What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Like fuck I’d ever let you die.”

At that, Kennedy seemed to lose all control and she wept even harder, her breathing hysterical. I’d never seen her like this, never seen her so broken down. I wanted to resurrect Misha and murder him all over again, properly this time,slowly, so that he begged for forgiveness for what he’d done to her.

“But youhaveto.” Kennedy didn’t sound completely… all right.

After a beating like that, yeah, I wasn’t surprised. She needed rest, recovery, a doctor’s appointment. Maybe some therapy.

“You don’t understand—I needed to—to die, it would hurt—hurt you—less.”

“Losing you would hurt me less? Hurt me less than what?” I knelt on the floor, Kennedy in my arms. I knew I should get up, carry her out of there, but I somehow couldn’t move. She was still in her beautiful yellow dress from the wedding, now stained with her own blood.

“Than my betrayal,” Kennedy whispered.

She raised her head slowly to look me in the eye. “I wanted to die loyal to you. Because—because—if I’m alive—I have to betray you.”

My body went cold. “Betray me to whom?”

A tear slid out from Kennedy’s swollen eye. “My real last name is Lancaster. Kennedy Lancaster. I’m an FBI agent.”

I stared down at her, my mouth hanging open. I was pretty fucking sure I could say I had never been so shocked in my entire life.

As if that had taken the last bit of energy out of her, Kennedy’s eyelids fluttered and then slid closed, her body becoming heavy and limp in my arms as she lost consciousness.

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