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.
God. The smell.
“She found the hole we’d made in the wall in Josh’s room where we kept a diary of sorts. Everything they did to us scratched on any piece of paper we could get our hands on. We were going to expose them one day. She took them all, though, and locked him in his room, and we went downstairs to the kitchen. She turned on the burner.”
Lev’s eyes narrow, harden.
“She made me burn them one by one. I remember the tips of my fingers burning and the smell of it. It’s weird what you remember, isn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You know what she used to do? They were religious, the Georges. We went to church every Sunday. She had this cross around her neck. It was a hideous thing, old and big. And when she’d watch him hurt us, she’d clutch it in both her hands, and she’d pray.” I feel the rage in my voice when I tell this part. “She’d fucking pray as she watched her husband—”
I stop myself, give a shake of my head.
Lev is watching me. I see rage in his eyes too. Not pity. Thank goodness it’s not pity. His grip on me is harder. I wonder if he’s aware.
“When all the papers were gone, she turned off the fire, and I thought it was over, but it wasn’t. She wanted to hurt Joshua. To punish him. And I think hearing my scream did it.”
I don’t think anything else they did to me hurt as bad as that. Physically at least. Fire is a different kind of pain than anything else.
Lev stands, and his grip is so tight now it hurts my wrists. I think he realizes it at the same moment I do because he lets go and cups my face, turning it up to his. With his thumbs, he wipes away my tears, and I think that’s it when he kisses me.
I think he’ll just hold me then. Make love to me. It’s what I want.
But he’s not finished yet because he pushes my hair back and thumbs the scar on my temple.
“This?”
“I didn’t want to strip for a bath with her perv husband watching so he bashed my face into the edge of the tub. It knocked me out so I count that as a win. I didn’t have to know what he did to me then.”
That was the first time he touched me. It wasn’t the only time there was blood, though. There was always blood with him. I think it got him off.
“I wonder if Mrs. George watched that time. If she prayed. Joshua wouldn’t tell me anything. He couldn’t look at me for a long time after that.” I don’t want to think about it, about what he was made to do.
“Katya.”
I snap out of my memory. Lev’s jaw is tight, eyes hard. He has murder inside them.
“He touched you? Forced you? The man who was supposed to care for you.”
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. A single tear smears down my cheek. I lower my lashes when he won’t let me look away.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of.”