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Gavril had his head buried behind a newspaper. All I could see was his floppy dark hair cascading over his forehead. It looked shiny, like it was still wet from a morning shower. When I’d woken up that morning, I’d found a towel and a few bathing essentials in a pile at the end of my bed. As strange as it was to know someone had been moving around the room while I was asleep, I was grateful for a shower. I wanted to wash the previous day off of me and try to start fresh. I needed Gavril to see me, to get to know me. Then, perhaps, our situation would be more bearable.
“Good morning,” I said, pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting down in front of a full plate of food. As soon as my backside touched the seat, I winced. The welts from the night before had only gotten worse overnight. I was very tender, to say the least.
Gavril lowered his paper and looked at me, eyes drawn close together and curious. “Are you sore this morning? Was I too rough?”
My face flamed, and I just knew my cheeks were bright red. I nodded. “A little.”
“Did you understand what you were getting yourself into?” he asked, folding the paper and laying it on the table in front of him.
The truth was, no, I’d had no clue what I was getting myself into. I never would have imagined sex could be like this. I’d had sex, of course, but it had always been with boyfriends, men I cared about. It was gentle and tender and sweet. But with Gavril it was primal and brutal.
“I knew I might have to do terrible things,” I said, pushing scrambled eggs around my plate, suddenly not hungry in the slightest. “I knew you might ask me to do things I didn’t want to, but I was willing and still am willing to do it for the sake of my brother’s life.”
The line between Gavril’s eyebrows deepened, and his mouth flattened, his lips pinching together so hard I expected them to bleed.
“Your brother is worthless. His life is meaningless and empty. You and your mother would be better off without him.”
I’d had every single one of those thoughts over the years. Devin didn’t care about anyone but himself. He was selfish and thoughtless. He did things – like steal money from the mob – without considering the consequences. And as much as our mother loved him, he could hardly be bothered to have a conversation with her.
But still, he was my brother. I couldn’t let him die.
“He doesn’t deserve to die,” I said quietly.
Suddenly, the entire table shook with the force of Gavril’s fist slamming down on it. The orange juice I hadn’t touched jostled and tipped over, spreading orange across the white tablecloth. I was too stunned to pick up the overturned glass.
“He stole from me and betrayed me,” Gavril said with a growl. “He deserves death, and depending on your performance today, I might still kill him anyway.”
Panic clawed at my throat, and a sob burst out of me. “No, don’t. Please. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Gavril took a sip of coffee from his mug and then set it down on the table. Slowly, he stood up, his footsteps loud and even on the granite floor. He moved behind me and settled his hands on my shoulders. I flinched when he touched me but tried to stay still. Being so close to him felt like being in the presence of a wild animal. I had no idea what his next move would be or what to expect, so it was best to stay still and let it happen.
His hands began to travel down the front of me, moving over the lumpy sweater he’d claimed to hate the day before. His fingers found the hem of my sweater and began pushing it up, stopping when he touched the undersides of my breasts through the thin tank top. He played with me for a moment before working his hands into the neck of my tank top, caressing the material of my bra for a moment before working his way under that too. His finger brushed across my nipple, and I couldn’t help but inhale sharply, surprised by the sensation.
“You’ll do whatever I want,” he said.
For a second, I thought he was asking a question, but then I realized it was a statement. I would do whatever he wanted.
I nodded, and he brushed his finger over my other nipple. It seemed to have a direct line to my lower body. Every brush of his fingers felt like an electric jolt.
“You’ll order some new clothes today,” he said, pulling his hand out of my bra to pinch the sweater between his fingers. “And never wear this sweater ever again.”
