Page 24 of Unrequited
I’m not fine.
I’m in too deep.
And for the first time in my life…
I don’t want out.
He's kneeling on one knee. So gentle. So tender. “You sure yer okay?”
I don’t know what to do with myself. How can someone be so harsh, so violent—and then suddenly shift into this? It’s disorienting. Unnerving.
And yet something warm unfurls in my chest, spreading like molten honey.
“Yeah.” I’m still a little foggy. “But I-I can’t go home like this.”
My throat’s scratchy and raw. He nods, not asking questions, and I’m so grateful for that small mercy. I don’t have it in me to explain why. If I went home in this state, my brothers would demand to know what happened. Where I’d been. Who touched me. Who hurt me.
And if not them, then their wives would. They’re like sisters now, just as protective, if not more intuitive. Less oppressive, maybe, but every bit as watchful.
I don’t want to start another war. I don’t want blood on my hands. I don’t want to see anyone else punished.
This was one person. One predator. And he’s already paid the ultimate price.
I stare at Seamus.
Whois he?
And what else is he capable of?
“I know, lass,” he says, his brogue curling around the words. “I’ll take you back to my flat. But only for a bit. Just a little while. You know it’s dangerous,” he adds with a sad smile. “And I don’t want your brothers coming after me.”
He winks, and that damn dimple appears again, sharp enough to cut through the haze in my head.
But there’s something underneath his words that makes me hesitate.
“Are you sure?” I ask, unsure of everything, especially myself.
“I’m sure,” he says, more resolute. “Come with me now, lass.”
He leads me by the hand past the bleachers to the open night air, before he bends and lifts me. I stifle a gasp as his arms come around me and he cradles me to his chest.
I shake my head stubbornly. “I can walk,” I sing out as we march forward quickly, trying to sound confident.
“That’s enough now, Zoya.” My belly melts when he says my name. “Come back with me. I’ll get you something to eat. You make up an excuse about why you’re not home. Who’s back at your house now?”
Thankfully, tonight is one of the easier nights. My brothers are at some big event—something formal they go to. Every three months, like clockwork, they throw on suits, shake hands, donate obscene amounts of money, and buy themselves temporary amnesty from the local authorities. It’s a system that works. A necessary evil.
I can’t complain. Not really.
“Nobody’s home tonight,” I murmur.
“Then tell them you’re staying with a friend,” he says, his voice low, suggestive.
Maybe it’s the lingering drugs or the adrenaline crash, but suddenly my skin feels too tight, my body too warm. I swallow hard, nod, and grab my phone.
I text Rodion first—the youngest of my older brothers. He’s the most laid-back, the most forgiving. He’s covered for me before.
He knows what it’s like to get into trouble too.
