Tormentor Mine

My husband’s killer wants to spoon with me.

“It might not be a love story for you, ptichka, but as fucked up as it is, that’s precisely what this is for me. I started off hating you, but somewhere along the way, you’ve become the only thing that matters to me, the only person I still care about. And yes, that means I love you, as wrong as that may be. I love you, even though you were his… even though you think I’m a monster. I love you more than life itself, Sara, because when I’m with you, I feel more than agony and rage—and I want more than death and vengeance.” His chest expands with a deep breath, his expression turning somber as he says quietly, “When I’m with you, ptichka, I’m living.”

He’s leaning back in his chair, his long, jean-clad legs stretched out and crossed at the an

I end up getting held up with a patient, and it’s ten minutes after three by the time I rush into the cafe.

However, she still looks beautiful—as beautiful as she did three and a half years ago, when she snuck into my bed to escape marriage to a village elder.

When it comes to Sara, I’m a mess of contradictions, and the only thing I’m sure of is that a simple fucking won’t be enough