Page 59 of Scarlet Secrets

I need to get out of here. With my boy.

Because I fear for both our lives.

Chapter Fifteen

DEMYAN

My head hurts.

I think I slept for about forty minutes and every one of those minutes managed to be filled with dreams.

I can’t shake the idea I’m being unreasonable. Fuck that, I know I am. I just can’t stop. She took my son, denied me of the chance to be a part of his life and I don’t know how to reconcile that. I don’t fucking know how to begin to forgive her.

Erin’s still up there.

She’s been crying, yelling, and Olga snuck her a sandwich. I’ll let it slide. I’m not a monster. I’m not going to starve her, but I also don’t want someone like Erin winning the staff. I want them, a little afraid of what I might do if they’re too nice to her.

I fell under her spell. She’s feisty and strong, innocent and sweet, and under all that? Guilty as the fucking devil.

By the time seven a.m. rolls around, I close my computer and stalk out of my study, down the hall, and into the dining room where Alina, Olga, and Magda are fussing over a screaming Sasha.

Who the fuck built tiny kids with such big lungs?

I’m not sure why he’s crying again. He had a good sleep, and I got a text from Ilya that he’ll be here at eight with all the things needed for Sasha. Already, workmen are turning the bedroom near mine, my hated childhood room, into a new, brightly painted room of his own for Sasha.

We don’t have the furniture, that’s coming, but the paint is a bright lemon yellow and I was flicking through motifs in between work, things we could put on the walls for him to make it more homelike when his one child band of noise destroyed my morning.

Sasha sees me, and his bright-pink cheeks wobble as he lets out a fresh round of tears and cries for his mama. He shrinks back, pressing into Magda.

I just look at her, and Olga scurries off, but Magda strokes his head. “Sir,” she says in Russian. “The boy wants his mother.”

“He’ll get over it. I’ll have the usual for breakfast. Alina?”

My sister shakes her head, but I ignore it.

“Alina will have the same.”

Magda has balls. She’s known me since I can remember and there are times where she’ll walk right up to insolence. This, it seems, is one. “And the boy?”

“He’s fussing, Demyan.” Alina wrings her hands. “We’ve tried everything. Even cereal. Maybe we should get some chocolate puffs?—”

“The boy will have milk, orange juice, and toast.”

There’s an actual moment I think Magda’s going to defy me, but she nods and ruffles Sasha’s hair before bustling off.

He’s in some kind of booster seat. The fuck knows where it came from as Ilya isn’t back yet, but I’m betting someone dragged something in from home. I really don’t care, as long as he has a seat.

I sit and pour a touch of milk into my coffee that appearsnext to my print paper. My tablet’s there, too. I like the feel of print, but today I use the tablet so I can keep an eye on the fussy child.

“Here you go,” Magda says, bringing out the bacon, eggs, and toast. There’s some for Sasha, too, but as I eat, he turns his nose up at everything offered to him by Magda.

He doesn’t want the boiled egg. He doesn’t want the bacon. Or the juice. Or the milk, and Sasha makes it known, turning his head and pressing his lips together whenever food comes near him.

“Noooo,” he cries. “I want Mama, I want Mama!”

“She’s not here,” I snap.

And he cries harder.

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