The sound of his name jolts him from his vehement frenzy and he stops immediately. Neither the other man, who’s been watching the events unfold, nor I say another word or attempt to move as Raze leans his forehead against the wall, struggling to regulate his breathing and reclaim his composure.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he barks out an order that has the older guy scrambling to pick up the battered, insentient youngster and carrying him out of the cabin without a second glance back. Once the door closes behind them, Raze slowly spins around to face me, his eyes red and glossy.

“I’m sorry I frightened you, kotyonok. That was not my intention.” His shame-ridden gaze drops to the floor, his voice full of remorse. “I thought he was hurting you, and I lost control of myself. I gave you my word to protect you, and I’m a man of my word.”

“P-please come here, Raze.” My teeth chatter as I talk, more from being shaken up than the chilly temperatures. “I-I need you t-to untie me, th-then we can t-t-talk about it.”

He’s by my side in a flash, on his knees, unraveling the secure knots that bind my hands and feet with trembling fingers. Once he’s removed the rope, I push up to a sitting position while rotating my wrists and ankles until the tingles subside. He waits, silent and motionless, for me to say or do something.

“Thank you for saving me from him. He would’ve hurt me if you wouldn’t have come.”

Watching Raze beat the shit out of that guy did, in fact, scare me. I hate violence. Loathe it after what I was exposed to during my life with Ish. But there’s no way I can possibly be mad at him for saving me from what that monster was about to do to me.

“I’m not upset with you.” I reach my hands out and grab his, lifting his tattered, bloody knuckles into the air.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “You said I scared you.”

“You did. I didn’t want you to kill him and get in trouble with your Pakhan because of me,” I reply in a half-lie. Despite the circumstances of this entire fucked up situation, I have the overwhelming desire to comfort him. The troubled eyes staring into mine right now are that of a young boy trapped inside a grown man’s body, a boy who knows no other way to deal with conflict than with violence, and it makes my heart hurt.

“My job is to keep you safe, even from my own people,” he rasps, glancing down at our joined hands suspended in the air between us. “I’ll kill for you, and I’ll die for you, all to ensure you can carry out your assignment.”

“Let’s hope that isn’t necessary.” My lips curl up in a half-hearted smile, trying to lighten the mood. “You’ve done enough damage to your hands as it is. We need to get these cleaned up so they don’t get infected, and then we have groceries to put away.”

He nods and stands after I release my hold on his fingers. “There’s antiseptic and bandages in one of the boxes. I added them to the list for the abrasions on your ribs.”

“I’ll find them. You go wash up in the bathroom,” I reply, hiding my surprise that he not only noticed the lacerations I caused during my nightmare, but cared enough to have something to treat them brought in.

Thankfully, the first box I open is filled with the bathroom toiletries, including vanilla-scented shampoo and conditioner, a hairbrush, ponytail holders, razors, and even a box of tampons. My face heats up when I think about Raze ordering this stuff for me. What kind of big, badass mafia man thinks about these kinds of things? Then, it dawns on me.

Raze must’ve been married before. Or at least been in a serious relationship with a woman. Or maybe still is . . .

Grabbing the cream and box of bandages, I hurry to the bathroom to help him treat his injuries. Injuries he got because of me.

“Raze?” I ask timidly, unsure how he’s going to react to my question.

His focus snaps up from the sink to the mirror, where we stare at each other’s reflection. “Yes, girl?”

“Are you married?”

An unmistakable flicker of soul-deep heartbreak flashes in his cobalt eyes. “Why?” he barks gruffly, visibly gritting his teeth.

Shaking my head, I wave my hand in front of my face and try to play it off. He doesn’t need to say anything else; I already know the answer. “Never mind. I was just curious. I didn’t mean to pry. Let’s get you fixed up so we can eat.”

His jaw relaxes as he spins around to face me, but I keep from making eye contact with him, focusing on the task at hand. He watches intently as I clean and cover the wounds, and the air inside the tiny washroom quickly becomes thick with unspoken words. Once I’m finished, I turn to make a hasty retreat, but he catches me by the elbow, forcing me to look back at him.

“Her name was Darya,” he confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper.

My chest constricts with dread as I ask the next question. “What happened to her?”

“She was brutally raped and murdered.”

Somehow, I already know the answer, but I have to hear it from him. “Who?” I croak.

“Ish.”

AT RAZE’S REVELATION, I FLY into his arms in the tightest embrace possible, wishing . . . hoping . . . praying it’s not true, even though I know it is. He has no reason to lie to me. I don’t need any additional reasons to detest the man I was once married to. But now I have more.

We stand like that—clinging to each other, words unnecessary—for minutes. Maybe hours. I don’t know. I don’t care. If my arms wrapped around him provide even a tiny bit of solace for what he had stolen from him, for the love he lost, then I’ll stand here all night. I feel like I owe it to him.

At some point, we eventually break apart and make our way to the kitchen. Neither of us are ready to discuss everything that’s happened in the last hour, so we keep ourselves busy by unpacking the boxes of supplies, working around each other like we’ve done this hundreds of times.

First, we get all of the cold groceries put away in the refrigerator and freezer. The amount of food he’s ordered concerns me, indicating we’re going to be here for quite some time. I may feel differently about Raze now, but I still want to leave as soon as possible. This is not a life, being confined to a five-hundred-square-foot cabin in the middle of nowhere with no connection to the outside world.

As he puts away the last of the dry goods in the small pantry, I open the next package, only to find myself, once again, shocked at the things he’s had brought in. The entire box is filled with women’s clothes in my size—thermal tops, sweatpants, a pair of jeans, flannel pajamas, and undergarments.

Peering up at him, my jaw falls open and I shake my head incredulously. I don’t know what to say. And he ordered all of this before what happened with that sick freak earlier. I’m not sure who this guy is, but I can admit to myself that it was wrong of me to ever compare him to Ish.

“What? What did I do?” he asks when he notices me staring at him, lifting his eyebrows in his best innocent face.

I don’t even bother fighting the genuine smile that tugs the corners of my mouth up. “You had them bring me clothes?” I phrase it as a question, even though the physical evidence in front of me makes the answer quite clear.

Faintly embarrassed, he shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s not that I don’t like seeing you in my shirt every day, but I know you get cold, especially at night. And I know you’re having to hand wash your, um . . . your underwear. I just guessed on the bra size too, so I’m sorry if it’s off.”

His awkwardness discussing this is endearing. I like knowing I can bring up lingerie and make him uncomfortable. It’s not much of a weapon, but I’ll store the knowledge for future use, if necessary.

Glancing down at the tags of the bra, I’m not surprised to find it’s exactly my size. 34C. I lift it up and dangle it in the air, and on cue, he squirms and takes a step backward, away from me. “You did good. Thanks for all of this stuff.”