He points to the bottle. “It’s basically a bridge. It helps you stop chasing the needle.”
I nod slowly, absorbing it. “So you’re not using,” I say carefully.
Micah shakes his head. “No.” He lifts his sleeve and rolls it up, showing me the faint pale lines along his forearm where the track marks used to be.
They’re faded now.
I stare at them, and my heart twists. It’s a kind of beauty I never expected. Tears unexpectedly well up in my eyes, and my hand touches my sternum. I’m suddenly overwhelmed.
“I never thought I’d be able to get off the shit,” he whispers. “I thought I’d die before I could stop.” He looks at Heather, pride shining in his eyes. “I wish other people knew about this. It saves lives.”
Heather watches us quietly, her expression softening. Her bottom lip trembles like it always does when she gets emotional. Usually, that's only during sappy rom-coms.
Micah steps closer and wraps his arms around me.
I don’t hesitate. I lean into him, squeezing him tight like I’m trying to hold onto the fact that he’s safe. I can’t help it; my tears spill over. He rubs my back gently, letting me cry. Heather quietly slips out of the bathroom, giving us some space.
“I’m scared,” I whisper into his shoulder. “I’m trying to be strong, Micah, but I’m s—scared.”
“I am, too.” His arms tighten around me. “I’ve been scared for a long time.”
I swallow, tears still flowing. “I love you,” I whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes gentle kind. “I love you too,” he says. Then he presses a soft kiss to my cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb.
Chapter seventeen
JUDE GRAVES
The Lamborghini drives smoothly on the wet roads. Moscow blurs past the windshield in streaks of gray sky and bright lights. I keep the window cracked even though it’s cold enough that my breath fogs faintly when I exhale. It’s already supposed to snow soon. Smoke curls out into the evening as I take another drag, my cigarette burning down between my fingers.
Adriana shifts beside me. She’s wearing a white sweater dress that clings to her thighs and knee-high brown boots. Her arms are folded loosely, but I can tell she’s cold. She doesn’t ask me to close the window. Probably because she knows I won’t.
My gaze drops to my hands resting on the steering wheel. My knuckles are split and swollen, scabbed over, and bruised in uglypurples. They ache constantly now. It’s a deep, bone-level pain that never really leaves. Alexei’s men don’t go easy on me. They don’t stop when I hit the floor or throw up. They teach until I break or adapt.
I’ve adapted.
Adriana has changed since we got here. She understands now that playing with men like Alexei isn’t as predictable as it was with just Nolan. It’s dangerous. Just the other night, at dinner with Vlad and Alexei, she excused herself midway through the meal. Hand over her mouth, pale and apologetic, claiming she’d gotten food poisoning from sushi earlier that day.
Bullshit.
She was terrified of the way Vlad was looking at her. She’s always been a bitch, sure. But even she knows getting oggled by a trafficker is a bad fucking sign.
And despite our past, I don’t like it either.
Nolan is unraveling. I can see it almost every day. He’s a chihuahua shivering around pacing wolves, and somewhere deep down, he knows it. His ego just won’t let him admit it—or do the smart thing and get us the hell out while he still can.
Too late now.
Adriana finally breaks the silence. “What are you playing tonight?”
I shrug, eyes fixed on the road. “A couple of Dissonance’s biggest hits, probably. Or some covers.” My grip tightens on the steering wheel before I can stop myself. The band doesn’t exist anymore. I wonder briefly if Micah told Finnick and Kami everything.
Micah.
My jaw clenches hard enough that it hurts. I shove the name out of my head before it can bloom into other thoughts. I don’t have room for him. Or what he represents.
Adriana’s hand slides onto my thigh, warm even through the denim. It’s meant to ground me. I exhale slowly through my nose. She hasn’t really forced herself on me since we left the States. The couple times we have fucked, I was a willing participant. Sort of. She hasn't stuck me with needles. No hands where I don’t want them. For that, I’m grateful. Because if she tried now...