Fractured Souls - Page 55

“I thought you were dead,” he says into my hair. “I thought someone took you, and I’ve been waiting for someone to call and ask for a ransom. The call never came.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. It’s hard to believe he’s here after all this time. And it feels good. “I’m so sorry, Arturo.”

“Why, Asya? Why not let us know that you’re okay?” He cups my face between his palms and tilts my head up. “Where have you been all this time?”

I watch my brother while worry ignites a foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach, spreading the heated pulses of dread up my chest.

“We found your purse and glasses behind that bar. And blood. What happened?”

I open my mouth, but no words leave my lips.

“Jesus fuck, Asya, say something, damn it!”

“I was raped!” I yell into his face.

All color leaves Arturo’s face. He blinks. His hands on my cheeks start shaking. I wrap my arms around his back and bury my face into his chest.

And then I talk, but I don’t tell him everything.

When I’m done, Arturo lowers himself to his knees in front of me, still holding me in his embrace. I thread my fingers in his hair and lean my cheek on top of his head, listening to him as he mumbles how he’s going to crucify the son of a bitch who hurt me, then how much he loves me.

“I love you, too, Arturo,” I whisper.

And that’s why I haven’t told him the whole story. I skipped the worst part. It’s better like this.

“We need to call Sienna,” Arturo murmurs. “I didn’t want to tell her anything until I was sure. In case . . . in case it wasn’t you, I couldn’t risk her doing something stupid again.”

“What do you mean?”

He shakes his head and holds me harder.

“What did she do, Arturo?”

The first thing I notice when I step inside the apartment is a dark-haired man sitting on the sofa in my living room. He’s looking at the floor between his feet, elbows leaning on his knees as his hands grip his hair.

“Where’s Asya?” I ask.

“Taking a shower. Preparing to leave,” he says, still looking at the floor.

“She told you everything?”

“Yes. I also know she’s been here this whole time.”

I cross the living room and take a seat on the recliner to his left. “I need to give you some pointers on Asya.”

His head snaps up, and two dark brown eyes, the same shade as Asya’s, pin me with a stare full of hatred. “I don’t need you to give me fucking pointers on my sister. I raised her since she was five.”

I ignore his hostility. “She still has problems making some decisions. We worked out almost everything, but she may need help from time to time. Try not to give her specific direction, but rather steer her toward it.”

He stares at me in silence.

“No daisies. Not flowers, and nothing else, either, like curtains or whatnot with pictures of them,” I continue. “She’s not triggered by suits anymore, but men’s ties can still distress her. If you’re in public, and the place is crowded with unfamiliar men wearing suits, you need to hold her hand.”

He looks down at himself, focusing on his silk gray tie, then lifts his head and passes his eyes over my T-shirt and jeans. When he moves his gaze up and our eyes meet, I see the loathing there.

“Jesus fuck!” he barks. “You’re in love with her.”

I don’t look away as I reply, “Yes.”