Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"He…He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of God the Father," she says, her voice shaking slightly.
Roman moves quickly down the hallway, his boots hitting the linoleum with purposeful strikes. Within seconds, he's at the end of the hall, speaking to the agent stationed there. He holds up a hand, silently telling us to wait.
I draw to a stop, keeping Faith close while he and the agent check outside to make sure the coast is clear. She cringes when the door squeals but doesn't otherwise react.
"Ottuda pridyot sudit’ zhivykh i mertvykh," I recite, waiting for Roman and his teammate to finish their quick sweep.
"From there He will come to judge the living and the dead."
"Good," I murmur to her, nodding at Roman when he steps back inside and motions us forward. "We're almost there, Faith. Just a little bit farther."
"Okay," she whispers bravely. Her nails dig into my side again as we step forward, walking quickly toward Roman.
He pushes the door open, holding it for us.
"Veruyu v Dukha Svyatogo, svyatuyu Vselenskuyu Tserkov’…" I murmur as we approach the door. My unmarked Tahoe is pulled up right outside, so close I could probably toss her the short distance from the entrance to the vehicle. Instead, I duck outside, checking both ways to make sure the coast is still clear. Aside from a couple of nurses vaping on the far side of the employee parking lot, there's no one else in sight. I still feel like there's a giant red target painted on Faith's back as I usher her outside.
"I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church," she says, her voice shaking hard now.
"Svyatyh obshchenie, ostavlenie grekhov…"
"The communion of Saints, the forgiveness of sins," she gasps as I hurry her to the Tahoe.
I keep my body curled around hers, barely daring to breathe until the door of the SUV opens and she's inside, out of view. I climb up beside her, sliding her over to make room for me on the bench seat.
"Voskresenie ploti, zhizn’ vechnuyu," I breathe in relief when the door closes behind me.
"The resurrection of the body, and life everlasting," she repeats, slumping weakly against the seat. Her entire body trembles with the force of her relief. She closes her eyes, her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks as the word "amen" whispers from her lips in a dulcet puff of sound. She looks drained, as if the trip from her room to the safety of the car took every ounce of energy she had.
I grind my teeth together, fighting the urge to pick her up, put her in my lap, and tell her that everything is going to be okay. I've never met anyone who sends every protective instinct I have clamoring like she does. I've never felt such a lack of control before.
She's been used and abused for most of her life. The last thing she needs is a controlling bastard like me slowing taking over her life. That shouldn't piss me off, but it does. Because I want to take control for her, want to put her life in order, teach her what it means to be safe, cared for, and protected.
And I fucking can't. She's off-limits. Untouchable.
Even if there was a tiny moment where desire sparked in her eyes…she doesn't like or trust me anyway. To her, I'm just another man keeping her in a cage.
"Mierda," I mutter under my breath, not liking that reminder any more than I like the thought of her being afraid of me. Because, for the first time in my life, I think I want something else more than I want Tarasova out of this city.
And there isn't a goddamn thing I can do about it.
Chapter Four
Faith
"Faith, you need clothes," Detective Hernandez growls, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's trying not to lose his patience with me as we face off across the small living room of my safe house.
"I could have gotten them from Goodwill," I huff, pushing my hair back from my face so I can pin him and the shopping bags at his feet with a dirty glare. I didn't ask him to buy me clothes, and I don't want them. I'm not a charity case, and he isn't responsible for me.
He growls in frustration, his dark gaze raking over me like he isn't sure what to make of me. I want to tell him that makes two of us, because I can't figure him out. One minute, he's nicer to me than anyone ever has been before. The next, he treats me like he can't get away from me fast enough. Like the day he brought me here. He was so sweet to me until we got in the SUV…and then he acted like he couldn't even stand to look at me.