I drain the glass and try not to think about the woman sleeping in my bed upstairs. Or how right it felt to put her there.
Florrie
The sheets smell like him.
Spiced wood and something darker, more masculine. Clean but lived-in. I lie in Leon's bed, wearing his t-shirt and my thong, staring at the ceiling and trying to process the fact that my life as I knew it ended approximately three hours ago.
Three hours.
That's all it took to go from a bad date to... this. Whateverthisis.
The house is too quiet. I can hear my own breathing, the occasional creak of old wood settling, nothing else. Leon said he'd be downstairs, but I have no idea if he's actually sleeping or if he's doing... whatever men like him do at three in the morning.
Planning more illegal arms deals, probably. Or figuring out the logistics of trapping women into pregnancy.
The thought makes my stomach clench.
I roll onto my side, pulling the blanket up higher even though the room is warm. My mind won't stop racing, replaying everything on an endless loop.
Brad's hands on me. The relief of escaping him for a few minutes. The wrong door.
The guns.
The moment Leon grabbed me, kissed me, claimed me in front of those men without hesitation.
She's my wife.
I think about his uncle,the Pakhan, and the way everyone in that living room deferred to him with a respect that bordered on fear. The way Leon stood straighter when addressing him. The mandate hanging over him like a sword.
One year. Marry and produce an heir.
And I'm the solution to Leon's problem.
The tears come without warning. Silent at first, just wetness tracking down my temples into my hair. Then harder, my breath hitching as everything I've been holding back, the fear, the anger, the overwhelming sense of being utterly powerless, breaks free all at once.
I press my face into the pillow, trying to muffle the sound. The last thing I need is for someone to hear me falling apart.
A soft knock at the door makes me freeze.
"Florrie."
Oh god. It's him.
I quickly wipe at my face, but my voice still comes out thick and unsteady. "I'm fine."
"You're crying."
How does he even know? Can he hear everything from downstairs?
"I said I'm fine."
There's a pause, then the door opens.
Leon steps inside, and I realize he probably wasn't sleeping either. He's still wearing the same clothes from earlier, though he's lost the suit jacket and his collar button is undone revealingdark ink and a smattering of chest hair. His dark hair is slightly mussed, like he's been running his hands through it.
He looks tired, and oddly, almost human.
"I heard you," he says simply, closing the door behind him.
