Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(9)

I expected as much, yet the words still slice across my heart. “When—” I swallow the growing lump in my throat. “When will you come back for me?”

He stares at me, his emotionless mask briefly cracking. “As soon as I can, ptichka,” he says thickly. “As soon as I fucking can.”

The lump in my throat expands, and tears sting my eyes anew. “So I’ll be here until Mom recovers?”

“Yes, and until I finish with—” He breaks off and takes a deep breath. “Never mind. You have enough on your plate. All you need to know is that I will be back for you.” His eyes sear into me as he cups my face between his big, rough palms. “You hear me, Sara? No matter what happens, as long as there’s breath in my body, I will come back for you. You are mine, ptichka. For as long as we’re both alive.”

I wrap my hands around his solid wrists, burning tears streaking down my cheeks as I hold his gaze. Once, his statement would’ve terrified me, but now it lessens the squeezing ache in my chest, gives me something to hold on to as he leaves and my new world—the one that’s centered around him—falls to pieces.

Coming home is what I’ve fought for all these months, but I feel no joy today, only a terrible void in my heart where Peter has so ruthlessly carved a space for himself.

He leans in and kisses the tears off my cheeks. “Go, my love.” Releasing me, he steps back. “There’s no time to waste.”

And before I can say anything—before I can tell him how I feel—he turns and walks to the plane, leaving me standing by the car.

Leaving me to return home alone.





9





Peter



I should be pleased that we outwitted the US authorities and this mini-operation went off without a hitch, but the pain in my chest is too crushing, too raw. I know this is only temporary, but I feel like someone ripped me open and tore out my beating heart.

My ptichka was crying when I left. And maybe it’s wishful thinking, but I got the sense she wasn’t overjoyed to be home—and not just because of the circumstances. The way she asked me when I’ll return for her—when, not if—and the look in her hazel eyes…

It was everything I’ve ever wanted, and I had no choice but to walk away. To set her free when every selfish instinct screamed for me to hold her tight, to chain her to me and never let her go. And above it all is the irrational fear for her safety, the terrible paranoia that something could happen to her while I’m not there. It stems from her accident, I know, but that doesn’t lessen it one bit.

I’m going to have her watched, but I won’t be nearby and that kills me.

“Are you sure about this?” Ilya asks, buckling himself into a seat next to me as our jet lifts off, the wheels folding in with a screech. “It’s not too late. We could still turn around and—”

“No.” I close my eyes and force my breathing to even out. “It’s done.”

I would give anything to keep Sara with me, but I can’t—not without destroying her and whatever chance we have at a future together.

In any case, it might be for the best that she’s nowhere near me when I do what it takes to ensure that future.

I will be back for her, but first, I must deal with Novak and Esguerra.





10





Sara



The drive to the hospital takes nearly two hours—we hit traffic on the way—and my nerves are stretched thin by the time the driver drops me off by the hospital entrance and disappears. He didn’t reply to any of my questions, so I have no idea who he is or what his relationship is to Peter and his team. And maybe it’s for the best. I have no doubt I’ll be questioned as soon as the FBI learn I’m here.

My hope is to see Mom and Dad before that happens.

Fighting to contain my anxiety, I hurry through the familiar hallways. I need no signs to point me to the ICU. This hospital is where I did my residency and where I worked all those years; it’s more home to me than the house I lived in.

“Lorna Weisman?” I ask, rushing up to the ICU check-in desk, and then I wait, silently screaming with impatience as a middle-aged receptionist with a garish red perm leisurely looks up the name.

I see the exact moment she finds whatever special notes the FBI left in the system. Her eyes fly up to my face, wide and startled behind her green-rimmed glasses, and she stutters out, “J-Just a moment.”

I grip the edge of the counter. “Where is she?” I lean in, imitating Peter’s scariest tone. “Tell me now.”

“Sh-she’s in surgery.” The woman shrinks back as much as her sizable frame allows. Her ring-laden fingers scramble for the phone on the table. “They t-took her in an hour ago.”

“Again?”

Frantically bobbing her head, she finds the emergency button on the phone. “There was more internal bleeding and—”

I don’t stay to hear the details. In a few minutes, security—and possibly the FBI—will be here, and I have to find Dad before that. The last Peter heard, Dad still hadn’t gone home, and given what I just learned, I have no doubt he’s here, waiting to see if Mom pulls through.

There is a big waiting room by the ICU, but I don’t see him there. It’s possible he went down to the cafeteria to get a bite to eat, or he might be in the bathroom. Either way, I don’t have time to hang around, so I run to one of the smaller waiting rooms that are off to the side. Some families prefer those for greater privacy, so there’s a small chance that Dad might—