Page 17 of Santa Daddy
No. The shower's still running. He's still?—
Drip.
Water hitting marble.
Right behind me.
Every muscle in my body locked.
Don't turn around. Don't?—
Drip.
Closer.
I could feel him now. Radiating heat like a furnace. The air displaced by his presence. Steam rising between us.
Oh God.
"Ma'am? Are you there? What's your location?"
The operator's voice sounded like it was coming from another universe.
I turned.
Slowly.
Konstantin stood two feet away.
Completely naked.
Water ran down his body in rivers, following the harsh lines of muscle, the brutal landscape of scars. Steam rose from his skin like he was something that shouldn't exist in the real world. His hair dripped onto shoulders marked with ink—black Cyrillic letters wrapping around his arm, across his ribs, telling stories in a language I'd never read.
The shower was still going behind him.
He had left it on. He had heard me and he had left it running so I wouldn't know he was coming.
"Ma'am, if you can hear me, officers are being dispatched to trace this call. Stay on the line."
His eyes dropped to the phone in my hand.
Back to my face.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Just stood there dripping, steam curling around him like smoke, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that made my lungs seize.
Then he moved.
Fast.
One step and his hand was wrapping around my wrist. Ripping the phone away with enough force to make my bones grind.
He ended the call with one tap.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, are you there?” the operator’s voice crackled faintly from the floor where the phone had landed, tinny and far away.
