“Masha had a litter,” Dom says. “She’s pretty awful. But the babies are so cute. I thought they might change your mind a little.”
The puppies smell as sweet as the hay, and their fur is incredibly soft. When they nip at my skirt and try to bite my shoes, their little teeth are harmless.
“I love them,” I tell Dom.
“You should take one,” he says. “Pick your favorite.”
While most of the puppies are rowdy, the littlest one—the one that’s almost completely black—is much gentler. He snuggles up in my lap and looks like he wants to fall asleep.
“What’s his name?” I ask Dom.
“He doesn’t have one yet.”
“What about Ruslan?” I say. “The little lion.”
“More like nemnogo lenivyy,” Dom says. Little lazy.
“I can’t take him home, though,” I say regretfully. “No pets allowed at the flat.”
“He’ll stay here, then,” Dom says. “But he’s yours.”
I pick Ruslan up and lay him on my chest, nuzzling my nose in his fur. He’s warm and heavy with sleep.
I’ve never owned any kind of animal before.
“Thank you, Dom,” I say. “I love him.”
“I’ll show you how to train him,” Dom says. “A fierce dog can be your best friend, if he’s trained right.”
My chest feels tight and warm beneath Ruslan’s weight.
Dom is healing so many hurts that I thought would never disappear.
I wish he could heal them all.
21
Dom
That night, Lara sleeps in my arms in the big bed under the skylights.
Before she falls asleep, I make her cum twice more with my fingers and tongue, but I don’t penetrate her, because I was so rough with her earlier in the day.
Then, once she’s completely satisfied, I wrap her up tight and stroke her hair until she’s as sleepy as that little black puppy she chose.
“I love your bed,” Lara says, yawning. “I love the way the moonlight comes in. So it’s not dark.”
I remember how frightened she was when I put the blindfold over her eyes.
I hate that I did that to her. I didn’t know then what she’d suffered. She’s told me about the hole. About the dozens of ways her father tormented and controlled her.
My hatred for Avo Kazarian grows in tandem with my love for Lara. The more I come to appreciate her beauty, her strength, her kindness, and her talent, the more I despise the man who tried to crush it all out of her. Who tried to beat her down to nothing.
He couldn’t do it, though. Lara has scars from her father—not physical scars, but deep wounds inside of her. But he never broke her. Her ability to see the beauty in the world, and her determination to make her own way, are as strong and undimmed as ever.
Actually, I wish she were a little less determined. I hate the idea of her working with Erdeli. He can’t protect her like I can. I could keep her hidden away forever.
But I know that wouldn’t make her happy. She’d be a prisoner all over again—just a different kind.
Still, my worry and my anger at Kazarian is keeping me awake. Lara’s been sleeping for almost two hours, and still I’m laying here, staring up at the ceiling.
At last, I tuck her securely under the blankets and slip out of the bed, thinking I’ll go downstairs for a drink to help take the edge off.
As I pass the dining hall, I can hear several of the men inside, playing cards at the big communal tables. I don’t poke my head in, because I know they’ll try to convince me to join them.
The game room is deserted except for several chip bags scattered by the couch, probably left there by Zima. He’d better clean them up before Ivan sees. It only takes a few days for everyone to slip into bad habits when Ivan’s out of town, and then about one day for him to whip them all back into shape again.
I go over to the bar and pour myself a drink—just scotch on the rocks. I’m too distracted to make anything more complicated.
“Make me one, too,” a voice says.
I almost jump out of my skin.
Sloane’s ability to sneak up on people is disturbing. It reminds me every time that she could have put a knife between my ribs if she were on the job.
“Don’t do that!” I hiss at her.
“Sorry.” She grins. “Got to stay in practice.”
“Yeah? I thought you gave that up,” I say, pouring her drink.
“Doesn’t mean I want to get soft,” she says.
“I can’t see that ever happening.”
She sips her drink, her bright eyes watching me over the rim of the glass.
“Lara is lovely,” she says. “Not just in looks. In the way she talks, too. The way she looks at you.”
“I know,” I say simply. “I love her.”
“Funny,” Sloane says. “She doesn’t look like Pavel Erdeli.”
I try not to stiffen up. Hard to do when Sloane is watching me so closely.
“Hm,” I agree. “Not much.”
“I wonder if she looks more like her mother.”
“Maybe.”
I can’t tell if Sloane knows everything, or if she’s just sensed weakness, and is pressing on the spot.
All I can do is play dumb. My best option, since I can’t think of anything clever to say anyway.
Oh, I could ask about their trip.
“How was Nevada?”
“Even better than we hoped,” Sloane says. “Minimal regulation, sky-high demand . . . it really is the modern gold rush.”
“That’s great,” I say. “Maybe we can get that PS4 Zima’s been bitching about.”
Sloane laughs softly. She adores Zima even when he’s a complete pain in the ass.
“How would you feel about running things here, if Ivan and I start spending more time on that project?” she says.
“I could handle it. If that’s what Ivan wants.”
“You’ll have to settle things with Lara, though,” Sloane says. “Is she ready for this kind of life?”
“I hope so.”
“People will make a lot of changes for someone they love,” Sloane says.
That’s true. Before they met, Sloane and Ivan would each have killed anybody who got in their way. Now they’ll kill anyone except each other.
“Well, don’t keep her waiting up there. Goodnight, Dom,” Sloane says.
“Goodnight.”
I finish my drink and head back up to the attic room where Lara is still slumbering peacefully.
I look down at the thick black lashes laying against her cheek, her soft lips, barely parted. The long, straight swoop of her hair across the pillow.
Here’s what I’d like to do:
Lock Lara up in my room.
Go find her father.
Torture and murder him.
Bring Lara his head.
But that isn’t what she wants.
So, I guess I’m the one who will have to make changes.
Because for once, I have to subdue my impulse for violence, and practice patience instead.
22