Page 44 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

Chapter Sixteen

Olivia

Before even opening my eyes, I felt exhausted. I barely got any rest last night. Both Tasha and I went to bed early but nightmares plagued me. When I finally peeled my eyes open, I noted it was still dark outside. Another night with bad dreams. Damn it, I needed a good night's sleep. I was meeting Katja and her boyfriend again tonight along with a few other young people. I had no idea how I’d make it without dozing off.

I really didn’t want to go. I debated cancelling it but I knew it didn’t do me any service wallowing in my thoughts or avoiding meeting new people. Worries for Anastasia weighed on my mind; although now that I knew she was awake, I felt better. Oliver fed me updates daily, sometimes a couple of times a day.

I dragged out of bed and pulled on jogging clothes. The fact that Nikolai even had that in his extensive supply of items he had procured was amazing, and I was grateful. It helped alleviate my mind a bit when I went running. Anastasia was the one that got me hooked on it. Her therapist recommended it to her after she dealt with her nightmare issues. She suggested it to me when the situation at home with my father became unbearable. I didn’t have nightmares back then, but it was a struggle to deal with witnessing all his violent and cruel behavior. I got hooked fairly quickly.

What truly helped me forget was painting. When I painted, the whole world ceased to exist except the images in my mind that I colored onto canvas. The only problem was that lately my painting no longer looked like my signature style. I just couldn’t come to terms with images in my mind so I struggled. Painting was never done with intended results for me. It was more of an impulse that required me to put onto canvas the way I saw things. It calmed me all the way around. If only there weren’t such dark, sick images stuck in my head though.

I pulled my hair in a high ponytail and headed down the marble stairs.

“Hey, Olivia,” Andrey greeted me.

How he functioned on so little sleep I would never understand. He looked refreshed and sharp in his suit, a fresh cup of coffee steaming in his hands. Ever since the first night of my nightmares, there was worry in his sharp eyes. Thankfully though he didn’t bring it up. Last night he woke me up out of my nightmare by banging on my door again since I started locking it after that first night. I didn’t want witnesses to my nightmares.

“Hey,” I greeted him back. “How is it going?”

“Good,” he answered. “The world still sleeps so it’s all good. Are you going for a run again?”

“Yes.”

“You should have gotten some more sleep.” He was beginning to sound like my brother.

I ignored the comment. “I’ll stay within the property,” I told him instead.

He nodded and off I went. When I ran and the music pumped through my headphones into my ears, it was good but not nearly as good as painting. I needed my mind to shut down so I could go back to painting. I craved it like oxygen. As if it wasn’t bad enough what I had to endure under Malcome and have it stuck in my head, not being able to paint felt like extra punishment. It felt like part of my limb was missing.

An hour and a half later, I reluctantly stopped, bending over with hands on my knees trying to catch my breath. I wanted to keep going but exhaustion and my muscles were warning me it was time to stop. I had no idea how long I ran; it wasn’t usually something I tracked. When my body told me to stop was usually what guided me.

Stretching back up, I pulled my headphones out of my ears and stuffed them into my sweatshirt.

A man’s voice calling out had me turning my head.

I failed to realize I'd stopped next to the gate, as the man approached it. His words were rushed as he spoke in Russian. And although he wore a hat that obscured his face, I could tell from the strands of gray hair sticking out beneath the brim that he was older. And with sunglasses shielding his eyes, his hair was the only trait I could see.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I don’t understand.”

“Whose house is this?” He switched to English and alarm bells started going off in my head.

I shrugged my shoulder, unwilling to get into conversation with a stranger. Didn’t Nikolai say someone betrayed them?

“Is Nikolai home?”

Now I was sure there was trouble. Why would he ask whose home this was if he knew Nikolai lived here?

“Open the door for me,” he ordered.

Warning bells reverberated through my entire body at the command, and I ran back towards the house. He called out, but I ignored his pleas as I desperately searched the grounds for the guards that should have been patrolling.

Where the hell were they when you needed them?

I burst through the door to find Andrey speaking to one of the guards.

“Andrey,” my voice was breathless as I tried to get the words out. “There is a guy at the entrance gate.”

The moment the words escaped between my lips, a flurry of movement and commands began. I wasn’t even sure what was being said since most of it was in Russian, but it wasn’t hard to guess from the way several guards took off out the front door towards the gate.

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