“As many as I decide.” I pluck the credit card from his hands as he continues to scowl. “Remember, it’s your fault my apartment got vaporized along with all my possessions.”
“Not my fault. That was a Turkish warlord.”
“Sure, whatever, make all the excuses you want, but I need a new wardrobe. My husband can provide for me, right?”
“You know I can.”
“That’s the spirit!” I pat him on the cheek, doing my best to pretend a false cheer, while inwardly I feel like I’m barely holding on to myself.
I buy pants, shirts, a couple dresses, toiletries, some simple jewelry, a few pairs of shoes, and still it feels like I don’t have enough. I’m cut adrift without any of my old life, and I don’t know how I’m going to survive like this.
But Gabe’s a wolf. The second I show him weakness, he’s going to tear me to pieces. I have to keep moving forward, one step at a time, even if that goes against all my instincts.
When I was young, I learned how to make myself small.
That was the best way to make the visitors go away.
Now I realize they were men from my father’s organization, but back then they were terrifying beasts. They asked me questions about friends, about boyfriends. One time, when I was twelve, a big, burly visitor gave me a lecture on keeping myself pure. Aunt Yelena cursed at him in Russian when she heard about it. But she never said he was wrong.
I learned softness. I learned to be gentle. The visitors wanted to see a pretty little Russian doll and nothing more. They probably had to make reports back to my father, and so long as it seemed like I was blossoming into a proper Bratva princess, that was good enough. I figured out how to make them happy by acting like a river, flowing wherever I was pushed.
Which is why it’s so hard to stand up to Gabe. He’s like a brick wall. Everything he does is confident and powerful. The guy can’t even walk into an underwear store without looking like he’s going to own the place in the next ten minutes. He radiates charm and power, while I’m fluttering around like a moth.
At least I have clean clothes. I choose jeans, sneakers, and a light sweater, even though it’s warm outside. L.A. in the spring can be beautiful and brutal. I love this city with all my heart, itsinequalities and absurdity, the vapid, stupid Hollywood culture, the art and the intellectuals, the wild diversity, and I hate it all too. This place is an ugly, nasty sprawl. Traffic grinds like broken trains. The rich perch on literal hills staring down at the rest of us. And I still can’t imagine a better city in the world. I’ve been painting L.A. scenes since I was little, sometimes the city on fire, sometimes the city drenched in blood. It was how I dealt with my complicated feelings. It was how I felt less isolated.
“Where are we going now?” Gabe’s driver is heading toward downtown. I don’t ever bother going here unless I have to. It’s filled with high rises and business complexes.
“We have to meet with a lawyer.”
“Oh yeah? Do I have to sign a pre-nup now?”
“Something like that.”
He studies me curiously and I can’t read his look at all. Gabe makes me nervous. He’s handsome, and that’s part of it, but there’s more going on underneath his ruthless smile. The man can walk into a room and bend everyone to his shape, but what does he really want? Power, money, violence? What motivates him to become a Dragon?
It’s a total mystery, but I want to unravel it.
Then there’s this morning.
I keep trying to forget it. That whole thing feels like a dream. And it partially was. When I woke up, I still felt the images lingering: my body aching, sweating, naked underneath Gabe’s touch, his thrust, the pain and pleasure and joy?—
Only to find his hand on my body.
He was going to touch me. He was touching himself. I knew it was wrong, but that also excited me. I’ve never crossed a line like that before. I’ve never had a man like him want me, even if I was asleep. I don’t know what he was thinking, but in that liminal space, that half-conscious dreamland, I didn’t care about anything else but feeling his fingers on my skin.
I wanted it. That’s the fucked-up thing. And he wanted it too. His dick was so hard. His groans and growls of pleasure killed me. I shattered so hard I almost blacked out. I’ve had maybe a dozen orgasms in my entire life, and that was by far the best.
But what the hell were we thinking?
That’s not the relationship we’re going to have.
I can’t let myself get tangled up with him. I’m not strong enough to keep myself under control. He’ll take me, use me up, and toss me aside if I let him, and I’m terrified that’s exactly what’ll happen.
We park in the basement of an office tower. Gabe takes me to the fifteenth floor where we meet with an old, balding, Russian man called Sorokin. He sits us down in his office, offers tea, makes a big fuss of seeing Gabe again and acts like he knows who I am, although I’ve never seen the man in my life.
“Your name’s been coming across my desk since you were a little girl.” He beams at me happily. I like his smile. It’s strangely endearing. Usually lawyers seem a little sleazy, but he comes across as kind and outgoing.
“Really? I’m sorry, I have no idea why.”
