Page 42 of Cruel Russian Pakhan
Might as well have one last night with him before he returns you like a package delivered to the wrong address.
“I’d like that.” I could use a break. I’d been cooped up for five days straight, and my sanity had been running on fumes.
The only problem was figuring out how to survive dinner while sitting across from a man I couldn’t stop thinking about, especially knowing he didn’t feel the same way.
Chapter 15 - Lev
After ordering the night’s special and the most expensive sweet red wine on the menu, I was finally able to think straight now that Katya was sitting on the opposite side of the table.
Tonight she wore a black fitted dress that clung to her curves. The low back and halter neckline framed her perfectly, while the scooped front offered just enough temptation. Her dress was complemented by red heels and a red clutch. The soft curls at the ends of her hair made me want to tangle my fingers in it. Wearing nothing but a touch of lip gloss and mascara, she looked absolutely beautiful.
When I met her at her room earlier, I wanted to take her right there against the door. Every step she took beside me, her arm looped through mine, the soft curve of her breast brushing my arm, the soft fragrance of her perfume that wafted to my nostrils, pushed me closer to the edge. By the time we got to the car, then into the restaurant, my restraint had worn thin.
But tonight wasn’t about me.
It was about her.
I had uprooted her from everything she knew; the least I could do was help her adjust to the life she was about to step into, helping her shed the nerves she had before facing the siblings she had never met. It also helped me feel less guilty about everything I put her through.
“Tell me about yourself,” I said, taking a slow sip of wine.
“There’s nothing much to tell.”
I chuckled. “Says the woman who fought me like a feral cat, picked the lock on a second-story window, and vanished into the night.”
Katya gave a small smile, her fingers trailing the stem of her glass. “Survival instinct. You either adapt or you die.”
That was exactly why I wanted to marry Vera in the first place. Our faction had to adapt or die. The fact that Katya understood this premise meant she was flexible to change. It also made me realize that I didn't have to worry too much about her new life. Because Katya was a fighter, there was no way she was going to die, so the other option was for her to adapt.
“Learn that in foster care?”
She nodded, eyes flicking down briefly.
“Tell me about it,” I said, my voice softer now.
During dinner, Katya told me how she'd been bullied in foster care, by the adults and the children. The adults would leave them without food or take them to the basement if they got angry with them. She told me about the cuffs and ropes, and I fully understood then. I thought maybe it had been Artyom who had traumatized her, but it wasn't.
Adults were supposed to take care of children. And the fact that these adults abused their power made me want to find each and every one of them and hurt them just as badly as they hurt Katya.
She then told me how the small knife she carried gave her a fragile sense of control. How she learned to pick locks, broke into stores, and stole food just to survive. How police lights became as familiar as streetlights.
I reached across the table and laid my hand over hers when her voice trembled as she spoke about Daisy and Arnold, the first people who treated her like she mattered.
And when she laughed, really laughed, it sent a jolt through me. She told me how she used to burn every batch ofcookies, and how Arnold still ate them all and washed them down with juice to spare her feelings, though his face would contort with each bite.
At one point, I leaned in and gently dabbed a smudge of sauce from the corner of her mouth with my thumb. I brought it to my lips without thinking. Her breath caught, her pupils dilated, and she shifted slightly in her seat.
At first, I thought it was just a one-time thing, but I brushed my hand over hers and her chest rose and fell faster.
God.
She wanted me just as much as I wanted her. My cock strained in my pants at the revelation. But she wasn’t mine anymore. She’d soon be meeting her family, and I’d be marrying Vera. I shoved those thoughts aside and forced myself to focus on her voice.
When she talked about getting into college, how she’d earned her degree, her whole face lit up, blue eyes sparkling like sapphires. She spoke about wanting to make Daisy and Arnold proud, even though they were gone. How that first interview meant proving she could rise above the chaos of her past.
I was proud of her. So damn proud. Despite everything she went through, she didn't stop. She kept knocking down the obstacles as they came, grew from them, became better because of them.
But guilt coiled deep within me. Because of me, that interview never happened. Because of me, all her hard work went down the drain. I dragged her into my world, and her dream slipped through her fingers.
