Page 54 of Auctioned to the Russian Pakhan
“Jesus, what’s wrong with you?” His voice was rougher than usual, and despite herself, she heard genuine concern beneath the harsh exterior.
“Nothing that concerns you.” The words tasted bitter on her tongue, but she forced them out anyway.
When she tried to sit up, the room tilted dangerously. She pressed a hand to her forehead, fighting the wave of dizziness that threatened to pull her under.
“Bullshit. When did this start?”
His presence should have made her angry. It should have triggered all the rage and betrayal churning in her chest. Instead, she felt pathetically grateful that he was there. That she wasn’t alone in this sterile room, feeling like death warmed over.
“Matvei, please.” The words came out as barely a whisper. “Just... just go. I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Deal with what?”
She laughed bitterly, the sound turning into a cough that shook 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 hung in the air between them like a blade. She watched his face change, saw the moment he realized she knew the truth.
“Fuck the leverage,” he said quietly, and something in his voice made her chest tighten. “Right now, I care about you.”
The sincerity in his tone was her undoing. Tears she’d been holding back for hours finally spilled over, hot and bitter against her cheeks.
“You don’t get to do that,” she whispered. “You don’t get to care about me now.”
“Too late.” He moved closer, and she hated how much she wanted to lean into him. “I’m here. You’re sick. Everything else can wait.”
When he left to get supplies, she should have run. Should have used the opportunity to disappear again, to put more distance between them. Instead, she lay there like a broken doll, too exhausted to move, too conflicted to think straight.
He returned with water, crackers, soup, and medication. His hands were gentle as he helped her sit up, patient as she struggled to keep even small sips of water down. This was the man who’d held her through nightmares, who’d taught her self-defense moves in his private gym, who’d looked at her like she was precious.
This was also the man who’d bought her at an auction to destroy her family.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked after managing a few crackers.
“Because you need it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have right now.”
The echo of her own words from that night she’d taken care of him made something crack inside her chest. How had they gotten here? How had something that felt so real turned out to be built on such elaborate lies?
“We need to talk,” he said finally.
“I know.” She closed her eyes, leaning back against the pillows. The medication was starting to help, but she still felt wrung out. “But not now. I can’t... I don’t have the energy to fight with you right now.”
“Then don’t fight. Just rest. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
She studied his face, trying to reconcile the man sitting beside her with the cold voice she’d heard on that phone call. “You found out about the warehouse.”
“Yes.”
“And you think I had something to do with it.”
“Did you?”
