Page 4 of Savage Love

“She’s young. Innocent. They were in a situation where they thought they were going to die, and he didn’t tell her no! He had all the power–”

“I know Levin,” Niall says reassuringly. “I guarantee you he spent a lot of time turning Elena down before anything finally happened between them. And whateverdidhappen—it wouldn’t have happened without her consent. That’s not the kind of man he is. So whatever occurred between them—and I’m hesitant to say it’s anything other than their business—it was—”

“I don’t care,” Isabella snaps. “I don’t want him anywhere near my sister. Is that understood? I don’t want him in this house. I don’t want to hear or speak to him again.”

Whatever Niall says in response to that, trying to mollify her, I don’t hear. I back away from the door, tears welling in my eyes, because I’ve heard enough of the conversation. Whatever comes next doesn’t matter, because Levin isn’t coming back. Isabella doesn’t need to worry about that.

I go back to my room, tears sliding down my cheeks as I crawl onto the bed, curling on my side into a tight ball. I never knew anything could hurt this badly. It feels like a physical pain, like someone has reached into my chest and strangled my heart, like I can’t breathe.

Levin left me because he thought I deserved someone else. Someonebetter.

But there isn’t ever going to be anyone else for me.

I wish he understood that.

I wish he cared.

Levin

Being without her is excruciating.

It’s penance. It’s what I deserve, for letting things go as far as they did. With every mile I put between us, I’m more and more aware of how out of hand I allowed all of it to get.

I should have told her no so many times. Even if what happened on the beach was unavoidable, born of the thought that we were going to die. There was no future beyond that night; I should never have let it happen again once we were off the beach.

Everything that happened in Rio shouldn’t have. And the number of times I fucked her without protection, telling myself that I’d say no next time–

Christ,I was a fucking idiot.

I was the one with the age, responsibility—and hell, supposedly the fucking wisdom—to tell her that it was a bad idea. That we couldn’t give in, no matter how either of us felt about it.

I’m supposed to be past the age of thinking with my dick, and I’m beyond ashamed of myself that I apparently am not. At least when it comes to Elena.

It doesn’t matter. There’s enough distance between us that she’ll forget about me soon enough. Time heals the majority of wounds—and so does space.

There are some that no amount of space and time can ever heal, but I tell myself that this isn’t one of them. That Elena will be fine, in time. I’ll tell Viktor that I can’t go to Boston for a while, that if there’s anything else that needs handling with the Kings, I’ll either do it from a distance or he’ll need to send someone else. I’ve been loyal to him long enough that he’ll trust that I have good reasoning.

And as for me—

I fucking miss her. Sitting on the plane on the short flight from Boston to New York, the silence feels cavernous without her to fill it. It’s hard to believe there was a time when I found her endless optimism irritating, that I thought she was anything but a ray of much-needed sunshine in a dark and difficult world. That there was ever a time when I thought she was too naive to survive.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. There’s guilt in that, too. Elena’s hands are bloodstained now, marked with the deaths of five or more men, most likely, because I wasn’t there to take care of it for her. Because I got myself stabbed in the gut in a poker game meant to buy our way out of Rio, and she had to save me.

I’d be dead now if she weren’t far more capable than I ever gave her credit for.

I know, from the things she said to me after, that she thinks that means she’s earned a place in this world. That she’s proved she’s able to be a match for someone like me. But what she can’t seem to understand is that I never wanted her to have to be that at all. That I don’t want her to find out all the small ways this life chips away at your soul until you find yourself looking for any way you can to prove to yourself that you still have one.

I want her out, before she gets sucked in so deeply that she can’t ever escape.

The worst part is, I can fuckinghearwhat she’d say to that in my head.I was always a part of this life. I was born into it—I would have been married to a man in one of the cartels if I’d stayed at home. So why can’t I choose my place in it?

And my answer would always be the same—that she has a chance to be almost entirely free of it now. Niall, her now brother-in-law, is an enforcer for the Kings, true, but it’s not the kind of thing that will keep her tied into all of that. Niall, of all the men I know, is the best at keeping what he does away from his family—and I know for a fact that he’s been clear with Connor and Liam that he wants Isabella kept away from all of it. There will be no arranged marriage for Elena, and the Kings will do their best to make sure that what Niall does won’t come back on his family. There’s never a perfect guarantee in this life—but of all the places Elena could land that would give her the best chance at a normal life, her sister’s new home is the best.

That means keeping myself out of it. And I intend to do that, no matter how much it hurts.

I go straight to Viktor’s offices when I land. I find him behind his desk, flipping through a file, and he looks up at me the moment I step in.

“Levin!” He stands up, coming around to greet me with a quick, one-armed hug. After so many years, Viktor is more like a friend to me than an employer, someone I trust above anyone else. “It’s good to have you back.”

---