Unfortunately, the moment of reprieve gets bombarded by my memories from last night. The club, running into Mikhail, that assholewho drugged me. Each reminder drops heavier than the last, tempting another wave of queasiness.
I guess my surroundings make more sense now.
I remember the soft rumbling of the car ride home. The realization that I couldn’t move. How scary it was. How Mikhail never left my side.
The thing I still can’t make sense of, though, is why he brought me to what seems like his home. If it was just because he truly felt he owed me for the night he got shot, he could’ve just left me at some hospital to wait the drugs out.
It’s not like I did much more than that for him.
So why did he stay?
A tap at the bathroom door throws me from my rambling thoughts. I wipe my mouth with a tissue and look back, realizing I must’ve left the bathroom door open in my haste. Mikhail fills the gap with his large form, looking way too good for how I feel right now. His dark hair is still damp from a shower, and he’s wearing casual clothes for the first time since I’ve met him.
“How are you feeling?” He eyes my position on the floor with concern.
“Better, just nauseous, I guess.” My voice comes out in an unpleasant croak. I clear my throat and watch as he pulls the door further open, revealing a stack of clothes balanced in his arms.
“I thought you might want to change out of your dress, so I brought some of my clothes. Why don’t you go ahead and change, and then we can talk?” The beautiful lilt of his low voice distracts me for a moment, and I have to replay his words in my head before I actually absorb their meaning.
It’s so not fair that he looks and sounds like that, and I’mthis. Gleaming in my post-spewing glory.
I nod, unfurling my legs from my crouch and taking the pile from his arms.
Then the door clicks shut, and I find myself alone once more.
It feels liberating to peel off the tight sleeves of my black dress, and I happily shuck the fabric to the floor. The pair of sweatpants and soft sweater Mikhail brought me looks comically large in my arms, and they hang from my body, enveloping me in his musky, deep scent. I tighten the drawstring and roll up the legs before slipping the crew neck over my head.
Wincing at my reflection in the mirror, I wash out my mouth and do my best to scrub off the streaks of last night’s mascara that still cling to my cheeks. Jesus, I look like a heathen. Once satisfied, I finally leave the bathroom and edge into the bedroom, spotting Mikhail leaning against the bedpost.
“That sucked,” I sigh, crawling back onto the bed and burrowing under the heavy blankets. The action wins me a quiet chuckle from Mikhail.
Gentle morning light creeps through the wispy drapes and warms my skin, the cozy environment a stark contrast to the cataclysmic danger I was in mere hours ago.
My head tilts as I study the man sitting so casually beside me. Frustratingly, his blank face and air-tight composure reveal little of his internal thoughts. I would give my left kidney to be able to figure out what he thinks of all of this. He’s likely irritated with me for ruining his night and dragging him into my mess, but I’m filled with nothing but gratitude that he stepped in as he did, taking care of me every step of the way. Not allowing harm to fall on me during the most vulnerable experience in my life.
My fingers curl into the soft sheets.
“Thank you.”
The words come out in a quiet breath, and I slip back into the dread of speculating how last night would have looked for me if he hadn’t been there.
He meets me, intensity lining his features.
“No, I’m sorry. You should have been safe there. With the funds and attention I’ve given to security, my clubs should be one of the safestplaces in the world.” He looks away. “And yet, somehow, some fucker violated you within a few hours of being there. Within feet of me. It’s unforgivable.”
“This isn’t on you, Mikhail. He made his choice, and anyway, if I had been paying more attention?—”
“No, Menace, don’t you dare take an inch of responsibility for what that dead fucker did to you.” He cuts me off, face filling with anger, but I know it’s not directed towards me.
“…dead?” I finally string together his words in my mind.
His eyes swirl with a strange combination of darkness and nerves, “All you need to know is that he’ll never hurt you again, or anyone else for that matter.”
I frown in shock. In all of the chaos, I must have forgotten how I even met this man. No one ends up bleeding in an alley, a gun strapped to their leg, without being into some pretty shady shit.
Is the man who drugged me really dead? I pull the cocoon of blankets tighter around me for support.
The memories from last night flash through me; the waking horror of not being able to move my body, having to be carried around like a broken doll. My stomach curdles, reliving the destitution of my utter defenselessness.
