Page 10 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

The bodyguard shoves me forward into the man’s arms. My cheek collides the hard muscle of his chest as he clutches me close. I have long enough to register his smell—a dark, swirling cologne mixed with the faintest hint of whiskey—before another sound erupts just inches from my ear.

The sound of a gunshot.

I scream. Then, trembling, I look up at him.

My protector’s face is impassive, his eyes hooded. It’s his darkness that makes him so beautiful. In my delirium, I think about telling him exactly that.

But a question comes out instead.

“You killed him?”

He nods. “Yes.”

I start to turn, but he wrenches me back towards him. One hand on my jaw, forcing me to look at his eyes and not at the bleeding corpses behind me.

“But… he let me go,” I whisper in a tiny voice. “You promised you’d spare him.”

“Some promises are not worth keeping,” he rumbles. “Come.”

I don’t look down when I step over the two bodies lying on the stained carpet. I just walk blindly, allowing myself to be pulled by my protector.

I know I should be scared of him. But I’m not.

Then again, I’m not myself at the moment. I’m someone else.

A woman who set a fire to cover up a murder.

A woman who ran without a backward glance.

A woman without a home or a family or a name.

So when he opens a door and pushes me through, I go willingly.

It takes me a moment to recognize where we are. It looks like a bathroom, but it drips of opulent luxury. The taps and faucets are gold. The tile is marble. The high ceiling bears clusters of glittering stars, hundreds of them. It reminds me of the candles in the bedroom I left behind and I almost vomit at the thought.

CLICK.I glance behind me to see that my protector is locking the door.

When he turns to me, I freeze, suddenly aware of the fact that we’re strangers. Just because he hasn’t hurt me so far doesn’t mean he won’t do it now.

“Should I be scared of you?” I ask, my voice trembling.

His eyes flash. “No.”

He doesn’t offer me any evidence, but I don’t need it. For some godforsaken reason, I believe him.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I… I wish I knew,” I say, a tear slipping loose from the corner of my eye.

It’s a stupid answer, but an honest one. Who am I anymore? I’m no longer Elyssa Redmond. I’m a killer in the night. A ghost in the desert.

“You don’t know?”

“Not anymore.”

I stare down at my hands, wondering when my fall from grace really began. There’s so much I can’t remember. And at the same time, there’s so much I wish I could forget.

He moves closer to me. This time, I don’t back away. I don’t want to. There’s something comforting about his presence. Something that soothes the jagged edges of my anxiety.

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