The Promise (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 2), Bethany-Kris [top 50 books to read .txt] 📗

He stopped at that. Katina’s lips trembled as she pursed them together, almost pouting, but not quite because it was clear she just wanted to stop herself from talking. She had allowed that split second of weakness before the stoniness returned to her eyes again.

“You’re talking about Karine?” he asked.

“Yes, you already know. You were supposed to make her feel safe here—you didn’t. We talked, remember. In the car, we talked, Roman. You left. Abandoned her. Made her wonder if you’d ever—”

“Of course I was coming back,” he interjected, refusing to even let her get the words out. “I know that being here isn’t like being back in Chicago—but goddammit, the bubble that Maxim created around your whole world doesn’t exist here. I can’t be in her sight twenty-four-seven. It’s just not possible. There are other problems to handle. Things I have to take care of to keep her safe.”

From his vantage point, he could see the dribble of blood on the blade of the knife. Most of it had been washed away in the bath water, but some remained. The faintest trickle. He watched as Katina brought the blade closer to her face, heart thudding in his chest. She was only predictable in the way that she was unpredictable. He didn’t know what she was capable of doing next.

Not that he wanted to, but he watched her for the moment because he might need to stop any act of self-harm. She didn’t suggest it, but he assumed the only way to know for sure was to plan for the worst, hope for the best.

“Karine doesn’t understand that,” Katina continued, her words a low murmur. So soft that Roman had to lean closer to hear her. He wondered if she actually meant those words for him, or just herself.

The tip of the blade met her bottom lip as her gaze transfixed on his once more. That mouth of hers—the same one he’d kissed last night, parted with his own, tasted until she was gasping for air—was now painted with the smear of red dribbling down to the tip of the knife. Katina didn’t seem bothered by it, although Roman didn’t know whose blood it was. She licked it without warning, making every muscle in his body grow taut.

“You’ll have to kill him now,” she told him.

Not once did she take her eyes off him, either. It was easy to forget who the predator was in the room when she was beautiful. Heavy and thick in his throat, he forced the lust down and focused on forming the words struggling to get out.

She bobbed gently in the water, the wavy surface lapping against silky, wet pinked skin. He knew exactly how that skin felt to the touch—how soft and perfect she was sighing softly when he tasted it.

Why was he enjoying this?

She was violence and sex wrapped in one. Dangerous to him in all the worst ways.

“The bull,” she replied with a casual wave of the blade, the glint catching her eye as another fleeting, vicious smile curved her lips.  “Anyone who hurts me, even if it’s with one touch—well, they have to die.”

Roman rocked on his heels, sucking air through his teeth while he considered that statement. His mind raced to come up with a way to combat Katina on the spot. She was glowering up at him, proudly, with her chin thrust high, expecting an instantaneous answer. The only one she felt was acceptable.

He also couldn’t let her think it worked that way. She was already vicious enough without him giving her an all-out pass to cut every soul that so much as looked at her in a way she thought hurt. There was no doubt times when she had been justified; today was a good example of the fact it wasn’t every time.

“But you’ve taken care of it already. You say he hurt you, and you hurt him back,” he replied. “You can trust you’ve taught him a valuable lesson about how you should be treated.”

Katina’s breasts heaved with a breath. “That’s no fun.”

His grin was probably too devilish for his own good. He knelt down on the tiled floor by the bathtub, meeting her at eye level. She sniffled quick, heaving her shoulders up from the tears she held back. He’d not been expecting that.

“You don’t need that, do you?” he asked, nodding to the knife.

Maybe because she was done with her game, or she truly did want to give the weapon to him, Katina handed it over. The second he had the blade stuffed down the back pocket of his pants and—presumably—out of her reach should he be quick enough, Roman asked, “Is that what you were trying to do in Chicago? Hurt the people who hurt you?”

When he looked into her eyes, he expected to find the answer, even without words. That was exactly what he got because Katina said nothing.

“Don’t fuck this up—I’m trying to help.”

Katina’s brows furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”

Her lips trembled before she hid it by pressing them in a grim line. Roman decided, they could both have their pride.

“I want to talk to Karine, and I’m sure she would like to see me. Can I have her back now?”

He didn’t know if Katina could control when she switched. It didn’t seem like Karine could. Was it triggered, in some ways? On-demand in others?

Jesus.

He worried that he knew as much as she did, and it wasn’t nearly enough.

Katina glared at him, and he held her gaze, calmly. If there were other things she wanted to say, she didn’t plan on sharing them with him today. Her nostrils flared with a shaky gulp of air, and she swung her face away from him.

He caught the way she closed her eyes tight, her body momentarily going limp almost in the same second she regained control. Still, he lunged forward to circle her sinking body with his other arm before