She puts the apple core down on a napkin on the bedstand. “We should talk about Peter,” she says quietly. “And about the promise I made to him.”
I tense, my grip on her palm tightening. “What promise?”
“The list.” Her fingers twitch in my grasp. “The list of names you promised him for the three years of service. I told him I’d give it to him as soon as you had it—if he helped me rescue you.”
“Fuck.” I stare at her in disbelief. I had been wondering how she’d persuaded Peter to disobey a direct order, and here is my answer. “You promised you’d help him get revenge if he assisted you in that insanity?”
Nora nods, her eyes trained on mine. “Yes. It was the only thing I could think of at the time. He knew that if you died, he wouldn’t get the list at all—and I told him he’d get it earlier if he helped me.”
My eyebrows snap together as a wave of fury rolls through me. That Russian motherfucker put my wife in mortal danger, and that’s not something I can ever forgive or forget. He might’ve saved my life, but he had risked Nora’s in order to do it. If he hadn’t disappeared after carrying out the rescue, I would’ve killed him for that. And now Nora wants me to give him that list?
Not fucking likely.
“Julian, I promised him,” she insists, apparently sensing my unvoiced reply. Her gaze is filled with uncharacteristic determination as she adds, “I know you’re mad at him, but the whole plan was my idea—and he didn’t want to do it at first.”
“Right. Because he knew your safety should’ve been his top priority.” Realizing I’m still squeezing her palm, I release her hand and say harshly, “The bastard’s lucky he’s still alive.”
“I understand that.” Nora gives me a level look. “So does Peter, believe me. He knew you’d react like this—which is why he left after dropping us off here.”
I inhale, trying to hang on to my temper. “And good riddance to him. He knows I’ll never trust him now. I ordered him to keep you safe on the estate, and what did he do?” I glare at her as the memory of her getting dragged into that windowless room, bloodied and scared, scrapes at my brain. “He fucking hand-delivered you to Majid!”
“Yes, and by doing so, saved your life—”
“I don’t care about my fucking life!” I sit up all the way, ignoring the jolt of pain in my ribs. “Don’t you get it, Nora? You are the only person I care about. You—not me, not anyone else!”
She stares at me, and I see her large eyes beginning to glisten with moisture. “I know, Julian,” she whispers, blinking. “I know that.”
I look at her, and the anger drains out of me, replaced by an inexplicable need to make her understand. “I don’t know if you do, my pet.” My voice is quiet as I reach for her hand again, needing its fragile warmth. “You are everything to me. If something happened to you, I wouldn’t want to survive—I wouldn’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it.”
Her lips tremble, the tears pooling in her eyes before spilling over. “I know, Julian . . .” Her fingers curl around my palm, squeezing it tightly. “I know, because it’s the same for me. When I thought your plane went down—” she swallows, her voice breaking, “—and then afterwards, when I heard the gunshots during our call . . .”
I draw in a breath, her distress making my chest hurt. “Don’t, baby . . .” I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss the inside of her palm. “Don’t think about it anymore. It’s over—there’s nothing more to fear. Majid is gone, and we’re on the verge of completely eradicating Al-Quadar . . .”
As I speak, I see her expression flattening, her gaze growing strangely shuttered. It’s as if she’s trying to pull back her emotions, to build some kind of a mental wall to protect herself. “I know,” she says, and her lips stretch into the kind of empty smile I’ve often seen her wear since our rescue. “It’s done. He’s dead.”
“Are you sorry about that?” I ask, lowering her hand. I need to understand the source of her withdrawal, to get to the bottom of whatever is causing her to shut down like this. “Are you sorry you killed him, baby? Is that why you’ve been upset the last few days?”
She blinks, as if startled by my question. “I’m not upset.”
“Don’t lie to me, my pet.” Releasing her hand, I gently grasp her chin and look into her shadowed eyes. “Do you think I don’t know you by now? I can see that you’ve been different since Tajikistan, and I want to understand why.”
“Julian . . .” Her voice holds a pleading note. “Please, I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Why not? Do you think I don’t get it? Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to kill for the first time and live with the knowledge that you took a human life?” I pause, watching for a reaction. When I see none, I continue, “We both know that Majid deserved it, but it’s normal to feel like shit afterwards. You need to talk about it, so you can begin to come to terms with everything that happened—”
“No, Julian,” she interrupts, the careful blankness of her gaze giving way to a sudden flare of anger. “You don’t get it. I know Majid deserved to die, and I’m not sorry that I killed him. I have no doubt that the world is a better place without him.”