Page 83 of 10 Days to Surrender

Lightning flickers through the villa’s warped windows as Zoya’s fingers dig into the knot beneath my shoulder blade. My jaw clenches, but I don’t make a sound.

She’d love that. I can just picture how wide she’d grin if she made me grunt in agony. But I’m as stubborn as she says I am. Won’t give her the satisfaction.

The massage table creaks as she shifts her weight, moving to a particularly tender spot where Dragan’s bullet tore through muscle. Rain starts to patter against the glass, marking time with each stab of pain.

The room reeks of her homemade liniment, all camphor stinging my nostrils. “Christ,malchik. You’re even more of a mess than I thought you were.”

Her fingers find the bullet wound and test it. Puckered flesh remembers how it felt—steel chewing through meat, concrete rising up to kiss my skull. Fuck, that alley was so cold.

I grind my molars as her palm presses down, checking the give.

“Still favors the left,” she tsks. “Gonna walk crooked if you don’t?—”

“Enough, Zoya.”

“Ebat’, you always were a shit patient.” But her hands gentles on the next pass. We both stare at the window where rain blurs the forest into green smears.

The back door creaks open downstairs—Ariel’s laughter tangling with Jasmine’s as they both run in from where they’ve been gardening in the rain. My pulse jumps. Zoya’s smirk digs fresh furrows into her face.

“There,” she says finally, patting my unmarked shoulder. “That should help with the stiffness. Though God knows you’ll just undo all my work the next time you sneak into that girl’s room at night.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ach,liar, liar, Sashenka. The whole villa has ears, you know.” Zoya sits on the foot of the makeshift massage tables. “These old walls, they talk. Especially at three in the morning.”

I focus on the rain against the window and say nothing.

“Not that it matters to an old woman like me. You’re the one doing the walk of shame every sunrise.” She taps a wrinkled finger at her lips. “Though I suppose shame requires actually feeling something.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?” I grit out. “Weather? Taxes? Nothing at all?”

She slaps my foot. “You’re worse than your father at talking about feelings.”

“I am nothing like him.”

“No? I see a few similarities.He also thought feelings made him weak. That love was a luxury he couldn’t afford.”

Pain lances through me, but it’s not from the wound. “This isn’t about?—”

“Everything is about that. Every wall you build, every heart you push away.” Her voice softens. “You think I don’t see how you look at her? At her belly?”

The storm crashes closer, thunder shaking the villa’s bones. Or maybe that’s just me.

“What if I become him?” The Russian slips out before I can stop it, barely louder than the rain. “What if I hurt them like he hurt us?”

Zoya’s hands are still on my back. For a long moment, there’s only the sound of the storm and my ragged breathing. “The fact that you’re asking that question,” she says finally, “means you never will.”

Quarter to four in the morning finds me doing the same walk I’ve done every night for weeks now. I know all the creaking spots in the floorboards, how to jump from side to side to avoid making a peep. Ariel’s door swings inward silently. I’m halfway to her bed, already hard, when?—

The lamp clicks on.

Golden light spills across Ariel’s face, catching the sheen of tears before she can wipe them away.

I freeze halfway there. “I’ll go.”

“No!” Her hand darts out, fingers hooking into my belt loop. “Stay. Please.”

Please.She’s never saidplease.

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