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

believed them, too. Every single one of them. That’s what made this harder.

If only she would just let him hold her then he would try and make this better, but he couldn’t. She didn’t want him to. He held his hands up where she could see them, clear as day.

He was not a threat.

Not to her.

“I didn’t know when to bring it up,” he replied honestly, “Or when it would’ve been appropriate. I wanted to give you a chance to settle in here, first.”

“No. You were just going to disappear. That’s what your plan is. To avoid any conflict. I’m not stupid, Roman.”

He wished she didn’t move so quickly to wipe away the tears and then work so hard to hide the next round. The sight of her visibly struggling to hold back her hurt made him angry. Her weakness was not a vulnerability to him in the way she thought it was. It wasn’t something he was going to use, abuse, or otherwise.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Karine. Just abandon you, fucking never. I would have told you I was going to have to leave, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this soon. Circumstances have changed. That’s life, okay?”

She looked away from him, and for a moment, it felt like she was trying to pretend he didn’t exist. That hurt even worse; a million little slices over already-deep and bleeding cuts.

Roman stepped in her direction and was relieved that she didn’t step away. He hadn’t even told her about her father. She had no clue Maxim was dead. How was she going to react to that information? He wanted her to give him a chance to explain, but she still wouldn’t even look at him.

“Karine ...” he tried to say, urging her to look at him again.

She did.

When she glared at him, and then strode right past.

Karine headed up the hill again, and he didn’t need to be told to understand she didn’t want him following her. She still told him, anyway.

“Just leave me the fuck alone,” she called back, the words carrying to him in the wind.

Another thousand, invisible littles cuts were left in their wake. Roman stood there helpless to feel every single one of them while he watched her walk away.

TWELVE

The FBI agents had been on Demyan’s radar long before he was on theirs thanks to a contact he had with the bureau—or rather, a woman in the bed of a man from the bureau. It paid to know the right people.

As he sat behind the desk in his home office, waiting for the arrival of the two agents he expected to meet shortly, Demyan already knew more about them than they ever would about him. In fact, he spent his time flipping through a file on both of them while he watched the camera footage of his front gates where their black, nondescript sedan would soon appear. It was one of three security cameras he’d recently had installed on the property, in very carefully chosen locations for reasons like tonight.

He’d dealt with a few officials in the past—cops, more times than he could count, but a handful of agents from the FBI had crossed his path before, too. The two whose file had come attached with pictures were not familiar faces.

Fucking perfect.

More pests to watch.

He was sure they were fully aware of who he was—nature of the business, considering the FBI had been created for the very purpose of catching criminals like Demyan. His contact simply allowed him the very valuable time to do his research on them, too.

Maybe the bastards thought they were going to surprise him by turning up at his house in the middle of the day, but he had unfortunate news for them. This was exactly where Demyan wanted them. On his turf, on his terms. There wasn’t much he could do to avoid a confrontation with the FBI when their investigation related to the recent Yazov activity probably connected his son to it.

He could control how that confrontation happened, though.

At least, he’d acted fast enough to send Claire away. He didn’t want these fucks breathing anywhere in his wife’s vicinity.

He had two of his men in the room with him—one, a brigadier he considered a friend, and the man’s bull, just because. He could have chosen other men, higher ranking men in his bratva, but what mattered the most was that he had anyone there. Vor or vory who would be trusted enough to ensure his activity with the FBI didn’t break their code of conduct. He’d have gotten his father there, but the agents decided to speed up their visit by a day, and left Demyan with no choice but to call on who he had closest.

Demyan didn’t mind witnesses.

Both stood behind his chair. One—his friend—shifted his weight from one foot to the other. It was his cue. Demyan looked up at the screen to see a black car drive up to the gates. A bull stationed there went through the instructions to ask a few general questions before letting them through, despite the badge they flashed in his man’s face. As if that made a fucking difference.

Demyan shuffled the pages back into the file in front of him, unhurried and already over the meeting before it could properly begin, and handed it back to one of the men behind him.

He didn’t like doing this. Beyond the fact that it was a fucking waste of his time to sit down with agents he had no intention of actually engaging, it meant putting their operation at risk. But it had to be done.

Especially if he was going to protect Roman, and the girl.

Christ.

Couldn’t forget Karine.

Claire had been all too happy to let him know just how much she already liked her. He was entirely unsurprised because he didn’t expect anything different from his wife after he’d let it slip that he was positive Roman was more than just interested in the young woman.

It was more than