Page 31 of Vasily the Hammer

“Is because this,” he says irritably, his voice pure gravel as he waves his fork around. “This life? We build because no kids.”

He starts to stand as though he’s going to huff off and sulk— or kill a guy? He definitely feels like he’s killed men because he was angry and there was a guy who needed to be killed— but I take hold of his hand and pin it to the table. It would be nothing for him to break free, but he doesn’t fight me.

“Please, Vasily. I get that this is probably hard for you. It sounds like you were forced into this marriage as much as I was, and I-I don’t know if I was a very nice person to you or if you were nice to me. I don’t know if we were awful to each other and the best thing I did was walk out that door and not stop until I passed the Gulf of Mexico. If you finally thought you were rid of me, only for this to happen? Or-or-or if you...”

My heart clenches at the thought that hits me, and the lick of terror up my back feels like it will rob the life out of me, but I’ve already gone too far to keep it in.

“Or if you’re the reason for what happened? If you...” I wince at my thoughts. “If you tried to make me disappear forever?”

He flies away from me, like my words themselves are this terrible repellent. This time when he throws a fist, it goes right through the wall, and as he storms back to me, the sound of plaster raining down inside the wall is like the sound of my demise.

He wanted me dead.

He tried to have me killed.

He did it in a way no one would know was him, whether to get insurance money or appease my brother or blame whomever it was he hired.

He thought he got away with it, and then I guessed it.

He’s going to kill me now.

My heart leaps into my throat. Embarrassingly, I let out the faintest, most pathetic squeak, and I pray that there really is nothingpast this because I don’t want my eternal soul to remember that was the last sound I ever made, even when my murderer was right there and I could have screamed for help or thrown a plate at him or something. Anything instead of just sitting here staring at him.

He’s a single step from me, close enough he has only to reach an arm out to snap my neck.

He falls to his knees in front of me and drops his forehead to my thigh, partially out from under the table from the way I’d twisted my body to face him while we talked.

“You were supposed to be safe!” he swears, violence in the promise. Honesty. Anger. His hand goes around my opposite knee, pivoting me and making a lap for him to rest his head on. I’m still catching my breath from my fright, but I can’t hate the way he manhandles me. God help me, I enjoy the way he shapes me to fit his exact needs. And if he needs to hold me, to tuck his hand in the small space carved out by the sharp angle of my chair back and the rounded curve of my butt, that means I’m needed.

“That was the one thing Dima was supposed to do. He was supposed to stay out of your life but make sure you were safe, no matter what that meant. If I never saw my best friend again, it was fine because he was keeping you safe wherever you were while I made this life right here. He saved your life once, you know that?”

“Really?” I reach for his hair tentatively, holding back reminders of why I obviously don’t remember this.

I don’t doubt that we had a sex life, and knowing how good it can be, I’m sure we took great pleasure in each other. But we were nothing more, and no one was hurt by the thousands of miles we ultimately put between us.

I expect some harrowing story. I’m understanding better now why I have a tattoo where no one can see it unless they’re goingplaces they really shouldn’t, warning them off. So I’m not sure if I should laugh or die of humiliation when Vasily says, “You ate kiwi. Dima gave you the shot. The EpiPen. You were on the phone with a friend when you collapsed. He was in bed, but he heard her screaming over the phone. There was an EpiPen in the apartment, but he didn’t know where it was, so he called Igor to hunt one down, and he did the mouth breathing thing— the CPR?— while he waited for Igor. So Igor saved you, too, and your friend, but Dima really was the one who kept you alive.”

“That was nice of him,” I murmur, wondering how stupid I must be if I was just eating kiwi all willy-nilly like that.

“He was the one who brought kiwi into the apartment. I almost killed him for that. You stopped me. I will kill him now. I won’t let you stop me this time.”

Hmm. I’m glad he didn’t kill his friend before. I don’t know that I’ll try to stop him this time, but it sounds like he’s as clueless as I am about where Dima is. I get a good sensation in my stomach when I think about his name, though, which is far better than I can say for Kostya.

“What’s my brother’s name?”

“Tony.”

Didn’t like the feel of that either.

“Who were you talking to on the phone? The call that woke you up?”

The tension in Vasily’s shoulders finally starts to melt away. It’s a slow process, but with each breath, he softens. “That was Kseniya. My sister.”

My sister-in-law. That sits oddly, but the name hits the same warmth Dima’s does. These are friends, I’m sure of it. And now I’m worried about Dima. Shouldn’t Vasily be worried too, if that’s hisbest friend? Shouldn’t he be worried that his best friend is missing, just like the other person Kseniya called about, instead of being mad that I got hurt on his watch?

“Vasily?”

He nudges at my robe, parting it just enough that he can rub his nose and lips over the bit of inner thigh exposed by my knee. “Hmm?”

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