God of Pain (Legacy of Gods #2)(111)

“Yeah. I know she didn’t mean to. She was hurt and upset and she had every right to be. She’s always been close to Creighton’s mum, and Eli means something to her, despite her attempts to deny it. So her strong reaction makes sense and I don’t fault her for it. Tell her I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you think there’s someone else you should apologize to? Such as the person who actually got shot?”

My heart jolts at the mere mention of him and it takes me a few moments to compose myself. “And what good would that do?”

“You never know until you try.”

“It’s over, Ces.”

“But—”

“I’m simply not dragging my family through the mud for this. My mom has been worried sick since this whole ordeal started and her insomnia kicked in again. I won’t be the reason behind the relapse of her mental health issues. I’d never forgive myself.”

“So you’ll just sacrifice yourself?”

“I’ll just do what I was supposed to all along. Marry into the mafia, make my parents happy, and that’s it.”

“What about you then?”

“Nothing good happened when I chose me.”

“Anni…”

“I’m barely hanging in there. I’m doing my best, okay? I’m trying to convince myself to keep going no matter how much I want to stop and let my head get the better of me. I’m really, really trying, so please don’t push me, Ces.”

“Okay.” She strokes my shoulder.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I won’t pretend to know what it feels like to be in your shoes right now.”

“Thanks.” I release a long breath, but it does nothing for the knots inside me. “Should we get something to eat?”

Cecily agrees and opts to try the street food experience. We have hot dogs and lots of unhealthy soda and then I drive her to the airport.

Despite my attempts to invite her to stay, she’s bent on leaving and says this was an impromptu visit anyway.

She came in a private jet, so I escort her all the way to the plane.

“Don’t they have a car that goes with one of these planes?” I ask as we walk to the stairs. “Not that I mind driving you.”

“Uh, I didn’t think to ask. First time flying solo, remember?” She smiles forcibly and I stop pushing.

She’s probably embarrassed or she could have a fear of flying.

“I guess this is me.” I stop at the foot of the stairs.

“No, come up with me. I still have time until departure.” She grins. “We can have a drink.”

“Papa won’t like that, despite my attempts to prove my Russian ancestry.”

“Oh, come on.” She grabs me by the elbow. “I’m sure he won’t find out about one drink.”

“You say that because you don’t know my father.” I let her lead me up the stairs anyway. “He could find a fly in the Atlantic Ocean if he puts his mind to it. Jer inherited that trait, you know, and sometimes, I feel left out of the cool Volkov club.”

Cecily stiffens and I pause in the middle of the stairs. “What’s up?”

“Uh, nothing.”

“You went all rigid at the mention of my father and brother. Considering you never met Papa, and all the strategic disappearing you do when my brother is around, I guess this is about Jer?”

“Nooo.” She laughs awkwardly.

“That didn’t sound convincing.”

“You know your brother is scary.”

“Didn’t scare you that time you defended me at the fight club.”

“Maybe I should’ve been scared,” she mutters under her breath.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She leads me up the stairs and we sit down opposite each other on the luxurious velvet seats.

A flight attendant brings us two flutes of champagne and we make a toast before we drink.

Or I drink.

Cecily watches me the whole time with a downward expression.

“This looks oddly familiar, as if I’m the one who’s going on a flight.” I grin, then pause. “Is it just me or do I sound drunk after just one glass of champagne?”

Cecily stands up. “I’ll be right back.”

I try to follow her with my gaze but even my body feels drunk.

Papa will kill me.

Unless I convince Mom and Yan to smuggle me inside.

I stand up and the plane sways off its axis.

Shit.

I’m thrown backward and I hit a wall.

No. Not a wall. Muscles.

A very familiar scent fills my nostrils, confiscates my breathing, and leaves me floundering and gasping for air. My body heats and my heartbeat picks up in recognition of this touch.

The same touch I fell asleep with countless of times.

I think I’m dreaming. Again.

Like those tortuous nights where I imagine myself snuggled in these solid arms. Where everything is back to before my world was ruined.

But his deep, rich voice sounds absolutely real when he whispers, “Did you think it was over, little purple?”

Yes, I want to say, but my tongue is too heavy. Too big. Too unnatural.

My words die in my throat as my vision goes black.