Page 17

SIXTEEN

Inessa

V lad gently turns my face towards him and his emotionless features have me crying harder. I don’t care about his stupidly clean suit and bury my face in his chest as my body shakes. I’m seeking comfort from a stone, but it works, and his arms hesitantly wrap around me. He buries his fingers under my hair above my nape, and slowly massages my scalp as he strokes down my back.

My mouth is opening, spilling it all out in a way that doesn’t make sense.

“I hate people, I want them all to fucking die in the most horrible way you can think of.”

His heart isn’t pounding like mine and the nod has me looking up asking for help.

“How much do you charge for a kill?”

I’d pay whatever the figure is, ten times over, but he smirks and wipes across my cheeks with his finger. His voice isn’t as violent or dismissive as usual, so is the smirk, it’s missing the usual cruelty behind it.

“It can be your wedding present.”

My laugh is airy and I sink into his palms as he cups my face with both hands. He has never spoken softly, and he doesn’t now, making it all seem normal.

“Who hurt you?”

I blow out a breath, shaking my head to stop any more emotion leaking out. For some stupid reason I confide in him, and it seems safe as his icy eyes remain fixed on my face. I try to pull my tears back as I recount what’s been happening.

“We keep getting children who were sex trafficked at Steorra and it fucking kills me each time. I can’t help them and it’s useless when for each one that’s rescued from that fucking hell there are thousands more.”

It doesn’t work and my voice cracks halfway through.

He doesn’t comment on my language for once and moves closer, filling my vision with his eyes. There are small brown veins stretching through his irises towards his pupil, they’re barely noticeable from far away, but this close they look alive. He stops me sinking into them as his deep voice vibrates through his chest into mine.

“It’s not useless if you change at least one life, that’s one person who gets to grow up. They can go on and have a family, friends, anything they want, and it creates a new world for them. Not the billions currently on the planet.”

There’s so much conviction staring back at me as I look between his eyes, and it fills me with strength.

My hands come up, holding on to his wrists and it’s easier to breathe. He doesn’t say anything as he strokes my wet cheeks with his inked thumbs. We’re not speaking or sniping at each other. It’s purely silent comfort. I copy the movement on the back of his hands, some of his tattoos are old and they weren’t done correctly, making the tissue bump where the ink has been placed. His hands aren’t just weapons, they are his criminal portfolio, but I feel safer and more powerful knowing the murder they’re capable of.

My throat turns dry the longer I look at him. He’s beautiful and his cruel tongue usually chases away any appreciation, but in the silence I can’t stop myself from admiring him. He could easily be a model or a movie star with his looks alone, and I try to wet my throat to be able to breathe. I look away when the intensity fucks with my head. There’s a big splotch of watery black in the center of his chest from my tears, showing how bad my face probably looks with mascara streaked down my cheeks.

Sitting back, I keep hold of his wrists until the last second and my voice sounds small, offering an apology without saying the word.

“I dirtied your shirt.”

Vlad looks down then flicks his eyes to me and turns back into the prick.

“And you have snot on your face.”

I turn abruptly and give him my back to snatch a tissue and angrily wipe at my face. He couldn’t be a gentleman and refuse to acknowledge it.Who tells someone who’s clearly emotional that they have snot on their face?

The elevator pings, but I don’t turn, not wanting to showcase my snotty face to any other asshole who lives here. They only take two steps before speaking slowly, “Vik has made you a sundae, come down when you’re ready.”

Valentin’s invite is filled with unease but at least there’s one soul inhabiting this house and family. Making himself useful, he walks away taking his brother with him and I wait until their presence has disappeared to go and sort my snotty face out. I’d wipe my nose on his pillow if I knew where he slept. Fucking asshole.

The large mirror over the vanity in the bathroom shows how fucked I am. I look like a raccoon and my tears have dripped down my neck revealing the bruising around the flecks of mascara that have traveled with them. I have to reapply it all. I know what’s seen as triumph and weakness — marks and scars. None of the guards will think I’m someone weak for having bruises and no one will get satisfaction from my pain.

I change my dress for good measure when there are watery mascara drops near the neckline before taking the elevator down.

There has never been anyone on the ground floor while the older Vartanovs were visiting, but it’s like a different house when I step out of the elevator and the sounds of a normal family come from the kitchen.Viktor is arguing with Vitali and guarding the sundae he’s made while his uncle tries to garner sympathy.

“Come on little man, I can’t move with my leg all messed up.”

The kitchen in the light is a world away from the last twelve hours as Viktor sits on the island protectively holding a sundae glass that’s filled with every bad thing a kid could want and stares his uncle down.

He relaxes as I walk in and pushes the dessert towards me with a smug smile in Vitali’s direction.

“Nessa this is yours, Tali has to make his own.”

He turns to look at me, no one would be able to guess he’s still healing as Vitali acts like the perpetual child.

“You’ll share with me won’t you big sister?”

My nose scrunches at the familial tie, and I pull the ice cream towards me with more force.

“I’m younger than you.”

Pointing out the obvious flaw doesn’t have the intended impact, and he laughs easily.It’s too easy as though he’s not biologically psychotic.

They’re all so strange, Vlad is a sociopath, but the rest of his family are normal by our standards. They have a social life and can laugh or make conversation without issuing threats. I don’t comment on it in case their psychosis is dormant and eat my sundae as Viktor picks his own up. He ignores Vitali’s pouting and slides off the island to walk into the lounge. I linger in case Vitali needs help with his crutches and stay half a step behind him as he follows his nephew. Regret takes over as soon as I’ve sat down as Vlad comes in and pours a drink from the bar cart. He doesn’t look at anyone and takes the seat next to me. I don’t have any space to move over with Viktor on my other side and his brothers come in filling the other seats.

The littlest voice beside me comes out as he scrapes his spoon to collect the melted bits of ice cream and chocolate sauce at the bottom.

“Can I go to the fight tomorrow?”

Disgust fills me at them allowing him to see violence as Vlad streams a cage match on the TV. His dad answers, showing at least he’s being slightly responsible.

“Not until you’re older.”

He swaps the empty sundae glass for a mini crystal tumbler that matches their own and I grab it before it can touch Viktor’s little hand. The deadly voice beside me doesn’t match everyone’s attempts not to laugh as I bring the tumbler to my nose.

“It’s vitamin water.”

I ignore everyone’s subdued snorts and give Viktor his water. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that they’d allow him to drink alcohol. I’ve seen it growing up, parents and guardians not giving a fuck or doing it purposefully thinking that childhood is a weakness. Focusing on the screen in front of me, I’m glad it’s not a death match, and it’s more professional than the rumors describe it.I don’t recognize the fighters until it comes to an end and Viktor gets excited, cheering his psychotic family on.

“This is my dad’s fight.”

He sits taller and doesn’t even blink as the recording of Valentin strolls into the cage. They start talking shit with each other and I sink into the sofa, more focused on their interaction than the screen. I had ideas of what it would be like to have siblings when I was a child, this matches it.

Emotional exhaustion settles in after the last twelve hours of shit and I limply hold the sundae glass on my knee not wanting to move. Vlad has to be an asshole and flexes his shoulders, taking up more space and making me lean into him. He has nice arms, and my eyes go to his hands. One is on his thigh, tapping his knee with his middle finger, the other on the armrest holding his tumbler.

I’ve never seen him in anything other than a suit, not even with his shirt sleeves rolled up. But I know he’s covered in ink. They’re faded and not perfect, parts have stretched, showing how young he was and that they’ve grown with him. Our knees are touching, and he isn’t looking at me, so I stretch my little finger until it brushes his hand.

There’s a pause while I wait for him to rage or push me away. Bringing the crystal to his lips, he doesn’t stop me and continues his conversation with Valentin. Whoever did his tattoos must have been rough with the needle because I can feel the raised lines when they should be flat. Brushing his knuckles filled with scars, the bones have migrated from the force he’s used them with. I’m too tired to question or control my brain and hook my little finger under his as my blinking gets slower and my head drops.

There’s something warm under my cheek and I move closer, hugging the hard heat closer without opening my eyes. The fingers threaded in my hair flex, pulling me closer, and my eyes snap open as sleep disappears. The room is dark, and I can’t make out the smudges on the chest under my head. But I know who it belongs to. Looking up slowly, Vlad isn’t asleep, but his eyes are closed. There’s too much awareness on his features and this is the first time he’s laid beside me. It’s also the first time I’m seeing his actual skin instead of a shirt and he’s warm, too warm that it’s like laying on a furnace in the best possible way.

My sight adjusts to the dark and I can make out the lines of his tattoos. The usual stares of authority and scrapbook showing his sins, four numbers sit on his chest, but I don’t know what they are. It could be a date without the year, the day and month. He’s so visually appealing I allow myself to creep on him without his knowledge.

I gently lift my hand from his side and trace his tattoos with my fingertip, making sure not to touch him. Even with barely any light, I’m drooling and squirming inside. I don’t pull the sheet down. My perving can stay on the innocent side while I lie and call it appreciation. When he doesn’t move, I trace the Madonna holding a child. My finger accidentally brushes the arm, and my head is pulled back, making me squeal.

Flipping me on my back before I can pull his hand out of my hair, he pushes his weight into my hips, pinning me in place, and two hands wrap around my neck. I can’t breathe and his eyes are wild, like he can’t see me. Pushing into his shoulders with all my strength doesn’t even make him rock. I’m going to die, and my knees lose power trying to get him off me. He pushes more weight into me, making everything from my hips down tingle due to restricted blood flow and I slap out at his shoulders. His chest. Anything to get him to move.

It’s not the usual devil choking me. This is something worse, more sinister and fighting for survival thinking I’m a threat. Tears roll down my cheeks with my thrashing, but he doesn’t stop trying to kill me. I’ve never felt true fear as much as I do in this moment and black spots dance in my vision.

Trying everything I can to get his hands to loosen, I dig my nails into his arms and my voice is a croak, begging him to move.

“Vlad, can’t breathe.”

He blinks once. It’s mechanical and causes his hands to loosen as I choke down air. My lungs burn after being cut off for so long, the hacking cough ripping my throat apart as I keep choking and his weight moves off my hips.My chest heaves and I can’t feel my legs fully.

I turn on my side as I attempt to get my organs to work again. A hand brushes my hair off my face making me flinch violently. My fear leaves as anger floods me and the choking doesn’t stop it infusing my words.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

I should shut my mouth after his attempted murder, but I can’t stop myself and push him away as every profanity leaves my lips.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you psychotic bastard.”

Scrambling off the bed, I rub along my sore throat and put distance between me and the half-naked killer. My back hits the windowpane, and he hardens his eyes. He blinks, flicking his eyes to the glass with more anger, then looks at me head on. His beautiful body doesn’t distract me now I’ve seen what it’s capable of, and there’s no weapon for me to defend myself with as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and blankly stares at me.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You could have killed me!”

I’m screaming. I don’t give a fuck. Somewhere in my mind I know I’m safe with him being awake and he balls his fists on his thighs.

The harsh tone holds no remorse and stokes my anger higher.

“Lower your voice when you speak to me.”

There’s nothing with any significant weight for me to throw at him and I look around the room for something capable of doing damage other than the man himself. There’s a cushion by my feet that I must have knocked off the bed and I lift it without thinking, launching it at his head as I continue screaming.

“Fuck you! I’ve lowered myself enough by agreeing to marry you!”

He doesn’t bat it away as it sails over his head.

We’re both crazy and he smiles. It’s twisted and mixed with pride, but the rough command doesn’t match.

“On your knees.”

It takes everything in me not to drop and I straighten my shoulders, glaring at him. Looking from his knees adorned with the eight-point stars to his eyes, I tilt my chin up, refusing.

“I don’t need a tattoo to remind me not to bow for a man. Otvali mudak, blyad.”

There’s a split second where my heart stops at the expression darkening his features and it pounds as he gets bigger. He slowly rises to his full height in only his boxers, chiseled muscles and barely any expanse of skin left unmarked by his sins. Self-preservation kicks in and I attempt to run as he takes one step towards me. The room is big enough to avoid him and I give him a wide berth as I run around the foot of the bed, aiming for the door. He doesn’t run after me. He turns, jumping over the bed and cutting me off from reaching the door. I should have gone into the adjoining bathroom and locked myself in there. I’d survive off water for a few days until I found a way to scale down the outside of the building.

He grabs my jaw and pushes me against the wall. His hand is over my mouth, and he can probably feel my teeth from how hard he’s holding my face. That pales in comparison to his wild eyes. His voice is deeper, rougher, and vibrating through the room with threat.

“I’m going to take my hand off your mouth, you have one opportunity to apologize.”

He presses on my shoulders, forcing me to my knees, and doesn’t let go of my face until I’m looking up at him.