The Promise (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 2) Bethany-Kris (read books for money TXT) 📖

be seen, either, and Masha had been busy with Roman and Karine.

The only person left who could have cleaned the mess was now sipping from a lowball glass of three-hundred-dollar a bottle vodka.

The very best Roman had.

Top shelf.

Demyan—his father.

He didn’t seem to want a thank you from his son, and didn’t appear to care if Roman mentioned it one way another as he approached. Hearing his steps, Demyan turned with a sigh and a quiet, “This deserved the good vodka, son. I hope you understand.”

Roman only shrugged.

What else could he do?

He had expected a lot of different reactions from his father after everything, but instead, Demyan remained calm. He eyed his son carefully, considering each one of Roman’s steps until he finally came to a stop in front of him.

“I don’t understand how you’ve found yourself in this position,” he began in a murmur around the rim of his glass.

Fair enough.

Roman raked a hand through his hair, then grabbed the bottle right off the bar altogether. Even a stiff drink wasn’t going to cut it this time. He might as well take the whole damn bottle at this point.

“The girl I just saw back there,” Demyan said, his gaze darting to the hallway that he had a decent view of from his position, “... she’s fragile. Cotton candy, Roman. Just the hint of contact is all that’s needed, and she’ll disintegrate into nothing. Yet, she’ll cling to you like a life raft.”

Yeah.

He didn’t need the reminder.

Roman drank straight from the bottle, gulp after gulp of vodka that burned, until he felt the warmth spreading in the pit of his stomach. Demyan didn’t even tell him to chill—the biggest surprise of all. When he looked at his father again, after dropping the bottle back to the bar, he shook his head.

“You’re right, she’s fragile,” Roman agreed, his tongue swiping nervously across his bottom lip. A tell he couldn’t bother to hide from his father. “She needs help. Like real fucking help. A medical professional, kind of help, Papa.”

Demyan’s face twisted—the very mention of a shrink never went down well in their world. He didn’t say a thing one way or another about the topic, instead replying to his son, “It doesn’t sound like you have any intention of explaining yourself or the girl to me.”

“What’s to explain, or haven’t you seen enough?”

Demyan stared hard at him.

Roman waved one hand, tired. He was over it. “Like I said before, it’s not like I have all of the answers to make everything make sense, either. I was dropped into this situation—I’m trying to figure it out as we go along.”

“We?”

“Me and her. Right now, I’m basically what she’s got. Fucking great, huh?”

Because she needed more.

Even he knew it.

Demyan’s jaw tightened at that statement. “And you want to stick to your previous answer, then? Saying what you just did, you feel nothing for her?”

Steely eyes studied Roman, and while it made him uncomfortable, he let his father do it. He didn’t have an answer, and when he didn’t reply, Demyan shook his head.

“Unbelievable. This is a strange hill you’ve decided to die on, let me say.”

Displeased, Demyan let out a harsh exhale before downing the rest of the vodka in his glass. He’d always wanted what was best for Roman, even if that meant letting him destroy his life with choices of his own making. They were his to make, or so his father liked to say. In the past, they’d clashed as Demyan learned the more he tried to fix and control Roman, the worse his behavior became. There were times he sincerely believed his father just wanted to be rid of him. Then, he became older—maybe wiser—and had an opportunity to observe his father from the lens of a grown man.

Albeit, still a troubled one.

That didn’t change the truth.

Nothing was more important to Demyan Avdonin than his family.

Roman took another swig of the vodka.

“A very strange fucking hill,” Demyan added in a dark mutter.

Well ...

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Roman replied.

“I plan to say more.”

He nodded.

“I figured that, too.”

Expected nothing less, really.

• • •

Eventually, Roman and Demyan made their way to the large, glass dining table. His father sat at one end, and he remained at the other. In the silence that stretched between their conversation, the occasional sound echoed from the large bathroom down the hall.

Roman couldn’t help but wonder if Karine was giving Masha a hard time—he doubted it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Otherwise, he would have known about it by now. For a second, he dared to relax.

“Has she settled here?” Demyan asked, drawing Roman away from his thoughts.

“We’ve been here a single night. She’s as settled as she can be, considering.”

“Who’s the other woman with her?”

“Masha, she’s ... Karine’s caretaker. As far as I can tell, she’s one of the Yazov slaves who had been assigned to her. I get the impression they’ve been together for a while—so they’re close. Masha is probably one of the few people who can actually handle her, no matter what condition she’s in. She’s not scared of her, and Karine usually responds well to her most of the time.”

“You handled her pretty well,” Demyan remarked.

Roman’s gaze darted away to hide the thrill racing through his veins. It was disturbing that he could like the way Karine clung to him and depended on him—but since he didn’t pretend to be a fucking saint, there it was.

Demyan still watched him closely, searching for all those signs that would give away the truth about Karine. All the things that Roman wasn’t telling him.

“You can’t stay here,” he said abruptly.

Roman’s head snapped back at that. “What? This is my—”

Demyan was shaking his head. “You can’t stay here, or in any of our properties in the state. Those are the first places they’ll look, Roman. And they will look.”

“Maxim made the deal. He wanted Karine gone, and she is. He never said anything about telling anyone else.”

“But he broke a more important agreement