Page 41 of Bound to a Monster

“I’d like that,” I say very softly, too taken aback to be anything but sincere.

“But you have to wear that for me when you train.” He licks his lips again.

“You’re going to get us both in trouble with that.”

“I think you like trouble.”

“And you don’t know me at all, remember?”

His smile comes back like he’s forcing it. “I want you to see a doctor and get approval before you start working out again. But once you do that, I’ll give you anything you need.”

My heart skips a beat. I almost forgot that I was pregnant. For a second, I was just Carmie, a woman he’s clearly into.

But no, I’m just the pregnant wife.

I wrap my arms around myself almost as if I’m trying to cover my exposed body. “I’ll look into it.”

“You should.” He hesitates and obviously he wants to keep looking at me, but I’m finished now. That comment about a doctor dragged me back to reality.

“I’m going to finish unpacking.” I gesture at the door. “And I’m going to get changed again.”

“I’ll make an appointment with the OB.”

“I can find my own doctor, thanks.” Excitement gets flushed away and replaced with annoyance. I swear, this guy knows exactly what to say to piss me off already. It’s his superpower.

“I’ll handle it.” He leaves my room before I can argue, and I’m cursing under my breath as I close the door behind him.

My heart’s racing and I’m a shaky mess like I’m coming down from adrenaline as I strip out of my fencing gear for the second time and put my normal clothes back on. There was a moment where I would’ve done anything he wanted, so long as he kept looking at me like it wasmehe wanted.

But that’s not how this works.

We were thrown together—and if I’m going to get through this marriage, I have to start seeing him for what he is.

The enemy.

Chapter 16

Lev

The pawn shop’s a ramshackle building in a halfway decent neighborhood in West Philly. I park down the block and walk over since the weather’s nice. A bell rings when I step inside and the smell hits me first like a memory. Musty and warm and spicy. The smell of a thousand objects, a thousand lives.

A few thousand dollars too.

“Be with you in a minute,” a man’s voice comes from the back. I wander around a little and check out some of the less expensive stuff he’s got displayed. Electric and acoustic guitars, a ten-speed bike, multiple baseball bats, stereos and speakers. The high-end stuff is behind glass display cases. Rings and watches, necklaces and bracelets. Even a few old baseball cards.

“Since when did you start collecting these?” I point at a card for a guy named Stan Musial.

“Had an old fart bring them in last week.” Frank O’Hare grunts as he drags himself over to the case, bends down, and brings up the cards. “Real old stuff. I think that one’s worth a lot.”

“Pretty cool,” I admit, even though baseball cards aren’t really my thing. “Think he’ll come back for them?”

“Doubt it. Guy’s an addict.” Frank’s not too precious about his clientele. He understands better than most the whims life can throw at a person. He’s stocky, on the shorter side, covered in dark hair with bushy eyebrows and a ponytail. His glasses are thick, and he dresses like a cross between a banker and a hippie. Lots of khaki pants and tie-dye shirts.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of the great Lev Federov’s company?” Frank asks after putting away the cards.

“What, I can’t stop by my favorite vendor and shoot the shit?”

Frank snorts and shakes his head. He takes off his glasses and rubs them with a cloth from his pocket. His fingers are stained black with grease and dirt, and his nails are neatly trimmed. “Not fucking likely.”

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