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I swallow, the ache in my chest intensifying. “Did you ever try to find out about your mother? To find her or your father? I mean, you have the resources now…”
Peter’s jaw flexes, and he turns to fully face me. “Why would I waste my time looking for someone who abandoned me?” His eyes gleam with a hard, dark light. “There’s only one thing I’d want to do if I found her, and even I draw the line at matricide.”
He turns away, continuing to fold and hang my clothes, and I force myself to join him in the task despite my shaking hands and knotted stomach. His revelations both terrify me and fill me with crushing pity. It’s obvious to me now that the rage I glimpsed in Peter goes deeper than the tragedy that befell his wife and son, that he was shaped by forces I can scarcely comprehend.
That his focus on family—and his obsession with me—might have roots going all the way to the darkness of his childhood.
15
Sara
I fall asleep in Peter’s embrace as soon as we lie down, and I wake up sometime later to the feel of him sliding into me from behind, his muscular arm looped around my ribcage to hold me still. I’m not wet enough, and the first few thrusts burn, but then his hand moves down to my sex, finding my clit, and my body softens, melting for him as the fire ignites in me again.
It takes only a couple of minutes for me to come, and he’s right behind me, his thick cock jerking inside me as he reaches his peak with a muffled groan. He holds me then, not bothering to pull out, and I fall back asleep like that, with him still buried in my body. In my dreams, he kisses my temple and tells me how much he loves me, but when I wake up in the morning, I’m alone in bed, with the bright light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
As I shower, I find traces of dried semen on my thighs—evidence that we didn’t use protection once again. I wash it off quickly, trying not to give in to the panic bubbling inside me, and get dressed to go looking for Peter.
He has to get me that pill.
He has to keep his promise.
To my surprise, he’s nowhere to be found downstairs. Neither are any of his men.
My pulse jumps, then settles into a rapid rhythm. Could it be? Could they have left me alone and gone to take care of some business? Before I let myself get too excited, I grab my boots and go outside to check if they might be training there.
Nothing.
Everyone’s gone, and so is the chopper.
“They’ll be back this afternoon,” a man’s voice says behind me, and I jump up with a startled squeak.
Spinning around, I face Ilya, who’s stepping out of the house behind me. He must’ve been in one of the guest bedrooms upstairs—the only places I didn’t check yet.
Taking a breath to settle my racing pulse, I ask, “Did Peter go too?”
The big Russian nods, his tattooed skull gleaming in the sunlight as he leans against the doorway. “He left breakfast on the stove for you.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
He goes in, and I follow him back into the house, shivering from the cold wind. I’ll definitely have to dress warmly when I make my escape, with layers and everything. And I might get the chance sooner than I expected.
With any luck, Ilya won’t be watching me too closely today.
Sure enough, he doesn’t join me for breakfast. Instead, he disappears into his room upstairs while I scarf down the oatmeal Peter left for me and then clean up. When Ilya still doesn’t return a few minutes later, I quietly go upstairs, layer on two sweaters and a parka, grab a hat, and just as quietly go downstairs. I still don’t know the area, but I can’t pass up this kind of opportunity. Dropping by the kitchen, I hurriedly grab a water bottle, a packet of peanuts, and an apple, and stuff everything into a plastic bag that I zip up in my parka.
My boots are by the front door, so I pull them on, and then I exit the house, careful not to make any noise as I close the door behind me.
I don’t take a full breath until the house is out of sight and I find the trail I saw on the west side yesterday. I keep to the side of it, ready to dive deeper into the forest at the first sign of pursuit, but none seems to be forthcoming.
Maybe my luck will hold and Ilya won’t realize I’m gone until some time from now.
The air is cold and clear as I half-walk/half-run on the trail. I’m not in good enough cardio shape to keep that pace for long, but my goal is to get as far down the mountain as I can before anyone discovers I’m missing. I don’t delude myself that I can evade a team of former Spetsnaz soldiers without a significant head start, but it’s worth a shot.
