Page 32 of The Russian's Innocent Prey
“Because I told him to.” Trev’s smile was sad, broken. “Remember our code? The one we made up when we were eight?”
My fingers closed around the small fire symbol. “Together, we are fire.”
“Alone, we are just smoke.” He finished the phrase we’d whispered to each other in the dark after nightmares, after Dad’s harsh words, after the world felt too big and too cruel.
The memory hit me like a freight train. Two little boys, huddled together in a blanket fort, making promises about never leaving each other behind. About being stronger together than apart.
“How was I supposed to know?” My voice cracked like I was eight years old again. “A fire symbol? It could have meant anything.”
“It meant I was still fighting for us. Still trying to find a way home.” Trev took a step closer. “It meant that even though we were separated, we were still connected. Still brothers.”
I wanted to hit him. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to scream and break things and demand answers to questions I didn’t even know how to ask.
Instead, I turned back to the window and let the silence stretch between us like a chasm.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I repeated. “I don’t know how to let you in again.”
“You don’t have to let me in all at once.” His hand touched my shoulder, hesitant. “But we’re here now. All of us. And Petro Kozak is still out there. Still planning his revenge.”
“I know about Petro.” I shrugged away from his touch. “I’ve been tracking him since Dad died. Saint Michael tattoo, Ukrainian Cossack codes, the whole fucking theatrical show.”
“Then you know we need to work together.” Trev’s voice was urgent now. “You know we can’t face him alone.”
I thought about Anya, sleeping in my bed this morning. About the way she’d looked at me like I might actually be worth something. About the enemies circling closer every day, hungry for blood and retribution.
“There’s something else,” I said. “I got married yesterday.”
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the hum of the air conditioning, the distant sound of traffic, the beating of my own heart.
“Married?” Trev’s voice was carefully neutral.
“To Maxim’s sister. Anya.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. “It’s not…. It's complicated.”
“Love usually is.”
I whipped around. “Who said anything about love?”
But Trev was studying my face with those too-perceptive eyes, reading things I didn’t want him to see. “The way you said her name. The way you won’t look at me when you talk about her.”
“It’s a business arrangement.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue. “Protection. Nothing more.”
“Right.” His smile was knowing, infuriating. “And I’m just a tourist from Australia.”
I wanted to argue, to explain how wrong he was. But the words wouldn’t come. Because maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe the way I’d felt when I saw Anya in my bed this morning, soft and vulnerable in the early light, had been something more than duty or lust.
Maybe I was more fucked than I thought.
“I need to get back to work,” I said instead, moving toward my desk. “The Kozak files won’t review themselves.”
But Trev wasn’t finished. “Mum wants to see you.”
The words stopped me cold.
“She’s been carrying your baby picture in her wallet for twenty-seven years,” he continued softly. “She’s been living half a life, just like Dad, just like me. Waiting for the day when we could be a family again.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of all those years pressing down on me like a physical thing. All the birthdays missed, all the conversations never had, all the love that had been buried under lies and necessity and survival.
“I can’t.” The admission was barely a whisper. “I don’t know how to be someone’s son anymore.”
