Page 6 of Savage Beauty

“He’s not anything now.” Sasha folds his arms. “And criminal I may be, but I’m not a lowlife.”

“You took me to bed when I was intoxicated! What kind of man would—“

“No.” Sasha cuts me off with a glare so cold I feel it in my bones. “How dare you accuse me of that. I never touched you. You were way,waydrunker than me, and I wasn’t gonna go there.” He chuckles. “Believe me,zolotse. You’d remember if I’d been inside you. You’d feel me for days.”

I glance down to avoid his lascivious smirk and notice I’m wearing my satin slip nightdress. I must have put it on at some point, and I wonder whether I tried to seduce him. If I did, he’s being gracious enough not to mention it.

“Goddammit, Sasha. You have your entire life to be a jerk. You couldn’t have taken a day off?” His shrug is all the answer I need, and I slump back onto the pillows. “So what now? You’ve murdered my fiancé, and while I can’t claim to be heartbroken, I don’t know what to do next. I have hardly any money of my own. Marc refused to let me have any.”

Sasha rolls his eyes and picks up his clothes from the back of the sofa. I assume he slept beside me in his underwear, but I dare not ask. He goes back into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

“What were your original plans for today?” he asks.

“To get married here in Vegas. Then we were returning to New York for Christmas to surprise everyone and throw a reception. Marc didn’t want a big fancy wedding. Said it was a waste of money.”

“Cheap cunt.”

Sasha appears in the doorway. He has his pants and shirt on, but he’s chosen to forgo the vest. He rolls up his sleeves, and my mouth goes dry.

“My G5 is waiting at the airport,” Sasha says matter-of-factly. “Since the whole marriage thing is off the table, I suggest we grab breakfast and whatever else might prevent you from hurling all over the upholstery.” He gestures for me to get up. “Come on, let’s go. I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby.”

* * *

I dress hurriedly, tossing my clothes and possessions into my suitcase. When I get downstairs, I spot Sasha immediately, walking away from the concierge desk.

“You look wonderful,” he says. He takes my heavy bag as though it weighs nothing.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. “This is so wrong, Sasha. I don’t know why I let caution slip away last night, but reality will catch up with me eventually. Marc’s death won’t go unnoticed.”

Sasha points at the large-screen TV above the lounge seating. The rolling news ticker mentions Marc’s name, and I step closer to listen.

“European finance tycoon Marc Bonneville was found dead this morning in what police have confirmed was a suicide,” the newscaster says. “His car was discovered off-road in an undisclosed area of the Nevada desert. It has been speculated that Bonneville had lost a large sum in the casinos—a source told us he was found with receipts for several well-known gambling dens. Investigators are not looking for anyone else in connection to the death.”

Sasha puts a hand on my shoulder. “Marc had money, but I have more. And I have my name, which tends to motivate people. My reputation precedes me, and I do not fuck around. When I want something, I get it, and when Idon’twant something—or someone—they’re gone.” He smiles and nods at the TV. “He’s not your problem anymore.”

* * *

I spend most of the flight to New York asleep on the G5’s reclining seats. Even Marc didn’t have his own plane, and although first class is impressive, there’s something about a private jet that screams obscene wealth. It certainly helps to have access to the bathroom whenever I want, but the bubbly sickness has mostly subsided by landing.

When we leave the airport, Sasha heads for the long-stay parking garage. It’s far colder than it was in Vegas, and the wind whips my hair as I hurry after him.

“You left your car?”

“Like I said, it was a business trip,” Sasha replies. He shucks off his jacket and throws it over my shoulders. “I didn’t know how long I’d be. But I called ahead and told Vlad I was on my way.”

“Thank you.” I pull the jacket around me, enjoying Sasha’s warmth. “Does he know I’m with you?”

“No.” Sasha’s tone is brusque. “I thought I’d make it a surprise. And I have to talk to Vlad when we get back, so it’d be best if you went with Morgana and found something to do.”

He’s barely said a word since we landed. Even on the plane, he was quiet. There’s something on his mind, but he’s closed up tight.

Sasha collects his key and then throws his suitcase into the trunk. “Get in. We gotta get moving.”

“What’s the matter?” I ask as I get into the passenger seat.

He ignores my question. “How’s your memory doing?” He starts the engine. “Anything flooding back yet?”

“It’s barely a trickle. I’m sure we stole a helicopter?”

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