Page 3

Where the hell is Miles? He never leaves when I’m home and there are others around after what happened the last time.

Who sent the water and food?

I'm so lost in my fear that I don’t even see the door frame before it’s too late. I gasp in pain, which causes my father’s rage to go nuclear. Yeah, that’s going to leave a mark.

“I cannot believe you just did that. Making a scene in front of everyone like I’ve failed at raising you properly,” he hisses as he throws me to the floor, slamming the door behind us.

Turning to sit up, I look up at him and rub the side of my face. “I’m sorry, Father. Some news surprised me, so I failed to push the chair back far enough before standing.”

He leans forward, hissing, “I don’t fucking care if you were being attacked by ants. You do not embarrass me like that ever. Do you have any goddamn idea who that is out there?”

By the way he is looking at me, I know that at this point there is no need to defend myself. Whatever is about to happen is what it is, and I need to accept it because I know he will not hesitate to do anything and everything to protect not only his image but also the empire that he has built. Bowing my head, I drop my hands in my lap and prepare for what is coming.

Two

Nikolay

Scanning the crowd again, I rub the center of my chest when I don’t see her. How could I have lost sight of her so quickly?

Moving around the edge of the crowd, being sure to keep the exits and the people in my line of sight, I search for her. I’m fighting a feeling I cannot identify as it builds in my chest. The last time I saw her, she was taking the plate of food from the waiter I sent over to her, but then fucking Machislav pulled me into a conversation with Denver-fucking-Cole. I still don’t see what the point of me being here for this shit show is.

After the third lap around the garden and still unable to find her, I decide it’s time to move to other areas. The need to find her to make sure she is safe, happy, and taken care of is a drive that I cannot explain. I make my way toward the door to go into the house to start my search when I see Denver coming from a side door and fixing his sleeves as he does. A look of euphoric satisfaction is on his face.

I move to make my way in his direction when Oral steps in front of me. “Why do you look like you’re about to go on a murdering spree?”

“Might be. Only time will tell,” I state flatly, meaning every word.

“Pakhan wouldn’t like that considering he is trying to make a deal with the head of this fine estate,” Oral continues lightly, as if I’m not plotting the death of every person around us.

“Here’s the part that you all seem to fucking keep forgetting lately—I don’t rightly give a fuck what makes him happy. That’s your job,” I growl, the frustration I’ve been fighting the last twenty minutes boiling over.

“Nik, I’m not kidding,” Oral starts, all humor gone. “Do not fuck this up.”

I finally drop my eyes to his. “Ne ugrozhayte mne (Do not threaten me).”

Oral brings his hands up in surrender as he steps away from me, finally understanding that I am not in the mood for his shit. Denver has made his way across the garden to the head of the Italian family, talking animatedly. Looking back at the door, I will her to come through it. When nothing happens, I sigh and shake my head, frustration hugging me tight not only because I can’t find her but also because I’m letting someone twist me up like this. Looking around for Machislav and his men, I find them standing at the far end of the garden and make my way over to them.

“YA ukhozhu, (I’m leaving)” I announce as I make it to them.

Machislav looks over his shoulder at me, his dark eyes missing nothing. “So soon?”

I just give him a stiff nod before turning to leave. Not wanting to walk through the house as there are too many blind spots and places for people to hide and or attack you, I make my way to the edge of the garden. Stepping through the hedges, the sound of crying catches my attention. Pausing for just a moment, I fight my instincts to walk away. Something about the cry pulls me to find and comfort whatever is crying that way. The need to find the cause of the pain and make sure that it can’t cause it again is nearly impossible to ignore.

I slowly start to make my way toward the whimpering, sure not to make a sound. The row of hedges ends with the option to go right and leave or left and continue to hunt down the wounded animal. Lying to myself is not a habit that I usually indulge in, but tonight I’m going to. I’m going to tell myself that I paused and thought about what I was about to do. I did not think—I instantly turned to go toward the cries of pain that piqued my curiosity in a way that has only happened a handful of times before now.

Being sure to move in the shadows like a ghost in the night, I come to a clearing with nothing in it but a large round swing. One so big that it could seat two people and was covered in ivy in the center. The clouds above shift, allowing the full moon to shine down on the figure huddled in the middle. Standing there, I take in the curve of her shoulder, the cream skin of her back. Her dark hair is twisted up in an elaborate updo. Moving through the shadows, I stalk the sad and weak woman shaking in pure sadness.

The clouds continue to shift, allowing more moonlight to shine brightly down onto the trembling figure. With trained footsteps, I make my way out of the shadows and over to the swing, pushing it gently and causing her to gasp. She looks back at me, eyes wide with sadness and fear. They are the same eyes that drew me in earlier in the evening. I don’t say a word, just continue to push the swing, so it rocks her gently back and forth.

After the third or fourth time I push her, she turns her back to me before speaking, “You scared me.”

“You should pay closer attention to your surroundings,” I reprimand her harshly, angry not only because I was able to sneak up on her but also because if I could, so could anyone else.

The sharp intake of her breath is the only acknowledgment I get that she heard me. We fall into a silence that isn’t comfortable, yet it’s soothing to my soul. It’s the strangest feeling to be able to be still, to not feel like my insides are trying to shred themselves because I’m not on the move. I’m not processing and accessing everything. Standing here in the moonlight, pushing this broken woman on a swing is surreal in a way that I cannot yet understand myself.

It’s in that silence that the woman I thought was broken shows me she still has a fire deep within her, and my fire wants to see how hot we can burn.

“Do you not find it strange that I’m alone and crying in the dark?” Her voice rings out crisp and demanding.