Page 33 of Scorch

“Fuck those. Leggings,” he growls, handing me the pair of black leggings. “We’re out of time. I’ll pick out what you’ll try on.”

I’m not sure how that’s going to make us choose any quicker, but fine. I toss the jeans in a pile and step into the leggings. They’re soft and luxurious and fit me as if they were created for me.

“Alright, I’ll reluctantly give you that point,” I say with a huff. “But leggings are hard to fuck up.”

“That’s not what Polina says.”

I reach for a top when he smacks my hand away. I pull back as if bitten, my jaw unhinged.

“What’d I say? I told you I’m picking them out. Behave yourself.”

I open my mouth to protest, but instead, that isn’t what comes out. “Who’s Polina again?”

Am I jealous?

“My sister. She’s particular about things like leggings. She went on a rant about it a few weeks ago.” He chooses a dark, brick-colored fitted blouse for me to pair with the leggings. It’s sleek with long sleeves and would almost be conservative if not for the deep vee that accentuates my bust. The fabric is thick but has a hint of stretch.

I slide into the top and turn this way and that, checking myself out. “Damn, I look hot. Like, CEO-of-kickass hot.”

Wow.

Viktor nods, his eyes still intense and on fire. Approving. “This will do.”

“It better. We’re getting more of these.” I watch his reaction.

“I’ll be the judge of that. You can submit your requests, but I’ll handle procurement.”

I scoff, hands on hips, as his phone rings. It reminds me that Timur tossed my phone out the fucking window, and I need a new one. Why’d he do that?

He quirks a brow at me. “You can put in some requests, but I get the final say.”

“What is this, the 1920s? Should I light up a Pall Mall and wear some heels? Sir?”

Viktor takes a step closer to me in the small interior of the dressing room. Though it’s roomier than most I’ve seen, he’s the size of a bear, and I’m no pixie, so there’s not exactly wiggle room.

“We’ll skip the cigarette, but heels? Yeah. I’ll add those to the list.” He leans in and whispers in my ear. “You can wear just those heels and repeat that sir.”

Gawwd.

He glances at his watch. “But not now. We need to go. Wear the clothes out.” Leaning over, he plucks the tags off and answers his phone. “We’re on our way.”

CHAPTER NINE

Nine years ago

Viktor

“He doesn't know his own strength, Stanislav,” my mother said, her voice trembling as she held both hands up in front of her. “Listen to me. He doesn't know his own strength.”

My father was in pajama bottoms, his robe cinched around his waist. All he needed was a pipe to complete the look. This was a man who had been dragged from his sleep to meet the police. One more year. All I needed was one more year, and I'd be a legal adult. The second I was, I’d be gone.

The flashing lights faded away.

“He’s always used that excuse,” my father sneered. “He's known his strength for years.”

“It's not an excuse!” my mother pleaded. “Listen to me!”

I was sitting on a chair, staring at the blank wall of the fireplace. We never lit a fire in it because my father didn’t like it. I wanted to think he didn't like warmth either. My father's eyes locked onto mine, his neck veins bulging as he clenched his fists by his side. He wanted to hurt me, but the last time he did, I deflected his blows.

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