Page 108 of Scarlet Secrets

“C’mon, Mama’s waiting,” Ilya says.

Sasha pulls hard on his hair, hard enough to make me wince. I’ve been a victim of his little boy enthusiasm before. “Noooo!”

“You don’t pull hair, Sasha.” I smile at my son, even as I struggle to look stern. “Say sorry to Uncle Ilya, and maybe he’ll take you down to breakfast.”

He pulls his hair harder as he tries to lean around. “I sorry, Unca Eelya.”

“Come on, monkey,” Ilya says, “let’s get you fed.”

The week passesand I’m finding Ilya to be that guy who tried to give me some personal time by tending to Sasha. He’s fun and easygoing, and both Sasha and Alina adore him.

He somehow manages to get her out of funks when she starts sliding into them by engaging her in mundane work or putting her ongive Erin some restdays.

And Demyan…

I barely see him.

To talk to, that is. When he does come home, he smells of booze and smoke, and once of perfume that I can’t bring myself to ask about.

But he wakes me and takes me hard, pounding into me. He’ll hold me down and fuck me so brutally it’s close to pain, but so good it makes me moan and thrust back against him. He uses my mouth, my pussy, my ass.

And he’s always gone by morning.

The only thing that doesn’t make me hate myself for giving in to him— for wanting what he hands out—is as I drift off, he’ll hold me, kiss me softly. And once, when he thought I was asleep, right before he slid out to dress and disappear again, he whispered, “It won’t always be like this,Lyubimaya, my love. You’re perfect.”

And I tell myself that’s enough.

It has to be.

“I’ll be all right, Erin,”Ilya says, handing me the coffee. “I promise.”

I wrap my hands around the mug and blow on the steam. “You sound like Demyan.”

In the living room/makeshift office, the laptop next to me, I look at him. I talked him into giving me something to do.

It’s small, I know that, just basic clerical business for a small bar Demyan owns in Back of the Yards. I’ve balanced books before and it’s that simple. But at least it’s something I can do to feel useful.

“No one can promise that. He…” I dart a look at him. “Demyan’s so distant and harsh at times. There are nice moments, don’t get me wrong, but I hate that he doesn’t seem to trust me.”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, just watching Sasha as he plays on the floor. “Demyan’s Demyan. But the fact you’re here means something. He doesn’t let people in.”

“H-he told me his father wasn’t nice.”

“His father was a bastard. A cold, cruel man. Violent, harsh—harsher than him. And all his love went to Alina. Demyan… he took everything out on him. Shaped him.”

“That’s what worries me,” I say.

But he sighs and looks up. “Demyan has some unlearning to do, but he has a protective shell. And he’ll die for those he loves. Kill for them, too.”

He tells me more about his father, how his mother died when Demyan was young, and how his father turned against him. Blamed Demyan for her death.

“I’ve known him since school. I know his sister was hissaving grace. He could have punished her for coming along and getting the love Demyan was denied. Many would have, but he loves her, too.”

“I think you’re his saving grace, too,” I say.

“Don’t discount yourself or Sasha.”

He’s right about Sasha, but me? I don’t know.

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