The closest thing that feels like an escape in this situation.
I slam the door shut and lean against it, breathing hard.
It wouldn’t make sense to anyone else, but my mind’s caught up in the past. I’m flashing back to the last time I was alonewith Fedorov.
Before he sent me to the cages for disobedience, he’d come to my room late at night. He’d walked right in like he always did, uncaring what state he found me in?—
I squeeze my eyes shut and force the memory away.
That’s not my life anymore. I’m not that girl anymore. I’ve made it out.
But no matter how many times I tell myself that, it doesn’t change knee-jerk reactions like this moment.
I stay hidden in the bathroom for half an hour.
Finally, Killian raps his knuckles against the door.
I’m perched on the closed lid of the toilet, changed into the T-shirt and jeans I grabbed. It’s taken time just to get my heart rate down and nerves settled.
He knocks again, his gruff voice following. “You can come out. I didn’t know you were changing. It won’t happen again.”
I hate how crazy I’m probably coming across. If he didn’t already find me a pain in the ass, he definitely does now.
I draw a deep breath and remind myself I can’t hide in the bathroom forever.
Men might make me intensely nervous and panicked, but I’m stuck with the boxer for the foreseeable future.
When I open the door and venture out into the rest of the studio, I find Killian at the kitchen counter. He’s still gleaming with sweat from his workout. His expression isslightlyless gritty than usual, a vague pitying quality about how he looks over at me.
Only Killian Rourke could make concern look like a scowl.
“Sorry for using your shower,” I murmur, padding over to the kitchen table and sinking into one of the chairs. “I should’ve asked first.”
“Don’t worry about that. When I brought you here, it meant you had free use of the facilities.” He clears his throatand folds his defined arms on the kitchen counter. “Listen… I’ve done more thinking about your situation.”
I tense, bracing myself for whatever’s coming next.
“It hasn’t been easy figuring out a solution, but I’ve settled on the best course of action. I’m sending you upstate,” he explains. “There’s a place you can stay. One of the Callahans has an estate up there—remote, well-protected, far from Bratva territory. His girlfriend, Chantal, lives there too. You’ve met her before.”
My brows knit in question and he goes on.
“At the Vodka Room.”
It’s been weeks, but I do remember the girl who had onlybrieflyoccupied the cages. By briefly I mean less than ten minutes.
She was very pretty and curvy, with dark brown skin and long braids, but most distinct of all, she still had an air of fight about her that the rest of us didn’t have.
It was only a moment later that she was being broken out by a man who had blood on him and seemed not to give a damn that he was opening fire in a bar full of Russian mobsters. He tossed a key at my feet before he tugged Chantal away, and she threw one final encouraging look in my direction.
“No,” I say flatly.
Maybe my favorite word.
Killian’s scowl deepens. “Wasn’t asking for your opinion.”
“I’m telling you anyway. I said no.”
“You’re going,” he grunts back. “It’s what’s best for you, seeing as you refuse the NYPD and shelters. I don’t have the space for you here, in case you haven’t noticed. Unless you want me walking in on you in a towel every goddamn day.”
