Page 50 of The Payback

“It must be all the lies caught between your teeth.”

I can’t help it. I bark out a laugh, startling all three of us with its volume. Ellie snorts, and soon, Anya is laughing with us, not knowing the context but feeling some of the unease dissipate.

We arrive, and Ellie brings Anya into the kitchen and sets her on the countertop. When she tries to pull away, Anya refuses to let go. I sigh, wash my hands, and gather the first aid equipment from under the sink, putting it right next to them so Anya can see what I’m opening and that none of it will hurt her.

“Anya,” Ellie says, pulling her face away and looking the girl in the eyes. “This is Nik.” She puts her hand on my chest, and my heart beats double time. Her eyes slide from where her hand is touching me up to my eyes, and hers widen when she sees the emotion I’m restraining within.

“He is a good man.” TheI thinkis left off from the sentence, but I hear it rattle through my head as if she said it aloud. I’ve never been a “good” man.

“Ya vytru tvoyu ruku, no l’vitsa ne plachet ot boli. Ona rychit,” I say in Russian.I will clean your hand, but a lioness does not cry in pain. She roars.

Without thought, I called her “little lioness” in the junkyard, and the name is oddly fitting. All that blonde hair frames her face, giving her a feral look, and the words she muttered when she thought I couldn’t hear her below her junkyard hideout make her brave in my eyes. A trait she will undoubtedly grow into one day.

She nods, clenching her jaw as she watches my face for signs of a lie.

Ellie’s hand is still on my chest, and I step away, letting it fall into the chasm between us as I wet a washcloth to clean the cut on Anya’s hand.

I work quickly and methodically, picking out the debris in the wound across her palm. Not all that different from the one Dimitri has recently healed from. Anya keeps her little face impassive, finding that inner strength we all possess and can call on when needed.

Only small grunts escape her lips, and when the first one comes out meek, she adjusts her tone and snarls adorably instead. Thankfully, she doesn’t need stitches, so when the wound is cleaned, I wrap it in gauze and peek up at her brilliant blue eyes.

“Molodets, malen’kaya l’vitsa. Ty dozhivesh’ do togo chtoby rychit yeshche odin den’.”

Well done, little lioness. You will live to roar another day.

She smiles at that and looks back at Ellie. “Thank you,” Anya says, her accent thick but the words clear.

I move away, washing my hands and putting the kit back in the cupboard. Instead of standing there without knowing what to do, I dig through the pantry, finding the supplies I hid from Dimitri.

Untwisting the bag, I pull out two slices of Wonder Bread—something I sorely missed when living in Lyon. It may be shit and full of chemicals and not at all comparable to the incredible bread France offers, but it’s my guilty pleasure. I slather one slice with crunchy peanut butter and the other with strawberry jam from the depths of the fridge.

Childhood in a sandwich. Well, the American half of my adolescence. And it’s one of Dimitri’s weaknesses as well. If he found my stash, I’d be cleaned out in minutes.

But sharing my hoard with Anya doesn’t bother me.

I put it on a plate and hold it out for Anya. She looks at Ellie, and after she nods, Anya grabs it like her life depends on it. Ellie leads Anya to the living room to sit on the couch. She’s already inhaling the food and moaning at the unfamiliar taste before I busy myself making more.

Ellie returns to the kitchen and sits beside me, resting her hand on the one I’m using to spread the peanut butter on the second sandwich I’m putting together.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Thank you.”

I turn my head, her gaze already on my face tracing the tattoos that snake from behind my ear down to the collar of my shirt.

“No problem.” I focus on the sandwich-making instead of her closeness and the pull she has on me.

Her hand still rests on mine, and she grips it harder as I spread the jam. “Look at me, Nik.”

Letting out a breath, I tilt my head towards her, not entirely, because I’ve barely looked at her full in the face since she got here. Every time I do, I’m thrown back to that night. The night that wasn’t supposed to mean anything but did.

It still does, no matter how much I shove it down.

“Let go of me, Ellie.”

“No.”

“Yes,” I hiss.

“Why?”

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