Page 18 of Corrupted Guilt

7. Yuri

I see Petya with a hand around her wrist on the other side of the street before they disappear into the alley. My first urge is to run through traffic to get to them, but I suppress that first instinct. I’m trying to teach her a lesson here, that she needs me. But I also promised her I would never let her learn the kind of sharp lesson I know Petya can teach her. Wants to teach her.

I wait for the light to change and the crosswalk to open but I’m getting fucking impatient. I hate that I can’t see them, my imagination runs to the type of guy Petya is. The only comforting thought is that the alley has some privacy from the street so when I get there, I can do anything I want to him without an audience.

Tasha stands by me at the crosswalk and shoots a glance at me, “What the hell are we waiting for?”

“For the crosswalk.”

The second the light turns; I sprint across the street.

I get to the mouth of the alleyway, I see Katya on the ground, lying on her back, looking up.

Her eyes are fear and acceptance. She’s given up the fight somehow.

My rage turns to the man who caused it.

I grab the son of a bitch by the neck and throw him down on the asphalt.

He tries to struggle to his feet, but I punch him in his face before he can get to his knees. I want to grind his bones into pulp, so I settle for the crack of his skull against the ground.

He doesn’t move, it would be his last if he did and he knows it. I turn my attention to Katya, I say softly, “Are you okay?”

She shakes her head No but doesn’t utter a sound.

“Obviously,” I smile at her. “Dumb question. You will be okay. You’re safe, I’ve got you. Nothing can hurt you when I’ve got you, okay?”

She asks me, quietly, “Are you going to kill him?”

I’d like to. But I can’t start a war with him and whatever bratva is bankrolling him right now. Or murder someone in public.

Katya needs me too much to risk either of those. I can’t go to jail or in hiding for that asshole. She’s very fragile right now, I can’t let her splinter apart.

I gather her up in my arms and carry her to my car, she doesn’t protest or struggle. She lets me, passive and limp in my arms.

I’m tempted to take her to my bedroom to fuck this passivity, this malaise, this fragility, out of her, but I decide against it. It feels like all my aggression was left with Petya in the alleyway, all I have left is tenderness mixed with a smidge of guilt towards Katya. I’ll be myself again in the morning, but right now, I’m someone else. It’s probably because I’m formulating my plan to destroy Petya now, but I really don’t want to do it. Katya would have to be the bait to lure Petya where I can take him out.

I bring her straight into her bathroom and set her down on the edge of the bathtub.

“You got everything you need.”

The room she has is huge, and right now I’m glad it was decorated in soothing pale blues and greys. There’s an equally big bathroom attached, with a deep tub. I turn on the faucets for her, running the water into the huge tub.

“You should have everything,” I say again, nodding to the stack of towels and crystal decanter filled with bath products. “But if you need me, just yell.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles. “Goodnight.”

I close the door behind me and go fix myself a vodka tonic to take the edge off. As I tip it up, it is working, distracting myself from the bruised woman in my apartment, when I hear a crash from the bathroom.

“Katya?”, I yell. “I’m coming.” I shouldn’t have left her alone.

I rush to the door and open it without thought. Thank God, she’s okay. Better than okay, she’s gorgeous laying in the bath under a blanket of bubbles, water running down her wet hair. Then I see the broken decanter and its contents, the bath salts, all over the floor.

“I’m sorry. It was an accident,” she says.

Walking through the steamy room I must pull my eyes from the curves of her glistening wet body, barely concealed beneath mounds of white foam.

“Don’t apologize¸” I tell her.

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