Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Later that night, when we were supposed to be asleep, Joshua snuck into my room and gave it to me. I still remember how surprised I’d been. How happy. I don’t think I’d ever hugged anyone as hard as I hugged him that night. Over a simple scarf. It just felt like so much more at that moment. It felt good to know that someone cared about me.
When I open the bathroom door, I stop dead, my heart in my throat to find someone lurking at the bedroom entrance. I almost scream but recognize it’s Lev when he moves into the little bit of light coming in from the streetlamp.
Lev puts his finger to his lips and gestures for me to follow him into the hallway.
I go, and he pulls the bedroom door closed behind us.
“I told you one night,” he says. “He should sleep in his room.”
His hair’s wet, and he smells soapy. “That’s not his room. This isn’t his house. Did you just shower?”
He takes my arm, walks me into the second bedroom, and closes the door. The only light here is that from the moon coming through the split between the curtain panels.
“Where did you shower?” I ask.
“At the club.”
“You went to Delirium? Why?”
“Because I have to play nice with Vasily until I get things sorted.”
“Is that smart? Or safe?”
He studies me, considering, and it’s that moment he takes before he answers me that makes me anxious. “It’s fine. What are you doing with that?”
I look down. “Oh. I was washing it.” I look around, then go to the radiator and stretch the scarf out over it to let it dry.
When I turn back to him, he’s still watching me, and there’s something both intense and distracted in his eyes. It’s unnerving.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
He runs his hand through his still wet hair and comes to me. He takes my hand and walks backward to the bed. There, he cups the back of my head and kisses me. It’s a gentle kiss, not hurried, not even erotic or at least not frantic with need.
I kiss him back, liking this, liking the warmth of him, the taste of him, the safety of him. I press myself against him and let him hold me. I like his arms around me. I think he can keep us safe. Maybe it’s stupid—one man against the Russian mob—but I think he means what he said. That he’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt Josh or me.
Or die trying.
A chill seeps into my veins, and I shudder.
“Shh.”
I guess I’m crying again because he’s holding me to him, not kissing me anymore, but his hands are moving, and he’s stripping off my clothes. He’s slow, patient, and methodical, and soon, I’m standing naked. He takes my hands and steps backward.
He’s still fully clothed, and when I try to move to strip him, he shakes his head.
“I want to look at you now,” he says.
Instinctively, I want to pull away, to hide myself, but he won’t let me go. Instead, keeping hold of one hand, he reaches to switch on the lamp beside the bed.
“Lev—”
“Quiet.” He has both of my hands again, and this time, he holds me at arm’s length and sits on the edge of the low bed.
I feel exposed. This is different than the other times I’ve been naked with him. This is him looking at me, and it’s somehow more intimate than when he’s inside me.
“Look at me.”
I don’t. I can’t.
“Look at me, Katya.”
Katya. I like when he calls me that. He’s tender when he calls me that.
I look at him, feeling my face flush. He must see it too because he smiles a little and there’s that dimple. I like when he smiles.
But then he shifts his hand up to my forearm and, with eyes still on mine, he feels the bumpy, burned skin with his thumb.
“Tell me about this.”
Fuck.
I swallow, trying to contain the emotion that I force down every time I remember what happened. Remember anything that went on in that house. I keep those memories secured in boxes. It’s where I like them. Where I can keep an eye on them but keep them safely locked away.
“Tell me, Katya.”
A tear slides down my cheek. He doesn’t move to wipe it away and won’t let go of me so I can do it either.
“It was to punish Joshua, I think. And me, I guess, but more him.”
More tears and Lev doesn’t move. His expression doesn’t change.
“I think Mr. George hated him the most. He always made him watch.”
Lev’s thumb stops moving, and his hands tighten on me.
“I don’t think he cared one way or another about me. I could have been anyone.” I pause, remembering. “Mrs. George did this. Joshua only heard it happening. Mr. George was bigger than him. He’d tie Josh up, restrain him somehow, and force him to watch. He wasn’t home when she did this, and she wasn’t strong enough to make Joshua do anything. I think he would have killed her if she hadn’t locked him in his room first.” The words come like a flood now. I don’t even know why or from where. I didn’t realize I remembered all the details like the clicking until the flame took, the sound of paper burning. Fingertips singed. The smell.