Page 65 of Secret Baby of the Bratva
The words carry no threat, only honesty. I know myself. I know what I’ve done, what I will continue to do. Men like me don’t offer safety. We offer cages gilded in power, and walls built from blood. Loving me, trusting me, even sitting here beside me.
When she doesn’t pull her hand away, when she simply looks at me with eyes full of quiet wonder instead of fear, something inside me falters. Something I thought I had killed years ago stirs back to life.
Regret.
I sit there with her in the silence, regret coiled like smoke in my chest. Not because I want to let her go. I don’t. Not because I want to change what I am. I can’t. But because she deserves more than this world, more than me, more than the blood-soaked legacy her father left in her veins.
Still. I keep her hand in mine.
Maybe I’m selfish, but even monsters crave warmth when they find it.
The storm whispers against the windows, a low hiss that makes the silence between us heavier. Annie’s hand rests in mine, her thumb brushing once, almost accidental, over my knuckles. I tighten my grip, not enough to trap her, just enough to keep her there.
Her eyes flick down, then up again. “Why do you do that?”
My brow lifts. “Do what?”
“Hold on like I’m going to disappear if you let go.”
I exhale through my nose, slow, measured. “Because you might.”
Her mouth curves, not quite a smile. “You’ve made it very difficult to leave.”
“That was the point.”
She shakes her head, a strand of hair slipping forward. “You cage everything. Even things you don’t have to.”
“I don’t know another way.”
The quiet stretches. She studies me, her gaze sharp, searching. “You could try.”
I let the words sit. They taste impossible on my tongue. Yet her hand remains in mine, warm, steady.
“You trust me now?” I ask finally.
Her breath catches. “I don’t know if trust is the right word.”
“What is?”
Her lips part, close again. She looks away, toward the fire, the light flickering against her cheekbones. “Need. Maybe want. Maybe both. That terrifies me more than any of your cages.”
I shift closer, the leather sighing under my weight. “Need cuts deeper than trust. It binds harder.”
Her eyes meet mine again, steady despite the tremor in her voice. “Then maybe I’m already bound.”
The words strike something buried. My hand lifts before I can stop it, brushing her jaw, tracing the line of her cheek. She doesn’t flinch.
“You should be afraid of me,” I murmur.
“I was.” Her voice is soft, but sure. “And maybe I still am, but not enough to stay away.”
Her blanket slips when she leans forward. The space between us disappears. Her mouth hovers near mine, breath mingling, warm and unsteady.
“This is madness,” I say.
“Yes.” Her whisper is a thread of sound. “So stop me.”
I don’t.
