Good Girl(29)

Right now I feel the need to run.

I need to get the fuck away from Petrov and all that shit. I’m not going to do this shit for him, and I know that telling him no isn’t going to go over well. I could run on my own and take Ava with me. But I fucking hate that idea. I’m not a little bitch. I didn’t run when my own famila came after me, but back then I was fueled by anger. I’m using my fucking head with this one. And going in there by myself against his powerhouse; that’d be fucking stupid.

If I had the backing of the Valettis though…That’s a different story. Right now I don’t know what to think about Vince and the rest of them, but I’m going to find out. I need to do it quick before Petrov gets wind of what happened. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. When he finds out, I’m fucked.

All because of Ava. And it was fucking worth it.

She’s quiet when I open the door, lying on her side and curled up like her stomach is hurting her. Her back is to me. My eyes travel the length of her small body as I walk into the room.

I feel like shit that she’s sick over this. I know she said she’s happy that he’s dead, but I still shouldn’t have told her to do that. She would have done anything I told her to do. And I had her kill a man.

Felipe was her keeper though. He was her tormentor. I can only imagine the fucked up shit he did to her. I’d want to see him dead if he’d done that shit to me. I set the bowl down gently on the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed. It creaks and dips with my weight. She starts to get up, but I place my hand on her hip to stop her. She needs to rest.

I need to know. It’s killing me to not know what she went through. I want to understand. I need to help her.

I clear my throat and ask, “You feeling any better?”

“Much,” she answers with a small smile. She looks so sweet and innocent. Her face is still pale though. I was afraid she was having a panic attack at the table. This is too much for her. I’m a fucking prick for putting her through that.

“I’m sorry, Ava.” I take her hand in mine as she scoots closer to me, giving me her full attention. She shakes her head, but I don’t give her the opportunity to make excuses for me.

“I never should’ve told you to take the gun.” I press my lips into a straight line as I remember standing behind her, steadying her hands. “I thought it would help you. I didn’t think you’d get sick over it.”

“I’m alright,” she states, as though everything is perfectly fine. It’s not.

“You almost had a fucking heart attack at the table.” I squeeze her hand tighter. “You’re just a woman. You shouldn’t even see things like that.”

Her eyes flash with anger so briefly, I question it. I can see she wants to say something, but she’s holding it in. I fucking hate that. “Tell me.”

“It was because you told me to forget everything that happened. I wasn’t sure if you were testing me or not.” Her eyes dart to the door and then back to me. “I didn’t know what to say.”

My forehead wrinkles with confusion. And then it hits me. She thought I was testing her? “Did you think I was going to hurt you, Ava?” My blood boils, and I resist the urge to show how angry I am. Not at her, but at the fact that she expected that shit from me.

Her lips part and her eyes fall as she admits, “I wasn’t sure.” Her tone is so sad. It fucking breaks my heart.

“I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t set you up.” I cup her chin in my hand and tilt her head. “I’m not like them.” I fucking hope I’m not. I don’t know what she’s been through. But I hate that she thinks I’m some sick prick like the fuckers who got their hands on her before me.

I have to change the subject. I’m getting too fucking worked up. “Can you eat?” I ask, as I drop my hand.

She nods her head and answers with a confident, “Yes.”

That makes me happy. She needs to eat. I give her a small smile and reach over for the bowl as she sits up.

“I’m glad you’re eating. Did they feed you?” I need to know. After seeing her reaction to killing that prick, I want to know what all that fucker did to her. I wish that bastard were still alive, so I could take out this anger on him and make him suffer for what he did.

“Yes. I was always fed something.” She says it simply. But it’s a veiled answer.

“Something? Be more specific?”

“Some fed me whatever it was they were eating.” Some. My throat closes and my eyes fall. How many men have hurt her? I swallow thickly and turn to her with the spoon held out. I want to feed her. She doesn’t hesitate to lean forward slightly and part her lips.