Page 94 of Pay the Piper

“I just want to go home,” Thatcher whispers as Teddy half carries him out the door.

Lying in bed, rain beating against the window, trashy reality shows on the TV, Abby in my arms.

“Home sounds great.”

Chapter 38

When my guards finally file out of the safe room one by one, I know he’s finally come. Access to my phone afforded me a chance to call Ellie, who explained what she knew through tears. Although there were aspects of the operation she wasn’t privy to, of course, the gist of it was there and wasn’t a surprise.

Misha, Nikki, and the gang were coming to my rescue. The brief, all-encompassing thankfulness I felt, knowing that my love and my friend were coming for me, was snuffed out immediately by terror. They were flying onto Conor’s turf and, according to Ellie, not just planning on getting me out but also all the other girls. As soon as I heard, I fell into the grips of nauseous mania, then catatonia, then hysteria—waiting to see if I had led the people I love into a slaughter.

Now, relief floods my soul as the only man who could have ordered the guards out gently closes the door behind him and locks it with finality. He doesn’t look like he’s injured or winded at all. He looks glorious. Decked out in head-to-toe black, pants tucked into combat boots and his hair and beard longer than I’ve ever seen them, as if he hasn’t had a single thought since I left that wasn’t related to getting to me.

I’m sure I’m a sight, sitting hunched in the middle of the king-size bed. Whatever hotel they’ve rented out has excellent linens, and I turned the thermostat down to sixty-five as soon as I was dropped off and requested extra blankets. Now, after more showers and baths than I can count, my nest is fully fledged. Exhausted, stressed, relieved, happy, terrified…I’m not sure what he can read on my face. I hope he can tell that I love him. I’m not sure I retain the ability to speak.

Misha makes no move to come to me, and I slowly lower the comforter that was serving as my hood to look less like a gremlin and more inviting. Before I can consider any further that I must look atrocious, I realize the love of my life is crying. Tears stream down his face, wetting his beard, and in an instant, he’s sobbing. As soon as I hold out my hand, begging him to let me comfort him, he’s across the room in a flash.

Head in my lap, he wraps his arms around me tightly but gently, like I’m precious but fragile. Before, I might have agreed only that I was the latter. Now, I know I’m cherished as the former. But I’ve survived enough to be self-assured that I’m not fucking fragile. He’s heaving now, and if I can’t calm him down, he’s going to pass out.

“Misha, my darling,” I whisper. “I’m okay. Is something wrong? Did someone get hurt?”

He shakes his head with a sniffle, tears starting to slow, and I scratch his scalp. Still, he hasn’t pulled his head from my lap and hasn’t released his iron grip from around me. If anything, he’s incrementally tightening, like I won’t notice if he does it slowly enough.

“Moya lyubov—”

That does it, and he sits up instantly, face reddened with the force of his tears and incredulous at my new skill. I can’t help but laugh lightly as I push the luscious hair I’ve missed so much out of his face.

“Don’t be too impressed. That’s all I know. But I hope to learn more. In the future, you know. You speak so many languages, and we’ll want the kids to be multilingual too…”

He interrupts me with a quick but tender encroachment of my space, coming within half an inch of my lips and pleading with his gaze for permission to kiss me. His eyes flicker to my lips and back like a man who’s found an oasis in the desert but refuses to partake unless he knows it’s freely given.

Answering his question by bridging the gap between us, I swallow his gasp like the benediction it is. He never deepens it, kissing me once, twice, three times before pulling back to press his forehead to mine. The reverence in his touch, as he tenderly cups my cheeks, brings tears to my eyes, and finally he speaks.

“Everyone is fine,” he whispers. “Except me. I mean, physically, I’m fine. I’m sorry for saying it like that…I don’t really know what I’m saying. I just…”

Tears well again, and I can see he’s on the threshold of another breakdown.

“I’m so sorry, Abby. I had no idea, and now you’re here being strong while I fall apart, and—”

“Misha, you’ve been plenty strong. Don’t judge your acute reaction to my trauma by my chronic tolerance. Can you do something for me?”

“Anything.” He sniffles.

“Can you go take a shower, then come cuddle with me? I haven’t been sleeping well without you, and I’ve been leaving all the lights on because I don’t feel safe.”

Now it’s my turn to sniffle, and he immediately stifles his own struggles to address mine, but I wave him off.

“You’re here. I’m safe. I know we have lots to talk about, but please…Let’s rest first.”

With a look that says he doesn’t want to leave me but will always do whatever I ask of him, he kisses the top of my head and moves toward the bathroom. The visual of him peeling off his shirt, revealing the powerful, ink-covered back I know so well, causes a welcome warmth to spread from deep within me. Grateful that nothing has changed about my desire for this man after having so much of my trauma thrown in my face recently, I deconstruct my nest and make the bed.

By the time Misha finishes in the shower and returns to me, thick cock resting against his thigh as he crosses the room and joins me in bed, I’m more content than ever. When he pulls me into his arms, it doesn’t take long at all for me to fall asleep to the beat of my love’s heart, and the soothing stories he’s murmuring into my curls. The language may be one I don’t speak, but I know what he’s saying all the same.

We’re safe.

“I don’t want to tell you anything until I know how you are. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand—”

“I’m okay to talk about it. I think.”