Page 38 of For a Price

She nods. “He was trying to unzip his pants and I went for it. That’s when he knocked me to the ground.”

“It’s good I came when I did,” I say. “I glanced up and noticed you were gone. One of the sovietnik’s men told me they’d seen Leonid leave with the same woman I was with. Out in the hall, I could hear noises from the closet.”

“He’s not…” she shudders out a breath. “Will he be coming back?”

“No,” I answer immediately. “He won’t ever be back. I chopped off his hand. I will murder him next. You did good, devochka. You fought him off as much as you could. You bit his whole fucking finger off.”

I return the icepack to her face, this time to the puffiness on her jawline.

It must hurt to speak or open her mouth. I’ve sported similar injuries many times in the past.

She needs rest.

“We will get you cleaned up, then you will go to bed. Get some sleep and rest. As long as you need.”

“Can you… I don’t want to be alone…”

She wants me to stay with her.

“Alright, kitty cat,” I say, thumbing a tear away from her cheek. “I will stay.”

* Dostatochno -enough

* Ostanovit yego -stop it

CHAPTER 14

Katerina

I sleep like the dead.

After so many hours, I wake up in a drowsy fog to fumble my way to the bathroom. A minute or two later, I’m collapsing in bed again, burrowing deeper under the blankets.

Dreams elude me. Thoughts do too.

For the hours I’m asleep, I’m hibernating in a black void where nothing else exists.

I wake when it’s dark out, aware I’ve been asleep for a long time without even checking the time. My body aches in protest as I push myself up in bed and blink around the shadowy room. I’m alone.

The plum sky visible through the window tells me it’s late at night. Did I sleep a whole day away?

I rub fists against my face to clear the sleep from my eyes and then cautiously peel back the duvet. My legs swing over the side of the bed, feeling like foreign attachments that don’t work right. They’re stiff and achy, probably difficult to walk on.

I’m pantsless.

I’m in nothing but a huge t-shirt. A familiar musk is woven into the cotton fabric. Something warm and smoky.

It’s a scent I’ve smelled before.

My eyes close as I place the scent. It belongs to the Russian Bear.

I’m wearing his shirt.

Only a day or two ago, I would’ve been irritated by such a revelation. Given what I’ve been through lately, it’s the opposite. I find a strange comfort in the fact that I’m swallowed up by the soft cotton fabric that’s his t-shirt. I’m enveloped in the smell of him.

If I’m honest, I don’t even want to take it off.

As sleep fades away and my consciousness returns, so do memories of what happened at the dinner event Roman brought me to.

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