The Marriage (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 3) by Bethany-Kris (bill gates books recommendations txt) 📗

He felt hungover, and exhausted, even though he hadn’t touched a drink in more than twenty-four hours. There wasn’t a drug in his system to do the deed, either. Shame, really, because getting high or drunk might have made this slightly more bearable.

Roman was desperate for numbness. That was the terrifying truth. He craved that blissed, unfeeling place he had spent most of his teenage and adult life more than he ever had since he put that shit down.

Marky glanced at him from the driver’s side, taking in the way Roman had awkwardly slumped against the door.

“Come on, man, you did what you had to do. There was no other way,” Marky tried.

Roman scoffed.

No.

That just wasn’t true.

“I can think of a hundred things I could have done differently. For starters, I shouldn’t have left Karine there. I should have just taken her out of the country like I wanted to at first.”

But they’d needed a little more time for a decent passport forgery that would pass in some of the world’s largest international airports. He just couldn’t make it work, not without risking getting flagged somewhere overseas—because they sure as shit wouldn’t have stayed on this continent.

Marky shook his head. “And what, leave your father here—your ma? I mean, fuck, Demyan will handle business regardless, but that doesn’t mean it’ll end well.”

Roman didn’t reply.

His friend didn’t really need him to.

“That’s not gonna happen, Roman. You wouldn’t be able to stay away from Brighton Beach if there’s a war happening anywhere near it. You know what your duties to your family are.”

“Karine is fucking family now, too,” Roman snapped back.

He didn’t mean to be a prick.

Shit was just ... bad.

Everything was bad for Roman right then—like his entire world had somehow flipped over on its top and no matter what he did, he couldn’t feel right. Everything was wrong. Bad all over.

Marky clutched the steering wheel hard. Maybe he’d already run out of things to say, or the sight of Roman was enough to tell the man he wasn’t going to get anywhere.

“What have I done.”

He wasn’t actually looking for an answer.

It wasn’t a question.

He already knew what he’d done.

Roman rubbed a hand over his face, feeling his fingers tremble again; his nerves were totally fucking shot.

It was impossible to ignore the what ifs constantly dancing around in his mind. What if Karine never spoke to him again? What happened if she became unmanageable at the facility in Vegas, and he wasn’t there to help her?

“You’ve done what you needed to do. You’re the only one who has done anything for that girl. You took her out of Chicago. You rescued her from a marriage to that motherfucker. You’re keeping her safe. You have literally given her a life, man.”

Roman had his face covered with his hand, and he finally took it away so he could look at his friend. A cigarette had burnt down quickly between his fingers, but he’d forgotten about smoking it.

“Do you think it looks that way from her perspective—behind those walls? So what if I showed her what life looks like, I also took it away.”

He sank into the seat and closed his eyes.

Only her beautiful face floated up.

She would be the only thing on his mind.

*

The person he didn’t think would be waiting for him the moment he walked into his parent’s home was Masha.

She stood at the front doors with her arms by her side, her eyes piercingly dark and sharp on him. Almost like she’d been standing there for days—weeks, even. However long it took. Just waiting for him or Karine to show up.

Marky had dropped him off and drove away. Roman dragged his feet all the way across the driveway and up the steps to the entrance of his parents’ house.

“Ma brought you back from Vermont, then?” he asked.

Not that he’d had any expectations on the topic—Masha had served a purpose at first with him and Karine, but the second she became his wife ... well, it was all on Roman. He’d never given Masha, or what to do with her, a second thought.

Masha said nothing for several moments, just stared before she let out a heavy exhale. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her standing this straight. Shoulders high, back like a rod. The woman wanted something, and guessing by the way she stared at him, she’d found the man with the answers.

Great.

“Where is she? What have you done with her?” she hissed.

Roman had already slipped his wedding ring off. He wanted to be in control of the narrative, of what people knew or didn’t, and decided he would tell those who needed to know about the marriage. He hadn’t yet decided if Masha was going to be one of those people.

Nor would he apologize for it.

“All you need to know right now is that she is safe, and I would never hurt her.”

A cry, one a stray cat might make cold and alone in a dank alley, escaped her lips. He almost reached for her—to steady her.

However, Masha didn’t need his help, and he knew it. She was capable of looking after herself. She had spent all her life striving to keep herself alive, and see the next day. The woman didn’t need him offering her any kind of comfort.

“I don’t know anything,” Masha practically spat at him. “All I know is you manipulated her and took her away from that place. She was happy at the lodge. Safe there. She liked the people. She was getting better.”

Masha’s voice became sharper with every word that left her mouth, to the point Roman found himself wincing as her voice echoed in the entry hall.

Roman clenched his hands into fists. He was ready to punch the wall again, but his knuckles still hurt from the first round in Vegas. He hadn’t done anything to help his hand recover, even ignoring the one swollen knuckle that was probably broken. Instead, he