Page 56 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

“What do you think that cost?”

“More than I earn in three months at the shelter, if I had to guess.”

Charity places the food on the table and then goes back inside to get the baby seat. I settle Theo into it, and he looks around in awe, blinking furiously.

“We could get used to this life, huh, T?” Charity laughs at him. But I know she’s only half-kidding.

For the first time in a long time, we both feel safe… albeit in the home of one of the most dangerous men in Las Vegas.

What an irony that is.

I set the thought aside for now and we gorge ourselves on Chinese food. Which is, no surprise, absolutely heavenly. When I’m full to bursting, we trek back in and I settle Theo on the bed between Charity and me.

“This has been a crazy day,” Charity sighs as she sinks into the soft mattress.

I pull the covers over myself and pat Theo gently. “Charity,” I say softly, “you know we can’t stay here for long.”

“I know. But it is nice to feel safe. For just one night at least.”

I glance at her swollen face, the bruises, the fresh scabs, and realize just how risky her life has always been.

Her confidence sometimes fools me into believing that she has complete control. But nothing could be further from the truth. She’s at the mercy of powerful men all the time. And if they choose to beat her to a pulp, she’s the one who ends up on the run.

Where’s the justice in that?

Fear and worry grate at my nerves as I realize that Phoenix Kovalyov is exactly one of those men.

Dangerous.

Powerful.

Handsome as sin.

The last thought makes me feel twisted and dirty. What does it say about me that, after all this time, I still have a visceral reaction every time I look at him?

I look at my sleeping son, and I see so many similarities between the two of them. He kept me safe when I needed it. He gave me Theo. So why do I feel so guilty?

“Hey, Earth to Lys,” Charity says, pulling me from my thoughts. “Stop worrying. Just sleep tonight. We’ll figure out a plan tomorrow.”

I nod. There’s nothing to be done tonight anyway. And I am pure exhausted. So when Charity reaches out and smooths my hair, I fall asleep in a minute flat.

But my dreams sag with the lingering weight of my waking thoughts. I start seeing shapes that take on the faces of my demons. One demon in particular.

A tall, lanky man with a calm demeanor, white clothes, and a spindly beard.

A man I accepted.

A man I killed.

When I look down, my hands are covered in his blood. No matter how hard I wash, I can’t scrub the sticky crimson off of my fingertips.

Then I look up and see his ghost before me.

His eyes aren’t calm in death. They’re bright, piercing… accusing. He hates me.

And why shouldn’t he? At this point, even I hate me.

So when my dead husband’s ghost strides forward and wraps his hands around my throat, I let him. I deserve it.

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