Chapter 31
Nikolai
With Abigail’s flirtatious nature returning, I’ve been walking around with a constant hard-on. Having her in my bed didn’t help at all.
Needing to let off some steam, I called Dad and told him to meet me in the barn that acts as a gym.
While Abigail paints, I feel it’s safe to leave her alone for a short while. I see the barn door is pushed open, and entering, I find Dad waiting.
He gives me a wide grin before coming to hug me. “Welcome home, son.”
The moment his arms wrap around me in a fatherly embrace, I grab hold of him.
He’s always been my rock, and now that I finally have a moment to myself, the weight on my shoulders becomes unbearable.
“Hey,” Dad murmurs. “What’s wrong?”
I grip him tighter. “It’s been a fucked-up week.”
Christ, I had to push my rage away so I could focus on Abigail, but now that I’m standing in my father’s arms, I can let it surface.
He pulls back to see my face, then orders, “Tell me what happened.”
I wish Abigail had this growing up – a father who will burn down the world for her the way mine would do for me.
Fuck, I’m lucky.
There are no secrets between my father and me, and I know he won’t tell anyone else.
He knows about the ambush and that Abigail got hurt, so I don’t have to elaborate as I say the vile words, “Abigail was raped.”
Dad takes a step back, his features turning to stone. “Fucking filthy bastard.” Instantly concern washes over his face. “How is she holding up? Is there anything we can do for her?”
I shake my head. “She just needs to heal, and that will take time.” Dad nods, then locks eyes with me. “How are you holding up?”
“I want to fucking destroy something,” I growl, my heart aching for the trauma my woman has suffered.
Dad gestures at the gym equipment. “Then destroy something.”
I walk deeper into the barn, and shaking my head, I allow myself to remember how it gutted Abigail to tell me about the horror she endured.
Her tears.
Her desperation.
The vile disgust.
A man forced himself inside her while she was fucking unconscious.
Christ.
Breathe.
I can’t imagine the trauma she suffered when she regained consciousness only to find a man fucking her.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Bending over, I place my hands on my knees and desperately suck in
air.
“Let it out, son,” Dad murmurs.
I straighten up and wipe a hand over my face, a groan tearing from my
chest.
I feel my father’s strong presence. “I’m here, Nikolai. It’s safe for you to break down.”
The blood on her face. The horrified daze she was caught in. The way she clung to me and cried as if her soul had died.
Remembering how I found her in the trainyard and her reactions, overwhelming pain rips through me like a destructive force.
The roar rumbling from my gut is filled with every ounce of rage I feel.
Unable to bear my own weight, I drop to my knees.
Dad rushes to me, and kneeling beside me, his arms wrap like steel bands around me.
“I’ve got you, son.”
I grip his shoulder and break down, weeping that a carefree soul like Abigail suffered a fate worse than death.
And there’s nothing I can do to avenge her.
I can only support her and pray she heals enough to become carefree again.
Once I calm down, I pull back to look at my father. “I don’t know how to help her.”
“Just be whatever she needs.”
Christ, will that be enough?
“Come on. Get up.” We rise to our feet, and Dad grips hold of my shoulders, looking me dead in the eye. “You’re a Vetrov. You’re a force to be reckoned with.”
Inhaling deeply, I nod.
“Just love Abigail, son. That’s all you can do.”
I nod again, then admit, “Christ, Dad, I didn’t know it was possible to love someone so much.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I told you they take over your entire world.”
Locking eyes with Dad, I say, “Thank you for being such an amazing father and man.”
He gives me a pat on my back, then nods toward the door. “Get back to your woman.”
When we exit the barn, Dad reminds me, “Don’t forget the barbeque at two. Your mother is excited.”
I’m sure she is.
Feeling a little better, I walk toward the woods and follow the path to my house.
I walk to the back so I can enter via the den, and when Abigail comes into view, her easel facing the trees, I see a soft smile playing around her lips.
I pause to stare at the vision and feel a moment of peace because she looks happy.
This is where Abigail belongs – on this island where she can paint to her heart’s delight.
Come hell or high water, she will marry me and not some random fucker her pathetic father chooses for her.
For Abigail, I will go to war against Emilio Sartori.
When I walk closer and enter the den, Abigail’s smile widens. “Hey.” I shrug off my jacket and ask, “How’s the painting coming along?” She scrunches her nose. “Slowly.”
At least she’s painting.
I move to stand behind her and look at the canvas. “Are you painting the trees?”
“Yeah.” She sets the palette and paintbrush down, then stands up. “What time is the barbecue? Should I make a salad?”
“It’s at two pm.” Taking her hand, I tug her closer to me. “Don’t worry about the salad. My grandmother will take care of everything.”
“I’m nervous,” she admits.
“My family already loves you,” I assure her.
As I brush a wisp of hair from her face, she asks, “Can we watch a movie, or do you have work to do?”
“I can do both at the same time.”
“I just want to snuggle next to you,” she admits.
We walk to the living room, and I gesture for Abigail to sit.
“So the whole family lives on this island?” she asks as she makes herself comfortable.
Today she’s wearing a dress, and even though it reaches her feet, her cleavage is on full display, and it’s clear she’s not wearing a bra.
Was she hiding her body beneath the oversized clothes while at St.
Monarch’s?
I missed the self-assured woman who couldn’t give two fucks about what people thought of her, and I’m glad to see she’s slowly coming back.
I grab the TV remote and take a seat beside her. “Yes, it’s for safety reasons, but I love having my family nearby.”
“I’d die if I was stuck on an island with my family,” she chuckles. I switch on the TV, then ask, “What do you want to watch.” Abigail grins at me. “John Wick.”
“Hmm,” I grumble. “Do I have competition?”
“Oh, definitely,” she laughs. “I’m sorry to say, but no one beats Keanu Reeves.”
Smiling, I lean back, resting my arm on the back of the couch. “Is that where your love for old men started?”
“Old men. Pfft,” she scoffs. “Age is just a number.” She snuggles against my side. “I like my men mature. I’ve never been interested in boys my age.”
I select John Wick and press play.
Abigail pulls her legs up, resting them against my thigh. Letting out a sigh, she whispers, “This is nice.”
I move my arm from the couch and wrap it around her.
This is perfect.