“Please, explain.” His request may be polite, but there’s a demand in the simple words that sends a shiver down my spine.
The way he orders me around, not in a dickish way, but in a commanding one, really does it for me. Did I know before I met Zinovy that I liked being bossed around by a dude? Absolutely-the-fuck I did not. Is there any sense trying to pretend I don’t? Not if the pleasure he gave me this morning is anything to go by.
“I guess I just like what you’re doing for me. Rescuing me. Taking care of me. Introducing me to the people in your life who matter to you, even though it’s probably risky. It makes me feel…I dunno…safe?” I ramble.
It’s probably dumb to bring up how much of a chance Zinovy is taking when he’s as open about his dangerous lifestyle. But it doesn’t feel as if he’s doing it to brag about his power or makeme feel threatened. He’s just not hiding the scary sides of his life, although I have no doubt the reality is a thousand times more terrifying than the sanitized version of things he’s letting me see.
“You are safe with me, little bird. I vow it.” He speaks such good English. It’s easy to forget he grew up speaking Russian as his first language.
We lapse into comfortable silence as he navigates from thePakhan’spalatial home to where Zinovy says “my” house is. I really need to clarify what he means by that, especially because if he really did put the house in my name, that means there’s a public record somewhere attaching my name to the address.
Jordan may be in my past, but he made some vows, too, usually when he was high out of his mind on the drugs he stole from his distributor. Promises like he’d never let me go, that he’d see me dead in a ditch before he saw me with another man. So as much as I hate needing more help from Zinovy, I need to make sure he’s aware of the risks he faces just by being with me.
“I want your safety, Zinovy. So I think I need to tell you about why I’ve been living at theDino-Mitestorage place.”
“Good. I’ve been waiting for you to share this with me. It has taken you a very long time to give me these details,malynshka,” he grouses. I can already tell when he’s actually perturbed though, and this is not his real grumpy voice. It gives me the courage to continue.
I tell him all about Jordan and his buddies, even answering the embarrassing questions about how I could have ever fallen for a man like that. The only things I don’t give the details of are the debasing things Jordan made me do with his friends and his suppliers when he needed favors.
I don’t think Zinovy would judge me for it, but I’ll probably always be ashamed of the things that happened before I managed to get away. Logically, I know I am a survivor and none of what Jordan did to me was my fault, but my mind plays tricks on me that make me struggle to accept what logic insists is true.
The creak of the steering wheel under Zinovy’s ghost-white knuckles is loud. Enough so I hear it over the thump, thump, thump of the tires on pavement and the hum of the engine. There’s no mistaking how enraged he is, but I don’t think it’s at me. I really hope it’s not at me.
“Allow me to be certain. You did not tell me of thisdolboyob, this ‘Jordan’ because you were worried of the risk to me? My safety? Mine? I who am the blade in the hand of the most powerfulPakhanAmerica has ever known? Little bird, this cannot be so.”
Okay, so maybe some of his frustration is at me.
I gulp over the rock lodged in my throat and defend my delay in baring my embarrassing history. I don’t want to make things worse, but I won’t let him be cross with me when it’s not my fault he didn’t already know about my past.
“First of all, Mr. ‘I am a blade,’ I only met you, like, yesterday. So it’s not like I’ve been hiding this deep dark secret for ages. Also, I don’t think you can be mad at me for not telling you about my ex when you were deciding I belong to you like some bottle of wine you picked up at the airport duty-free shop.”
I’m really building to a mad here. The more it sinks in that Zinovy might actually be blaming me for what I’m already struggling not to feel guilty about, the angrier I get. Just because I feel guilty for being abused by Jordan for so long, doesn’t mean anyone else gets to judge how long it took me to escapeorhow long it takes me to open up to them!
“And besides, you’re telling me with all the super spy shit you pulled, stalking me for however long, you didn’t bother to hunt up any intel about where I came from? That’s on you, Mister Blade! You know what, maybe this is a mistake. You should take me back toDino-Miteand leave me alone.” By this point, I’m screaming; I know I am. I can feel the tears soaking my cheeks, and I’m too upset to care.
I wrap my arms around myself and wiggle until I’m pressed as far against the passenger door as I can get. I want to escape his hold on my leg, but it’s like an anchor I can’t escape. His fingers flex on the soft skin of my inner thigh and I know there’ll be bruises there tomorrow. Just a few hours ago, seeing Zinovy’s finger-shaped marks on me would have been thrilling. Now the idea is just a reminder I’m in the clutches of another man who can use his strength against me any time he chooses.
Chapter
Twenty-Four
CHAPTER 24
Zinovy
Petal’s mood has shifted. Again. I find her current frame of mind the most concerning one I’ve encountered yet. I do not have much experience with the mercurial tempers of women. Aside from the Pakhan’s wife, Irina, and daughter, Amaliyah, I have not spent much time with their gender. Sure, I’ve enjoyed my share of brief hookups as time has allowed. None of which stuck around long enough to see the sunrise, much less a shift in attitude.
She stomps into the house, hardly waiting for me to pull the key from the front door lock before shoving past me and storming upstairs. I’ve seen her fiery and full of sass. This is different. Very, very different.
I lock the door behind me and engage the alarm system before following her path. Once there, it’s no surprise to see the door to the primary bedroom closed. What is surprising is finding she has locked me out. Surprising but no trouble to undo. In moments, the miniature lockpick set that is always in my wallet undoes her attempt to keep me away, and I turn the knob expectantly. I would know why she is angry with me.
The door does not swing open as I expect. Instead, there is a solid mass of weight on the other side that allows it to budge open just the slightest bit. I rear back, intending to shove my shoulder into it and force it wide when her muffled sobs comes from near the floor on the other side. I realize the weight against the door is her slight body, and I freeze. I do not want to harm her by bulldozing it open.
“Petal, little bird…” I try.
“Don’t you ‘little bird’ me, Zinovy middle name I don’t even know Bayev.” Her tone is angry, but the sniffle at the end gives away her true mood. This is not sassy, feisty Petal. Or even meek and afraid Petal. She is furious and sad mixed together. I don’t know what the English word for such a feeling is. In Russian, I would say she ismuchitel’nyy.
Something I did has made her feel this way, and I must fix it. But how can I do so with her barring the door? My stomach twists inside itself.
