Page 134 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)

I scream and stumble backwards. I bury my forehead in my hands. The tears come hot and fast and think. But the pain doesn’t change. The pain remains exactly as it has been since I realized that the black hole in my memory is filled with things I can never, ever undo.

All I can say is that I’m sorry. Even though I know it’s a useless, pointless word that holds no true peace. It’s a word you use when all is said and done. When there is nothing left to do.

He twists around, his face a black cloud of despair. “You met him, Elyssa! That’s my fucking boy in your arms! And you don’t even remember?”

I have no defense. No justification. “I know. I know.”

I wish I could give him the details he craves. But I have nothing. Only excuses. Only the truth: that I remember my life up until I turned fourteen. Up until I went to the Garden.

And that everything after then is a barely-remembered dream.

“I know how much you’re hurting right now…” I say.

“Fuck me,” he growls, almost like he’s talking to himself. “I thought we had moved past this. I thought we’d finally gotten somewhere…”

It breaks my heart to hear him say those words.

He turns around. My cheeks burn with the heat of his gaze.

“What can I do?” I ask helplessly.

“You’ve done fucking plenty.”

I drop my head. I deserve this, but it hurts nonetheless.

He doesn’t say anything else for a long time. He circles around his desk and for one insane moment, I think he might hug me. Might wipe away my tears and tell me it’s okay, that we’ll work through this together.

That we’re a team, like he said.

That I’m brave, like he said.

That he loves me—like I’ve dreamed he’d one day say.

But he keeps his distance.

Then, without another word, he walks out of the office and leaves me standing in front of the wall that’s consumed his life these past five years.

More tears slip from my eyes, but I force myself to stare at the wall. Perhaps I should be up there myself. Enemy number one.

“I’m sorry,” I sob to the empty room. “I’m so, so sorry.”

33

Phoenix

I’ve destroyed most of the room, but I keep going anyway.

It feels good to break shit.

It feels good to destroy.

“Jesus Christ, Phoenix! What the fuck is going on?!”

I turn to the door to find Matvei standing there looking stunned. He’s half-shielded by the door, but when I stop flinging things around, he enters the room cautiously.

“Fuck, didn’t you just refurbish this room last year?”

I glare at him. “What’s your point?”

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