His to Take (Wicked Lovers #9)(25)
Author: Shayla Black

“Around the time the USSR collapsed, Aleksandra gave birth to a son and they left the country. In the vacuum of power, Viktor had no more funding, and he knew there was more money in the West. At first, the U.S. resisted letting him in because of his controversial theories and experiments. He eventually convinced the U.S. government that he’d only conducted his radical experiments at Soviet edict. Of course, everyone discovered later that wasn’t true, but by then, he and his small family had moved to that farm in rural Indiana—not too many people asked questions out in the middle of nowhere—and they’d added two more children to their family.”

“So . . . he went to work for Callindra Howe’s father, trying to cure cancer. Aslanov stumbled onto something that later got him killed. At least that’s what they said on the news.” She frowned. “But why?”

“There are gaps in the story, yes. That’s another reason I’m here. Thorpe, whom you met earlier, knows others who have more information. I just haven’t seen these people yet.”

Bailey frowned. Maybe Joaquin was simply stalling or full of crap. Maybe he was trying to lull her into a false sense of security.

Heaven forbid if he was telling the truth.

Panic crept through her system. She couldn’t imagine a scenario in which everything she’d known had been a lie, everyone she’d loved had really begun as a stranger.

Gathering her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and resisted the urge to rock. “I can’t help you.”

Joaquin stood and leaned over her, dropping a big, dark hand on her shoulder. “Tatiana?”

She sent him an angry glare, shaking her head. Tears filled her eyes, stinging like acid. “That’s not my name.”

He stroked her arm softly, and in a distant corner of her mind she marveled at how tender such a big man could be. “If you don’t want me to call you that, I won’t. I just want you to consider that if you’re not Tatiana Aslanov, there are an awful lot of coincidences here.”

She clutched her knees tighter. He wasn’t saying anything she hadn’t already thought, but somehow, hearing it out loud scared her more. “Even if I am her, I still can’t help you. If that’s me, that whole part of my life . . . it isn’t even a memory. It’s just blank. There’s nothing.”

Caressing his way back up her arm, he lifted her chin with a gentle finger. “I know I’m asking for a lot. You would have been very young. But I don’t have anything else. I’ll work with you the best I can, but I’ve got to press ahead. If I don’t, others may die. You’ll be in danger. You’ll never have your life back. And I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you. Can we agree to keep exploring who you might be and what you might know?”

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

It was probably stupid to admit that to him, but she didn’t have anyone else now. If she could believe Thorpe—he wasn’t necessarily in her corner, but he didn’t like Joaquin’s methods. On the other hand, if her captor was being honest about trying to stop these terrible murders, then . . . well, he wasn’t hurting her. Upsetting her, yes. But were his actions really awful? She didn’t want women dying, especially in such ghastly ways. Maybe he was actually kind of noble.

She did not just think that. No, she had. Damn it. Because she wanted to believe nothing bad would happen to her? Or because she was actually identifying with her captor. Both probably. She was sounding dangerously Stockholm syndromish. Fabulous.

“I know, baby girl.” His voice deepened, roughened.

That probably should have come across as patronizing. Instead, the words sounded like an endearment sliding off his tongue. His timbre made her tremble.

“Come here.” He didn’t give her time to deliberate, just wrapped his arms around her and lifted her against his chest.

Bailey’s first instinct was to struggle for escape. Then she realized that Joaquin wasn’t holding her tightly. She could step away at any time she wanted.

Joaquin pressed her cheek against his chest, and she felt his big arms cross over her back, heard his heartbeat thud in her ear. He surrounded her, strong, masculine, and . . . seemingly so safe. What was wrong with her? She fought the feeling. Breathed in, out, tried to clear her head.

But no, it was still there. Why? Because her instinct knew that Joaquin wasn’t dangerous? Or because somewhere deep down she knew he was the first person in her life to give her the truth?

“Look at me.” His voice turned deeper still.

Bailey heard the low, coaxing note, knew she should resist it. But she didn’t want to.