Page 52 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
Matvei’s fury carried him through the lobby, into the elevator, down the hallway to her door. He was ready for a fight. Ready to confront her with everything he’d discovered. Ready to demand answers for her betrayal.
He used the keycard his hacker had procured within minutes, expecting to find her waiting, defiant as always. Instead, the room was dark, silent except for the faint sound of labored breathing.
She was in bed, curled on her side, facing away from the door. For a moment, he thought she might be pretending to sleep, but as he moved closer, he could see the tension in her body, the way she was curled in on herself like she was trying to hold something in.
“Irina.” His voice came out rougher than he’d intended.
She didn’t turn around, but he saw her entire body go rigid. “Go away.”
“Like hell.” He moved around the bed so he could see her face, and the sight stopped him cold.
She was pale. Deathly pale. Her usually bright eyes were dull and glassy, dark circles beneath them like bruises. She looked fragile in a way that made his chest tighten with panic.
“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” The words came out harsher than he meant them to, but concern was overriding his anger.
“Nothing that concerns you.” She tried to sit up, but the movement seemed to cost her. She swayed slightly, pressing a hand to her forehead.
“Bullshit.” He was beside the bed now, his trained eye cataloging symptoms. Fever, definitely. Nausea, if the way she kept swallowing was any indication. When had she last eaten? “When did this start?”
“Matvei, please.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Just... just go. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Deal with what?” But even as he asked the question, his anger was crumbling in the face of his instinct to protect her. To take care of her. “When did you last eat something?”
She laughed bitterly, the sound turning into a cough that seemed to shake her entire frame. “You really want to play concerned husband right now?”
“I want to make sure you’re not dying in some shitty hotel room.”
“Why? Afraid you’ll lose your leverage against my family?”
The words hit him like a slap. So she knew. Somehow, she’d figured it out. But looking at her now, seeing how small and sick she looked in the oversized hotel bed, he found he didn’t care about any of that.
“Fuck the leverage,” he said quietly. “Right now, I care about you.”
Something flickered in her eyes at that. Pain, maybe. Or hope. It was gone too quickly for him to be sure.
“You don’t get to do that,” she whispered. “You don’t get to care about me now.”
“Too late.” He sat on the edge of the bed, ignoring her flinch at his proximity. “I’m here. You’re sick. Everything else can wait.”
“Matvei...”
“When did you last drink water? Eat anything?” When she didn’t answer, he stood. “I’m getting you something. Don’t even think about disappearing again.”
He found a small market two blocks away, returning with bottled water, crackers, soup, and fever medication. She was exactly where he’d left her, though she’d managed to sit up against the headboard.
“Drink this,” he said, twisting the cap off a bottle of water.
She took it with shaking hands, managing only a few small sips before setting it aside. He opened the crackers next, breaking one into small pieces.
“I’m not hungry,” she protested weakly.
“I don’t care. You need something in your system.”
She ate a few pieces, more to appease him than out of any real appetite, he suspected. But it was something.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked after she’d managed half the bottle of water and a few more crackers.
“Because you need it.”
