Page 8 of Nobody Wants Me (Volkov Bratva #5)

My dad had his own private pool, but I rarely got to use it.

If my father had company, I was not allowed to be seen.

If he entered the pool room while I was there, I had to leave as quickly as possible.

If my brothers entered, well, that shit always got scary, and I decided quite quickly it was just easier and safer to not go swimming.

It wasn’t fun being held under water while they tested how long you could hold your breath.

There was no one I could complain to and nothing I could do to stop it.

There were a few times I thought they were going to kill me.

This is why I didn’t go to the pool.

At Victor’s, well, he was home, and I tended to do everything I could to avoid him. It made life a lot easier for me.

The Butcher magically had a bathing suit, and we swam for what felt like hours.

She asked me so many questions. She wanted to know what my favorite color was.

What I wanted to be when I grew up. What my favorite movie was, my favorite song.

I told her I loved the fall, and I loved Halloween.

I had a small collection of blankets and cushions I made which I always brought out around that time.

I always wanted to make myself a Halloween costume, but to this day, I never had. It’s odd how life seems to throw curveballs, or how easy it was to constantly put things on the back burner. That is what I did. Told myself I could do it tomorrow.

Like, leaving my dad’s home and making a life for myself.

I attempted that multiple times, but he always had someone there to come and take me back.

I wanted to break free, and I thought about telling people how awful he was.

Only, I would stop myself. No one needed to know, nor cared to know.

After all, I was still the daughter of a rich man. What hardships did I truly know?

Pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind, I was shocked to learn that The Butcher liked a few of the same things I did. By the time our skin had wrinkled from the water, we climbed out and let our feet dangle in the pool.

“This is fun,” I said.

“Yeah, it is.”

I didn’t know what else to say.

“I like you, Freya,” The Butcher said. “You’re not like I imagined.”

I smiled. “You imagined what I was like?”

“Rich dad, you had a house on his land. It kind of brings up thoughts of what that is like.”

I barely knew this woman.

Holding my hands together, I looked straight ahead.

“I tried to leave,” I said. There, I finally said it.

“I hated everything. My brothers were awful. They got a kick out of terrifying me. There were times I thought they were going to kill me. Knowing my dad, he’d probably cover it up.

My dad hated my guts. Probably still hates my guts.

I was not pretty. I was not what he wanted.

I just wanted to leave, but he would never let me. ”

“And now you’re married?”

There were no tears to cry.

“Yeah, to a man that can’t stand me. Victor hates me,” I said.

The Butcher didn’t dispute what I said.

I took a deep breath. “Do you think there is any possible way of making it out of this alive?” I asked.

“You’re not going to die, Freya. You have no reason to. You’re a good person.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough about you to know you didn’t inherit your family’s cruelty gene. You’re a good person, who is just a victim of circumstance.”

“Do you think Mr. Volkov will ever allow me to leave this marriage?” I asked.

“Is there someone else?” The Butcher asked.

“No. There was never anyone else.” I pointed to my face. “I’m not pretty enough, remember?” I smiled. “I never imagined myself being married. If I think about it, it would be nice, and I’d love to be married to a man that loves me, you know?”

The Butcher just stared at me. I don’t know if she knew, or was just listening to me.

“It’s fine,” I said.

“Has Victor hurt you?” The Butcher asked.

Physically, the man hasn’t touched me, other than our wedding night. Emotionally, that is different.

“No, he hasn’t hurt me.” There was no point in even trying to explain. Last night was over and done with. Victor didn’t want anything from me.

“I’m just going to get ready for dinner,” I said. Right now, I needed to be alone.

The Butcher didn’t follow me, and she didn’t say anything.

Leaving the pool, I went straight to my room, and through to my en-suite.

Gripping the edge of the sink, I held onto it tightly and squeezed my eyes closed.

I didn’t want to think. Tears were long gone.

They didn’t solve any problems. They only made me feel worse.

Lifting my head, I stared at my reflection, hoping to see something. I’m the same old person. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Chubby cheeks. Nothing has changed.

I moved from one prison to another, the only difference is this time, I didn’t know what my jailer wanted. With my dad, I could anticipate what he wanted. This time, I didn’t have a clue. Which was daunting.

Stepping away from the sink, I took a quick shower, washing my hair as I did. There was no reason for me to take forever, so I stepped out of my bathroom into my bedroom.

Other than my sewing room and closet, I hadn’t moved into this room. There was a bed, a chair in the corner, and a couple of bedside cabinets. The walls were plain white, while the carpet was black. I liked the carpet, it was fluffy and snuggled between my toes.

There was a lot to like about this room. Only, it wasn’t home. It was just a room.

Shaking my head at how I was feeling, I stepped into my closet and grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt.

I didn’t want to stay in my room, nor did I want to go to my sewing room.

The library was an option, but instead, I went out to the garden.

It was another long summer’s day, and I knew they were slowly drawing to a close.

Rafael told me he attended the garden at all times of the year.

I looked forward to seeing the garden changes over the next year, if I was alive.

Making my way downstairs, I went out to the back garden, and sure enough, there was Rafael, in the rose beds, weeding. I didn’t like weeding, but I also didn’t like them making plants struggle.

“Hello there, stranger,” Rafael said.

This made me smile. “Sorry for being late.”

“Do not worry about it. I know we have a special guest, and you must take care of her.”

I’d left The Butcher in the house. At the pool. I hadn’t even thought to check if she was okay. I nibbled my bottom lip. Crap. Now, I felt like a total asshole.

“Do you think I should go and check on her?” I asked.

Rafael laughed. “I have already seen her perusing the garden. She is around somewhere.”

“Do you know her?” I asked, curious.

“I know of her.”

“You do?” I needed to know more.

“But I am not a man to gossip. You know this. Anything you want to know about The Butcher, you should ask her, and only her. She is the one with all the answers.”

I didn’t ask him if he thought it was rude of someone to do that.

Besides, I had noticed The Butcher only talks about what she wants.

She was not going to share anything with me, which sucked, not that I should care.

She was entitled to share whatever she wanted with anyone she wanted. It was her life.

“What are we doing today?” I asked.

“We’re making sure these roses look fine and beautiful, and vibrant. Do be careful of the thorns.”

“I love roses,” I said.

“As do I. They’re something else. Beautiful, but deadly. You do not want to go holding one too tightly now.”

In that moment, I wondered how different my life would have been if I had been born beautiful.

Okay, now I fucking hated this. I did not like this pity party.

I got over this years ago. Right around the time of the second plastic surgery visit.

I was lucky the doctors my father took me to, refused to work on someone who wasn’t willing.

Thinking about it, that did surprise me. Most often, people did everything my father told them, no questions asked. Yet, I did not go under the knife.

I noticed The Butcher was nowhere to be seen. Until it started to get dark, I stayed outside, helping Rafael. He talked constantly about his flowers, and I found that a welcome distraction. He knew what he was doing and it calmed me.

Rafael was the one to send me indoors to find dinner was already waiting, and so was The Butcher. She simply sat at the table, looking calm, collected, and I saw she was on her cell phone.

“Evening,” I said.

“Evening.”

I expected her to complain about my lack of company, or say something critical. She typed on her cell phone exceedingly fast, and then slid it into her pocket.

“Did you have a good afternoon?” she asked.

This made me frown. Technically, this was my house, well, no, it was Victor’s house, but I lived here. Shouldn’t I be the one asking her this question? It didn’t seem right that she was the one asking me.

“Uh, yeah, I mean, it was good. I like hanging around with Rafael. He said you were in the garden.”

“Just checking things out.”

Okay, this held my curiosity. “Checking things out?”

“The perimeter. Seeing if there are any weak spots, that kind of thing.”

“And?”

“Victor has his house locked down tight. Kind of makes me respect him a little.”

“You don’t have respect for him?”

“I do,” The Butcher said. But she didn’t elaborate.

“I just know that even in the most tightly locked-up space, there is always room for error, and that means people have to be ready for anything.”

This made me frown. Was she purposefully talking cryptically?

“I’m sorry,” I said, attempting to change the subject. I felt it was going to be easier to apologize for being a terrible host today. Not that I knew anything about being a host. My father never allowed me to have guests, and the truth was, he tended to vet them all. I hated it.

I guess it helped that I didn’t make any friends. Most of them just wanted an excuse to get closer to my father or my brothers. Being homeschooled stopped me from being around a lot of people. I think I’m starting to realize why I am socially awkward.

“What for?” The Butcher asked.

“Today. I should have stayed with you.”

“Why?”

I opened my mouth, closed it, and I wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Instead, I frowned and glanced down at the food on the table. “It’s the right thing to do. It’s what people do who live in a house when they have people over ... they make sure they’re not alone.”

The Butcher chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. We had a good time. I liked it, and I also got to check out the property.”

“You’re not going to steal from Victor, are you?” I asked, wondering if this was one of those stupid tests I’ve seen in the movies.

This is why I stopped watching movies. They made me paranoid, and don’t even get me started on horror movies. If I even catch a glimpse of something scary, I could kiss goodbye to a good-night’s sleep. That stuff messed with my head. I hated it.

This is why I sewed, did makeup, and read books. Romance books, mostly. No horror, no crime, just romance that left a smile on my face. I’ve already come to see that the world was a shitty place, and I didn’t need to add to it by filling my head with all the bullshit out there.

The Butcher chuckled. “You’re cute, but no. Victor doesn’t have anything I want.” She cut into a piece of steak and shoved it in her mouth.

Picking up my knife and fork, I started to eat.

“Freya, honey, you’ve got to learn to relax.”

That was easy for her to say. She hadn’t been married off and forced to live with a man who couldn’t stand her guts. I don’t know what was worse at the moment—living here, or living back on my father’s property. At least today I was able to go for a swim without fear. That was nice.

We ate our dinner in silence, and much to my surprise, it didn’t feel awkward.

The Butcher excused herself and told me to have a good night.

I’m guessing that meant I could go to my room, which I did—after another shower, as I was filthy from helping out in the garden.

Although I didn’t do a lot of work, I helped where I could.

I blow-dried my hair, climbed into bed, and turned out the light.

I didn’t expect sleep to claim me, and yet, in the next minute, I felt someone shake me.

At first, I thought I was dreaming, then I realized it was The Butcher. She was in my bedroom.

“Come with me,” she said, whispering.

I had no idea what was going on, and the fact I had just woken up, after the previous night of getting no sleep, I didn’t think I’d be the best of company.

All I wanted to do was fall asleep. I felt myself lagging behind, and The Butcher grabbed my arm, dragging me out of my bedroom, and that was when I heard it.

“Fuck!” The Butcher said. “Go back to your room.”

Now I was awake. Someone was in the house. I’m guessing someone who wasn’t supposed to be in the house. I felt my heart start to race, and I rushed back into my bedroom. It was then I realized The Butcher was using one hand, because in the other she held a knife. The blade looked curved and sharp.

Reality hit me. Someone was in the house to kill me? To kill The Butcher?

If she killed people for a living, wasn’t this the opposite of what was supposed to happen? The people she killed were already dead. I tried not to freak out.

Even as my heart raced and I felt I was going to die, I somehow held my composure. I don’t know how I did it.

The Butcher nudged me into the bathroom, and I went without complaint.

I was terrified. There was nothing I could do.

She followed me into the bathroom, but told me to climb into the bathtub, and then pulled the curtain around me.

She did so quietly. Part of me knew I shouldn’t look.

Every part of me that was sane knew I shouldn’t look, that I didn’t want to know, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I looked around the curtain, just as someone entered the room, and The Butcher didn’t give them time.

There was no hesitation. She sliced her blade up across the person’s body, drawing back, and sticking the blade into his neck.

It was over in a matter of minutes, yet it felt like I had been watching for hours.