“Zane was there, and he was all beat up. They let him go. He was going to get money from Nikolai to buy me back.”
The trauma of that night blows through me full force.
This was what I was resisting all week. The fear. The helplessness. The violation.
I choke on a sob.
Shanna squeezes my hand.
“They were going to rape me,” I sob, touching the bruise on my face I got while fighting with them.
Shanna wraps me in the tightest hug imaginable. I bawl into her shoulder, wetting her Beatles t-shirt. “But they didn’t?” she asks softly.
“No.” I pull back and wipe my nose. “Because Nikolai came in with Zane and they, um, killed everyone.”
I know Shanna was trying to play it cool, not screeching about my bruise, waiting for me to tell the story, but her eyes widen now. “Wow. Okay. Shit.”
“Yeah.” I cry some more, but it feels better now that I’ve told someone.
Like holding in that terrible secret was burning my insides like battery acid.
“So did the police come? What happened then?”
“No.” A fresh sob rips through me, remembering. “Nikolai’s friends showed up, and he said it was ready for cleaning.” I make air quotes with the last three words. “It really scared me.”
“Oh, babe.” She squeezes my arm and doesn’t let go. “Scared you because you saw into his world?”
I nod, tears streaming down my face. “I asked him to take me home, and I broke off our arrangement. My stuff is there, and I don’t want to call him to get it, and I don’t know how Zane’s going to pay him back, and I don’t even care.”
“Well, I can go get your stuff, so don’t worry about that. I’m thinking the Zane thing doesn’t matter. I mean… Nikolai rescued you, Chelle. He killed a bunch of guys for you. I think that means he cares.”
Hearing her say it out loud settles me. The white panic of seeing Nikolai as a killer fades, and he becomes an outline of the man I know. I nod. “Yeah. I guess… I guess I knew the whole time he would rescue me. I mean, I… expected it.”
That thought brings another wave of relief. Talking this all out is helping release the dam of trauma. My brain just shut off at the warehouse. The wires disconnected. Shorted out.
Now they’re starting to rewire.
“Yeah. I mean, I met Nikolai. I liked him. He seemed like a sweetheart and totally into you. I’m not going to be sad that he killed guys who were trying to rape you. I’m just not.” She shrugs.
Hearing her absolve him lightens the air around me. “Yeah.”
“I mean, what are you really upset about here? That some guys who probably deserved it got killed or that things are over with Nikolai?”
A shudder of recognition runs through my body, and I drag in a hiccupped breath. “I miss Nikolai,” I admit as the full realization hits me. I’m grieving. Not over what happened to me, but the choice I made afterward.
“So maybe talk to him?” Shanna suggests. “Tell him what freaked you out. I don’t know what he’s into. How bad it is. But maybe you could—I don’t know—set some hard limits, and it could work.”
My stomach churns some more. Could it work? Could I be with someone like Nikolai long-term? Get married and have kids with a guy who’s killed men?
I scrub my hands over my face. I’m getting ahead of myself, as usual. “I don’t even know if he’s that into me. I mean, we had no discussions of what would happen beyond the thirty nights. Maybe killing for someone isn’t a big deal to a guy like him.”
Shanna rolls her eyes. “Will you just call him? You can’t figure this one out all by yourself in your own head.” She hands me my phone.
I stare at it for a moment, heart pounding, then dial his number.
He doesn’t answer, and there’s no voicemail. An uneasy feeling stirs in my belly.
Maybe it’s too late.
I text, Sorry I bailed. I was scared. Can we talk? and hit send.
As soon as I do, I feel better. The weight on my chest lightens and shimmers of hope squirrel back in.
Maybe this doesn’t have to be over.
There’s still so much to work out—so much I’m afraid of—and yet the explosions of joy that thought brings can’t be wrong.
I throw my arms around Shanna, and she hugs me back in a long, tight hug.
“You feel better?” she asks.
“Much. Thank you.”
“I’ve got you, girl. Let’s have some more champagne.”
Nikolai
Dima shows up on Friday. At least I think he’s actually here. It’s hard to say. I’ve been either drinking or sleeping for the past two weeks.
I vaguely remember the guys coming and going—bringing food down and yelling at me or some such bullshit.
Dima seems pissed. He drags open the drapes in my bedroom.
Oh. I think Oleg’s with him because somehow my bed lifts, and I roll out of it.
Thomarai gand mai lund hai? I grumble when I hit the floor.
“No, you’re the one with the dick stuck up his ass. Get up.” Yep, Dima is here. The two of them haul me to my feet. “It’s Friday. You have to go run your game, or Ravil will have your ass. Let’s go.”
“Ravil can suck my dick,” I mutter.
“Careful,” Dima cautions as the two guys drag me to the shower.
I hate being in it because it reminds me of Chelle. Everything in this damn apartment reminds me of her. I should have moved back up to my bedroom upstairs when she left. I stay in a long time, but I manage to remain on my feet and get cleaned up, so I count it as a win.
When I stumble out, I find Dima and Oleg in my kitchen. They have a pile of sub sandwiches on the counter, which they are already eating.
“I have a table,” I mutter, grabbing a sandwich.
“Yeah, it looks nice.” Dima and Oleg follow me to sit at it.
“Chelle picked it out.” I’m both simultaneously proud of the table she picked for me and pained by the memory of it. I unwrap the sandwich and take a bite.
“So what’s going on with Chelle?” he asks.
I shrug. “She’s done.”
Turns out, I was starving. I attack the sandwich.
“She texted you five days ago asking to talk.”
I stop chewing. “She did?” I ask with my mouth full.
Dima pushes my phone in front of my face, and I read her message. The full brunt of pain returns. More than I can handle.
I shake my head. “It’s not going to work.” I resume chewing.
Dima gives Oleg a what-the-fuck? look.
“What is wrong with you? You haven’t left your apartment in almost two weeks over this girl, and now you’re not going to call her back when she asks to talk?”
“It’s not going to work,” I repeat. “She sees me as a murderer.”
I don’t want to keep chasing a woman who doesn’t think I’m redeemable. It’s not worth it.
Every player needs to know when to fold.
22
Chelle
On Friday, I call Story.
My hope withered during the week when Nikolai never texted me back.