The Promise (Darkest Lies Trilogy Book 2) by Bethany-Kris (fiction book recommendations .txt) 📕

me, babe, but that I can give you. My loyalty to you. If I say something, I’ll do it. For you. Do you hear me?”

She nodded once.

“I’ve never trusted anyone before,” she whispered.

It felt like it shouldn’t even need to be said, but she did it, anyway.

“I know.”

He kissed the curve of her shoulder, and then slowly started to ease her off his chest. She wanted to grip him hard, with both hands. She’d do anything—even something drastic right then—to make him stay.

But she couldn’t.

Or ... Karine knew she shouldn’t.

So, she let him go.

Roman stood at the foot of the bed as he dressed himself. Those thirty minutes were up, and Karine could feel the tears coming.

No. She wouldn’t do that to him. Not now when he had to leave. She didn’t want the sight of tears streaming down her face to be the last thing he saw before he walked out of that bedroom, so she stifled the hitching in her throat and the sting in her eyes.

Just a little bit longer.

When he was gone, she would cry.

Only then.

“I’ll see you soon, right?” she asked, sinking back into his sheets.

His bed.

It smelled like him, and now her. Them. She had no intention of leaving his room anytime soon. Or ever. Fuck anyone who tried to make her do anything different.

“You know it,” he told her.

So sure.

He’d finished dressing fast, and before he carried his bag to the door, he came around the bed to her side again. She didn’t really need to ask the question echoing in the back of her mind, because she knew what his answer would be, but it still felt right ... so, Karine asked, “You promise?”

He took her fingers, pressing the tips to his mouth, the kiss featherlight. “I do.”

“Be safe, Roman.”

This man.

He winked.

All sinful, and gorgeous.

And now, very possibly, hers.

“Be good,” he told her.

Well.

Karine would try, but ...

“No promises.”

FIFTEEN

One week crawled into two, and Roman felt every fucking second of those days tick by. From the moment he left Vermont, he became painfully aware of the time passing, because for once in his life, he was doing everything but what he wanted to do.

It took so little effort to be selfish.

And so much not to be.

In the back seat of his friend’s newest car, Roman killed time watching the streets of a familiar city as Marky navigated the road. They were trying to kill time. Marky had a habit of changing vehicles far too often for Roman to keep track of which one the guy was driving on any given week; his access to fleets of stolen vehicles did not go unused. Which, in a way, helped them with their current situation considering he had to stay on the move. Roman was doing his best to avoid a run-in with the FBI like Demyan had experienced.

At least, his father had managed to keep the bastards off his shoulders so far, but Roman wasn’t sure how much longer that would last. His constant paranoia about bumping into the FBI was only aided by the fact he was still waiting for someone from Chicago to turn up out of the blue, too.

A proverbial target had been placed on his back in more ways than one—a dangerous way to feel for a man like him. Repeatedly checking over his shoulder, eyes darting everywhere when he entered any public space, the never-ending movement because a still target was far too easy to hit.

When Leonid or Dima did eventually hit, he wanted to see it coming. Really, it was the only thing he could do.

Work was entirely out of the question, even if Roman thought it might serve as a good distraction to the fact he fought every day not to return to Vermont. But no, a decent, worthwhile scheme wouldn’t serve the purpose of staying out of sight and on the move. He hadn’t been involved in any of the chop shop business since he left Chicago with Karine in tow.

That shit was trash, too.

Nothing was in Roman’s favor. Life was having a good laugh at his goddamn expense.

He had an itch he couldn’t scratch—an ever-present desire to return to some semblance of normal, or what his normal used to be.

That just wasn’t possible, and really ... he wouldn’t take any of it back, if he could. It meant no Karine, after all, and the idea of that bothered him more than even the fact he couldn’t be with her now.

Roman figured that said something.

He just wasn’t ready to say it, too.

Eyeing Marky in the rearview mirror only to find his friend was focused on the bumper to bumper traffic, Roman pulled out his phone and dialed Karine’s number. He’d gotten a bull at the lodge to arrange a phone for her the very same day he left. Shit, he had to figure out something, didn’t he?

From what he’d been told, the phone at least eased the impact after he was gone. Karine answered the call at the start of the second ring, like she’d been waiting for it.

“I missed your voice,” were her first words.

Roman grinned. “Oh?”

“It’s kind of stupid.”

“Or cute.”

Even he raised a brow at the choice of word he used—cute—not at all something he would usually say. Marky didn’t hide the fact he shot a glance at Roman in the rearview mirror, either.

His reply was a look—it said everything. Fuck off.

“Are you having a good day?” Roman asked, going back to what mattered.

His phone call.

Karine.

Sprawling deeper into the backseat, he tipped his head back to stare at the roof of the car. Like that, he could picture Karine’s face. How those pretty, perfect bow-shaped lips would form a smile when she spoke. He just wanted to see her. Every inch of her.

Fuck, yeah.

That’s what he was—fucked.

He missed her, too.

“I think so,” Karine said after a pause.

“You think it was a good day?”

“Well, we did a lot of walking.”

Roman held back the snort at how her tone dipped. He’d come to learn