A soft knock interrupts us as I finish on her first foot and turn my attention to the second.
“Come in,” I call without breaking concentration.
“Some soup for the missus,” Chastity says, setting a bowl down on the counter next to Anika with a soft clink.
“Thank you, Chastity,” Anika murmurs, and the maid leaves without another word.
“Eat,” I command, cringing internally when she flinches but immediately picks up the bowl.
Taking a deep breath, I release it slowly as I return to plucking out the bloody shards and plinking them onto the counter besideher. It’s not until the spoon is scraping the bottom of her bowl that I’m satisfied I’ve removed all the slivers.
“Alright. That part is done,” I say, keeping my voice low and even. Rising from my seat, I turn on the tap water, keeping it cool but comfortable. “This might sting a little,” I warn before guiding her foot beneath the running water to wash away the gravel and dirt. Then I squirt soap onto a clean washcloth to wipe the skin clean around her cuts.
Anika sets the bowl aside to watch me work, and I can feel her eyes on my as I bow my head to focus on my task.
“So, you want to tell me what happened?” I ask, casting her a quick sidelong glance.
“I—panicked,” she finishes lamely, her cheeks turning a deep rose.
“I gathered,” I say, gently patting the one foot dry before cleaning the other. “But that wasn’t a normal reaction, Anika. Not unless you have a past you’re not telling me about.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, her muscles tensing as her pulse jumps in her throat.
Pausing my ablutions, I look up to meet her eye directly, but I keep a firm hold of her ankle so she can’t go anywhere. “Did Pyotr ever lay a hand on you?” I ask directly, the words tasting like acid on my tongue.
Anika’s look of shame tells me all I need to know.
But I want to hear her say it.
I want to know just how deep her wounds run.
Because if I don’t, I won’t know how to help her.
“It was my fault,” she says, the words coming straight out of the victim’s handbook. “It usually only happened when I provoked him.”
If I could fish the tiny pieces of Pyotr back out of Lake Michigan, I would put him back together and bring him to life just so I could kill him again.
And this time, I would takedaysto get the job done.
No death could be too horrific for that sick bastard.
But right now, despite the fury roiling inside me, threatening to explode, I know that it’s the last thing Anika needs.
So I take another deep, steadying breath and soften my hold on her ankle as I reach for the disinfectant and a cotton ball.
“I’m going to humor you for a moment and pretend that there isevera good reason for a man to hurt a woman so I can ask this next question. What, pray tell, did you do to provoke him?”
Anika hisses, her foot jerking as the disinfectant hits her skin, and I clench my jaw, closing my eyes as her pain slicing through me like a knife.
“Sorry,” I grumble. “I should have warned you.”
“It’s fine,” she says, relaxing back into my hand as she gets back to my question. “Pyotr had a temper… and he liked to drink,” she admits reluctantly. “I knew better than to argue when he was in one of his moods, but sometimes, I just couldn’t help myself.”
Looking up at her over the dainty tips of her polished toes, I study Anika’s striking features—the faint yellow bruising along her cheekbone that’s nearly gone. “That bruise on your face, hedid that?” I guess, several conflicting facts aligning properly for the first time.
Anika traps her lower lips between her teeth and gives a nervous nod.
Releasing a heavy breath through my nose, I shake my head and turn to grab a roll of gauze.
