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I struggle to get it off my face but Ares is there.
“Easy,” he soothes. “Easy, Nova.”
I am gasping with desperation. Nothing seems to be entering my lungs.
He takes my hair and pulls it back and I can finally breathe.
Finally.
The restricting bands looping around my chest ease and I draw a deep cooling breath. It rushes into my lungs and the burning subsides enough I don’t feel like I’m about to die.
My eyes are closed and I don’t try to sit up until my head stops spinning and the dots in front of my eyes fade from glowing orbs to dull pinpoints.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything, Prez.”
“Spasibo brat.”
A light touch settles on top of my head before it’s gone and I’m left alone with Ares.
I sit up slowly. With my head still spinning I keep my eyes closed. “She’s got to be so scared. She’s never been alone in her life. I’ve always been right there from the day mom and dad brought her home.”
“Tell me about her.” He presses the glass to my lips and tips it so I can drink down the cool vodka. I welcome the chilled burn.
“What?” I cough.
I’m drawn into his lap. The basement is cleared out and it’s just the two of us. I realize I must look like a mess. My hair is everywhere except where I want it to be—in my usually nice and neat ponytail away from my face. I brush it back and Ares wraps the lengths around his hand, holding it back for me. My clothes are filthy. Yet, he looks at me like I’ve just strutted my goods down a catwalk.
“Your sister. Talk to me,malyshka.Tell me about your sister.”
My mouth agape, I stare at him. Both touched and skeptical. He’s not exactly the gentlest lover and I’ve seen him put bullets in people. A gentle Ares is new to me. His tone takes on a calm nature. I can picture him luring his enemy in with it and then slaughtering them.
But I’m not the enemy here. At least I don’t think I am. Am I being used? Or am I using him? I can’t tell anymore.
“She’s my exact opposite in every way. Black hair, tanned skin so pretty she always looks like she’s just stepped off a beach. She gets that from our mother. She loves to dance, watch movies until the sun rises and despite this screwed-up world we live in she somehow sees the nice side of people. The only thing we share is the shade of our eyes and the love we have for each other. Because of being thrust into protection mode before I grew a pair of tits I’ve gotten so used to being the one making sure she had everything she needed.”
“Parents?”
He pours another drink while I talk.
“Worthless. Mom died of a drug overdose in the backroom of a gambling house. That should tell you a lot about my upbringing.”
There’s a dark gleam in his eyes I am beginning to associate with death. He looks ready to commit murder on my behalf. I know nothing about him, yet I find myself spilling more information than I have to anyone else.
With that in mind, I lift my gaze to his. “My father followed her into an early grave a year later. Death by cop. He was moving narcotics for a group in California. He always told our mom he’d never see the inside of a cell. As a kid, I didn’t understand that.”
I look away. Every second I open my mouth the closer I get to a reality I do not want to talk about.
“It wasn’t all bad,” I continue, changing directions. “Mom and dad always made sure we had food, a roof and I know they loved us in their own way. They never beat us. So that’s something.”
“You don’t have to beat someone to abuse them.”
That dark glint in his eye returns.
“Your scars,” I say bluntly. Those marks crisscrossing his back is a story I want to hear.
He doesn’t say anything. But he takes my hand in his and rubs the back of his thumb over the tips of my fingers.
Like I never spoke, he continues. “They never put your needs before their own.” His jaw clenches, the jumping muscle twitching with what I assume is the same irritation sitting in my gut. “Had they, you would be with them right now. And not in my basement.” A deadly silence descends over us and when his gaze pulls to mine I can’t stop the chill running through me.
