Page 48 of Sergei
I was making a list of possible jobs that I could apply for when there was a knock at the door. I didn’t move. I figured it was just a delivery of some sort and Bog would take care of it.
Seconds later, I heard a familiar voice call out, “Alina?”
“Nikolai?”
I stood and started for the kitchen. As soon as he spotted me, Nikolai’s eyes lit up, and a smirk crossed his handsome face. “I knew you were still here.”
“Afraid so.”
“How’s it going?”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “Just doing what I can to keep myself busy. What about you?”
“Same old. Same old.” He grimaced. “I can’t believe he’s kept you cooped up in here for so long.”
“It’s not that bad.” I motioned my hand over to my sketch pad. “I’ve been working on a few things.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, just some sketches and a little poetry.”
“Sounds like a good way to bide the time.”
Before I could stop him, he’d picked up my sketchbook and started flipping through the pages—pages that were filled with pictures of Sergei. After a moment, he looked up at me with his brow perched high. “There’s a lot of Sergei in here.”
“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “He’s pretty much the only person I’ve seen over the past month or so.”
“Um-hmm.” He motioned his head towards the front door. “What about Bog?”
“I guess he doesn’t inspire me like your brother does.”
“I see.” Realizing he’d seen right through me, heat rose to my cheeks, and that seemed to spur him on even more. “You got a thing for my big brother?”
“It’s not like that.”
“I was just messing with ya,” he scoffed. “Sergei’s a hard ass. He makes it hard to even like him, much less fall for him.”
“He’s been really good to me, Nikolai.” The words came out too quickly, too defensively, and I had no doubt he could see right through me when I added, “He’s gone out of his way to protect me and make me feel safe, and I will forever be indebted to him for that.”
“Ah, hell. You don’t just like him. You love him.” He shook his head. “I hate to break it to ya, but you’re in a world of trouble, sweetheart.”
The walls in the room suddenly felt like they were closing in on me, and I didn’t know what to say or do to make it stop. I was trying to think of a response when he threw another punch. “Have you seen or even talked to Viktor since you’ve been here?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“Damn. Sergei still hasn’t told him you’re here?”
“I don’t know what he has or hasn’t told him.”
He lingered for a moment, then turned his focus back to my sketches. I leaned over his shoulder and watched as he read one of my latest poems:
A Dayof Reckoning
I begged and I pleaded, and I prayed.
I measured his breaths.
I tried to cower.
