Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“What are you making?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. A person, I think.”
“But you don’t know what, exactly?” I ask.
“I never do,” he replies in a husky voice that makes him seem poetic and more handsome. No, not more handsome. Not handsome, full stop. “I just let my hand move, and whatever emerges, emerges.”
“So you’re an artist and a kidnapper, bro?”
He frowns, making me wish I could take the comment back. Then I realize that means I need to calm down. I shouldn’t be feeling guilty about anything I say to him.
“You seem to enjoy trying to antagonize people,” he says.
“Nah, I don’t enjoy trying to. Just actually doing it, my sweet, loving stepbrother.”
He grits his teeth, focusing on his work. I try my best to glare at him, but keeping up that level of aggression for long is challenging when so many other feelings flurry through me. I’m not sure how much time passes with us in this standoff, me staring at him, him working diligently on his craft. Then, as I watch, the piece of wood transforms into the silhouette of a ballerina, wood shavings all around Aiden’s chunky black boots. There’s something weirdly romantic about it, but then he moves as though to toss it into the trash.
“What are you doing?” I say.
“I never keep them,” he mutters. “Just a way to pass the time.”
“But …”
I try to warn myself to shut the hell up. I don’t want him to think I care, even about some silly goofball carvings. Yet there’s something in me that wants that carving. I don’t even know why. It’s beautiful in a subtle way, and something is appealing about the fact that it came from somebody so savage.
“Do you mind if I …” I can’t even finish the sentence.
He tilts his head at me, looking suspicious. Then he shrugs as though it’s no big deal. He tosses it to me. I try to catch it, but I’m tired and sleepy. I miss it, and the carving bounces off my forehead. It’s a light piece of wood. I barely feel it. Suddenly, Aiden rushes over to me, kneeling at my side.
“Ania?” he says tightly, panic in his voice, softly touching my face in a way that makes me want to be his, under his protection. “Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”
His touch is warm against my skin, shivers dancing over my cheeks and neck and tingling all over me. He looks mortified as he stares down, as though he thinks he just seriously threatened my life. I almost say, “So kidnapping is okay, but this isn’t?” But I don’t want to hurt his feelings or shatter this moment, which is N-U-T-S.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “I’m not even bleeding.”
He leans back, nodding, but he still looks disgusted with himself. “Well, you can have it, for what it’s worth.”
Returning to his seat, he takes another small piece of wood from his pocket and starts chipping away at it again.
“You can sleep if you want,” he says after a moment, watching me.
“Who said I want to sleep?” I counter.
The more he smirks, the more I like it, even as I keep reminding myself this is the last thing I should be thinking. “You don’t have to say. Your eyes have been closing and opening for the past hour. Don’t worry. I’ll watch over you.”
Again, a sarcastic retort tries to word-vomit out of my mouth, but I can’t bring myself to say it after that oddly tender moment. Instead, I cradle the small piece of wood and lie back against the blankets. When I wake up, anything could happen. I could be in a cell. Do I really believe he’s done all this to take me to my mom?
He hasn’t hurt me yet. When he thought he might have, he seemed so sickened with himself. Maybe I’m way more naive than I like to believe, but I think he’s a good person. Have I got Stockholm syndrome already?
As sleep takes me, I remember something Dimitri said once. “You’re a good person, Ania. Kind. Empathetic. The world will take advantage of that if you let it.” Then he paused, and he got that Bratva-boss look in his eyes. “But if that ever happens, I’ll tear the world to pieces to make it right.”
Dimitri is happy now. He’s found his woman. He’s looking forward to the future, but that doesn’t mean he’s turned soft. I know he’s still capable of doing what needs to be done.
Finally, everything becomes too heavy. The events of the past couple of weeks—the secrets, the fear, the threat of a Bratva war—drift away, and I’m left just with the feel of the wooden ballerina in my hand. She feels so small and vulnerable, like one wrong move could shatter her into a thousand tiny pieces.