Fractured Souls (Perfectly Imperfect, #6)

by Neva Altaj

“What do you want?” I ask. She blinks at me, and two tears slide down her cheeks. “Do you want them dead?” There is a sharp intake of breath, but she doesn’t reply. I reformulate my question into a statement. “You want them dead.” Squeezing her lips tightly together, she nods. “They will die,” I say.

if I let her stay, it may mean war. And if Asya’s brother finds out, he will probably kill me. I inhale and nod. “Okay, mishka. You can stay.”

I reach out and pick up the jeans. It’s one of five pairs I ordered online yesterday after I realized the effect suits had on Asya. I can’t keep walking around in my pajamas all day, and I definitely can’t wear them out to the store. Taking a deep breath, I put on the jeans.

“Take a shower. You have three pairs of pajamas—they’re all the same so you don’t have to choose. Put away your new clothes. Eat. Wait for me. In bed, not on the floor in front of the door.”

“I wish my first time was with you,” I whisper. “It will be.” “Pasha, you know very well—” His hand covers my lips. “Your first time is going to be with me,” he says next to my ear. “All that from before, it doesn’t count. Do you understand?”

“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.”

“I think I’ve earned the right to make decisions for myself.” Yes, I still have problems picking what to wear or eat sometimes, but I don’t have any doubts as far as Pasha is concerned.

“What would you have done if I picked the wrong box?” I ask. “You could never pick wrong, baby.” “I could have taken the crunchy cereal.” His palm strokes my back as he laughs. “You hate crunchy cereal.” “Yes, but what if I decided to give it another try?” He just shrugs. I lean away and stare at him as realization forms in my brain. “You didn’t.” “What?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Put me down.” “Why?” “I need to check something.” As my feet touch the ground, I turn toward the counter where the other four cereal boxes are lined up. I take the first one, the one with honey, and open it. A red velvet box sits on top of the cereal bag. When I open it, I find a ring identical to the one on my finger nested on the white silk cushion. I leave the jewelry box on the island and grab the next cereal box. And the next. The box of crunchy cereal I leave for last. I never would have picked the crunchy one, Pasha knows that very well, but when I open it, the jewelry box is in that one, as well. I put it on the counter next to the other four. He had hidden a ring in each one. I feel arms wrapping around my waist as Pasha leans on me from behind, but I don’t turn. I can’t take my eyes off the four extra jewelry boxes holding identical rings. “Why?” I whisper. His hold around my middle tightens. “Because I needed you to understand.” “What, Pasha?” “That as far as I’m concerned, you can’t make a wrong decision, baby.” A kiss lands at the top of my head. “Even if it’s just picking the cereal...

“I’d say you’re in week six. They both seem perfectly fine,” he says, then looks at Asya. “And you seem fine, too.” I blink in confusion. “Both? Both Asya and the baby?” “No. Both babies.” My head snaps to the side, staring at Asya who’s looking at the monitor with a wide smile on her face. “Are you sure?” she whispers. “Yes,” the doc says at the same time as I say, “No!” They both turn to look at me. “Do that again.” I point my finger at the ultrasound machine while terror seizes me on the inside. “I’m pretty sure I know how to count!” the doc exclaims and slams the ultrasound printout against my chest, pointing his other finger at it. “One. Two.” I grab the front of his shirt and get in his face. “Again!” “Pasha?” Asya grips my forearm. “What’s going on?” I release Doc and cup her face between my palms. “It’s dangerous, mishka. And you’re so tiny. What if something happens?” Asya presses her finger over my lips. “I’m going to be fine. There are twins in almost every generation of my family, and no one ever had any problems. Don’t panic.” “I’m not panicking. I’m not.” I throw a look over my shoulder at the doc. “Should she be admitted to a hospital? I’ll drive straight there.” “Pasha.” Asya pulls at my shirt. “Can she walk?” I continue. “No, I better carry her there.”