Page 45 of Little Blue

Like I’m safe in the arms of someone bigger and stronger than me. Someone who can hold my choice in the palm of his hands like I’m not the child who was forced to grow up faster than her years. Like I’m not the girl whose youth and trust were stripped away even as she keeps the delicate secret of her innocence under the guard of a sharp tongue and toxic bitterness.

I’m crying because, for the first time in years, I feel hope.

Hope that I might not be unworthy of love after all. Hope that maybe, just maybe, I’m worth living for.

“Christ, Blue.” He angles his body into mine, pressing my front into the mattress as my sobs shake me violently now. I can’t get a handle over myself. The hurt has bubbled on simmer for years, and now it’s finally boiled over.

“I—can’t—” I heave. “Stop.”

“It’s okay.” His weight over me is a comfort that I let myself snuggle into. “I’ve got you.”

I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help myself. This comfort is too much. It’s more than I can deny in my ruined state. Tomorrow, I’ll be stronger.

Tonight, he wins.

Twenty

Irelynn

Ilya is gone when I wake. I find that he left the house, and Russia altogether, when I venture down for breakfast to find Luka and another man sitting with coffee, and matching grins on their faces as they listen to Polina grump about something in Russian. If I had to guess, I’d bet she’s nursing a wicked hangover. But as soon as she sees me, she shoots me a beaming smile and hurries to pour me a cup of coffee.

Sliding the brew onto the table, I start to pour cream and sugar into the black. “You don’t have to serve me, Polina.”

“Nonsense,” she clucks. “This is my job.”

“But—”

“Best not to argue with her today.” I glance at Luka in time to see him toss me a wink. “She’s prickly.”

Polina mutters something in Russian, and even though I don’t know the words, I sense enough to have a pretty good guess that Luka has landed himself a tongue lashing.

Luka must have a death wish, because he responds, “Get the girl her breakfast, woman.”

“Oh,” I try to wave it off with a nervous laugh. “I’m not hungry.”

Polina’s eyes snap to me. “You will eat.” She scowls at me as though I’ve suddenly joined the team who’ve done her wrong. “You’re too thin.”

That’s what living on peanut butter and jam sandwiches and eggs will do to a person. Instead of replying, I sip my coffee. Polina huffs as she scuttles back into the kitchen, muttering to herself as she goes.

I’m halfway finished my coffee before I gather the courage to ask, “Where is Ilya?”

“Gone.” The other man says firmly, not once looking at me as he scrolls through his phone.

Luka’s jaw clenches as he gives Boris a side-eye. “This is Boris. Together, we are your guard.”

I tense. “So, you’re here to make sure I don’t run away, then?”

“We’re here to protect you. As running away would put you in danger, yes, you could say we’re here to stop you from doing that.”

“What would I need protection from? I’ve already been kidnapped by a lunatic.”

Boris lifts his head from his phone in time for me to clock a thick black brow raising on a scarred face. Not wanting to look away, and hurt his feelings, I hold his dark, nearly black, eyes. “You think Ilya is a lunatic?”

His chuckle sends an unnerved shiver down my spine, but it’s Luka who drives that shiver home. “Ilya isn’t the only lunatic who’d be happy to, as you say, kidnap you.” My eyes snap to his as the blood drains from my face. He gives me a tight smile. “We’re here to ensure they don’t get the chance.”

“Oh—okay.” What else is a girl to say?

When Polina slides a dish of fried eggs and ham onto the table in front of me, I accept the silence as I dig in. With my plate cleared—I’m not chancing a beating from a hung over Polina when I leave an egg behind—I sit back and ask Luka, “Do you know when he will be back?”

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