Twenty minutes later, I had the apartment in order and was standing in her kitchen, staring at bare cupboards and an empty refrigerator. I shook my head, a dark chuckle escaping my lips. My little songbird was utterly incapable of taking care of herself.
She needed someone to do it for her.
And for some godforsaken reason, I wanted to be that man.
I made a quick call just because she'd been through hell and I was hungry too. Not weakness. Not genuine affection. Just not being a massive dick.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
Andrei stood there with two bags of groceries and shame written all over his face.
"Tell me," I demanded.
"The guy got away."
"What?"
"We were escorting him to the van when a cop showed up. We tried to keep him quiet, but he bolted. We didn't even get his name. I had to make the call. We couldn't hunt him down in broad daylight without drawing the local PD."
I sucked in a deep breath through my nose, held it, then released it slowly. He'd made the right call. That did nothing to curb the fury building in my veins.
"We'll deal with this later." I closed the door in his face.
Another twenty minutes, and I had freshsyrnikiplated and ready—soft golden cottage cheese pancakes topped withblackberry preserves. She'd liked thepirozhki, so maybe these would please her too.
I carried the plate into the bedroom on a tray, setting it on her dresser as I retrieved the small plastic bottle from my pocket.
Anna stirred. Her eyes opened and went straight to me. Then reality crashed through her sleepy haze.
She sat up fast, pulling the blanket to her chest and wincing as she put pressure on her bruised ass.
"No,maya soloveyka, lie on your stomach."
"I can't take any more, please," she whimpered.
"No more punishment today." I lifted the bottle, showing her the ointment. "Let me take care of you. This will make it feel better."
Tears filled her eyes but didn't spill. She nodded and rolled onto her stomach.
The welts across her ass made my cock ache, but I'd given a promise. I poured ointment onto her skin and worked it in carefully, from her thighs to her full, round ass. I massaged as I went, tending to every inch of damaged skin.
When I finished, she rolled back over, covering herself with the blanket. I couldn't resist brushing her curls from her face before rubbing some of the ointment gently over her bruised cheek.
She didn't flinch this time.
Almost enough to stop the rage building in my gut when I saw that cut again.
"Are you hungry, little one?"
"Yes," she whispered.
I handed her the plate. She took one bite, and her face filled with pleasure, eyes closing, lips curling at the corners, a happy sigh escaping her throat.
Almost enough to make me forget about the dead man walking who'd dared to touch what was mine.
"I'm going to let you eat and rest. But first, I need the last name of the man who hurt you."
She hesitated, setting down her fork.
