Page 51 of Bound By Revenge
I let her comment slide, hoping it’s the end of the discussion. But deep down, I know better.
I force my attention back to the screen. Past Kat flickers across the footage, slipping out of the room where she gave me the most unforgettable fuck of my life. Even then, she’d been playing her games. While I’d been consumed with the thought of getting her back into my arms, she’d only cared about depriving me of my most valuable possession.
My jaw tightens at the memory.
“I’ve been curious,” I say, breaking the silence. “What made you choose this… line of work?”
She raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking into a smirk. “I’m surprised you even have to ask,” she says. “Surely, a big, badbratvaboss like yourself would have learned everything there is to know about me by now.”
I scoff. “I’d never be stupid enough to think that.”
Her smirk widens. “Be that as it may, I’m sure you’ve done your homework. I wouldn’t be surprised to find a file on me stashed somewhere in this room.”
“Maybe. I know you grew up an orphan, were adopted as a teenager, and that you’ve earned quite the reputation as one of the best in your field.”
“The best,” she corrects sharply, her pride unmistakable.
I smirk, pleased she took the bait. “Perhaps. But that doesn't explain why you chose this path. Not every orphan turns to crime. Why did you?”
Her playful expression falters. She looks away, silent for a long moment, before finally answering.
“I knew I’d be good at it,” she says quietly. “And I was tired of hoping, wishing, and praying for things I’d never have. If no one was going to give me anything, I’d take it myself.” She shrugs, but her voice softens. “More than that, I was tired of being powerless. Tired of being at the mercy of people who didn’t care about me. If I couldn’t protect myself, how could I protect the people I care about?”
Stunned, I keep looking at her, long after she’s done talking.Her words hit me harder than I expect. Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this unfiltered sincerity.
I stare at her, trying to reconcile the confident, calculating woman I’ve come to know with this vulnerable, determined girl who had to fight her way just to survive.
If anyone understands what it’s like to grow up alone, fending for yourself in a brutal world, it’s me.
For the first time, I see her differently. Her striking face and flawless figure are the same, but now I notice how delicate her hands are, her athletic yet petite frame. At fifteen, I must have outweighed her by at least fifty pounds.
Growing up in a similar situation, being alone was terrifying for me. I can’t even imagine what it was like for someone as small and fragile as her. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. And somehow, she still found the strength to protect others when she could barely protect herself.
As I watch her—this frustrating, fascinating woman who’s turned my life upside down—I can’t help but wonder: who’s looking out for her while she’s so busy looking out for everyone else?
And why do I wish it could be me?
“That’s the guy from the kitchen,” she says, breaking the moment and pulling my focus back to the screen.
I glance at the footage. Vladmir is approaching me through the crowd at the gala.
“That’s Vladmir Smirnov,” I say. “He works for me.”
“I figured,” she replies. “He came from inside the museum.”
“Yes,” I say, my throat tightening. “He’s taking me to Maxim. That’s where they found the body.”
Her gaze sharpens. “Where exactly?”
“In the area where they hold the Italian Masters exhibition. The room was closed to the public that night.”
Her expression remains alert, but she doesn’t speak. We watch as Vladmir and I disappear from the frame, leaving Patrick McGuire clearly visible.
The Irish bastard—always careful, always deliberate.
The video ends, and Kat turns to me. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly.
I nod, unable to speak.