Tempted by Deception (Deception Trilogy #2) by Rina Kent

I shake myself out of those thoughts. “Since I was a child. How did you know?”

“They seem deep-seated, and childhood events could produce that type of wild subconscious.”

“Are you my shrink now?”

“Not your shrink, no. I’m merely trying to understand that part of you better.”

I don’t know why that warms my heart, why everything in me becomes even more tender at those words. He shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t, so why does he?

“There’s nothing to understand, not when I don’t understand it myself.”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

I pause, watching the easy expression on his face. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“Do you know about trauma from childhood events because you went through something yourself?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is that a yes or no?”

“Neither.”

“It’s not fair if you’re the only one who knows things about me, Adrian.”

“I told you. Fairness doesn’t exist. Besides, weren’t you the one who made it clear that you don’t want anything to do with me?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’re obviously not leaving me alone, so I can at least get to know you better.”

“So you can escape me?”

“N-no.”

“You’re lying, and that’s one strike for the day.” He narrows his eyes. “But it doesn’t matter, because you won’t be able to.”

The promise of his words hits me in the bones and it takes a few inhales of oxygen to get my bearings. “Then tell me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Your childhood. Did something happen in it?”

“The real question would be what didn’t happen.”

“Was your stepmom evil?”

A distant nostalgic look fills his eyes. “It was the other way around. My mother was the villain and my stepmom was the real-life Disney princess who didn’t get saved.”

That’s the first time he’s talked so openly about his family. “Why was your mother the villain?”

“Villains don’t need reasons.”

“Yes, they do. You said it yourself that they’re heroes in their own stories and, therefore, they want something.”

“Do you remember everything I said, Lenochka?”

“I have a strong memory.” My cheeks burn. “So?”

“So what?”

“Why was she the villain?”

“Power. It was her first and last goal, and Aunt Annika got in the way, and though it wasn’t by choice, she still paid the price.”

“What price?” My voice is low, haunted like the look in his eyes.

“Her life. She died when I was seven.”

It dawns on me then. Judging by the way he appears nostalgic talking about his stepmother and even calls her Aunt, he must’ve loved her. He must’ve had some sort of a bond with her. I can almost imagine a younger Adrian holding on to his stepmother’s light because his mother and his mobster father didn’t emanate any.

After her death, I assume a part of him died, too. His human side. That’s why he’s now an unfeeling monster who cares about no one’s demands but his own.

“Do you miss her?” I whisper.

“She’s dead.”

“You can still miss her.”

“I don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no clue what that word means.”

“You don’t?”

“Not in the practical sense, no.”

“I can explain. It’s when—”

“I don’t want you to explain,” he cuts me off.

“But—”

“Drop it, Lia.” The bite in his tone suggests that he’s done entertaining my questions.

I glare up at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“If you say so.”

His hand lowers until he cups my ass cheek. I wince, gripping his muscled bicep for balance. “You’re sore. Let me take care of that.”

He sits down on the bed and pulls me over his lap. The position is so vulnerable and causes heat to rise to my cheeks and I squirm. “I can lie on the bed.”

I whimper when Adrian cups my assaulted ass cheek. “Or you can stay still.”

He reaches for the ointment he keeps on my nightstand. My attention is robbed by the intricate tattoos on his arms, the way they swirl around his skin, adding another mysterious layer to his personality.

“What do the tattoos mean?” I ask before I can stop myself. I’ve always wanted to know, but I figured he wouldn’t answer. This morning, he feels closer somehow. It could be because he didn’t leave before I woke up or because he told me about himself as normal couples do.

Wait. We’re not a couple.

Right?

Adrian retrieves the ointment and slathers the cool cream on my backside. I wince but soon moan when he rubs it in gently.

“In the Bratva, each tattoo has meaning.” His voice is as cool as his repeated strokes.

“Like?”

“The red rose means I’ve killed before.”

I gulp at the reminder.