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She stretches her legs so that they rest on my thighs. “I think the tub is too small for the two of us.”
“And you only now thought of that?”
“It just came to my attention.” She slides her foot up, stroking my side with her purple-polished toes.
The skin where she touches me sends an electric shock straight to my cock.
“Stop that unless you want to be fucked raw right here, right now.”
She bites her bottom lip like the little brat she is, but she lowers her foot so it rests on my thigh. “What does the spider tattoo mean?”
“Does it need to have a meaning?”
“No, but it’s unusual for someone to tattoo such a big spider on their skin, so I thought maybe there was a story behind it.”
I let my arms hang over the edges of the bathtub and lean my head back. “More like a tragedy.”
“A tragedy?” Her voice is barely a murmur.
Not sure if it’s because of that or the peaceful atmosphere, but the words tumble out of me with ease I’ve never experienced before. “There was a three-year-old boy whose father was powerful enough that he and his mother were treated differently because they were his family. Though the boy always thought they weren’t really a family. His parents fought daily, cheated on each other, and only acted like the perfect couple in public. But they both loved him, so he was okay with it. One day, he woke up to find his father had died after being caught in a scandal. One that shook their city. The boy and his mother were hounded by reporters, strangers, angry enemies, dissatisfied investors, powerful foes, and police. Lots of fucking police and other burly men. They all kept coming and coming and coming, like sewer rats. They questioned and demanded. They threatened and beat the boy and his mum’s up. They seized almost all their property—his mum included. A three-year-old shouldn’t have remembered it all, but he did. In vivid detail. He remembered hiding under the bed, behind the door, and in the wardrobe. Not only from the men, but also from his mother.”
The drip, drip, drip from the open faucet is the only sound that fills the bathroom.
It clashes against my thoughts, turning them absolutely vile.
When I remain silent, Annika’s low voice echoes around me. “Why did he have to hide from his mother?”
“Because she picked up drinking again and it was better if he didn’t get in her way when she had a bottle of tequila in hand. At first, she’d start crying, then…she’d expel that energy onto the boy. It went on and on until she no longer let him go outside and he was caught in her self-pitying violent circle, where she didn’t feed him, didn’t care for him, and left him to rot. Until she had the urge to beat him up again. The boy thought that his reality would never end, but then a groomed man came to announce that the bank would seize the last thing they had—the house. That night, the mother didn’t drink much. She even hugged the boy and said, ‘Do you miss your dad, sweetie?’ When he nodded, she smiled. ‘Mom misses him, too. It’s so hard without him. What do you say we go to him?’ The boy thought his dad was in heaven. How could they go to someone in heaven? He was sleepy and dizzy, probably because he hadn’t eaten in days. So he closed his eyes and listened to his mother tell him that everything was going to be okay. When he opened his eyes again, he saw a giant spider hanging from the ceiling. Or that’s what he chose to think of the sight as he crawled and fell down, then crawled again until he collapsed. Turns out, the mother planned for them to both die that night, her by hanging, him by gas.”
A splash of water echoes around me before a small figure presses into me.
I stare down to find Annika lying against my chest. Her trembling fingers stroke my clenched jaw and two streaks of tears stain her beautiful face.
My muscles slowly relax and I wipe her cheeks with my thumbs. “Why are you crying?”
“Because I want to reach out and hug that boy, but I can’t.” She wraps her arms around my waist in a tight, warm embrace. “I’m so sorry.”
My fingers fist in her hair and I wrench her face away. “That boy is dead, along with those scum who called themselves parents. A completely different person resurrected from his ashes and the only parents I have are called Aiden and Elsa King. So why the fuck are you sorry? Did I not say not to pity me?”
“I’m not.” Her lips quiver and she doesn’t attempt to fight my grip on her hair. “I just want to share your pain.”
“There’s nothing to share. That chapter has ended.”
“But—”
“Shut up.” I release her hair. “And get out.”
She’s the reason I dug into a part of me I like to keep buried deep, with no one ever having a chance to uncover it.
Annika fucking Volkov just had to stuff her nose where it doesn’t belong.
She meets my eyes. “If you keep pushing me away, you won’t have anyone left.”
“I can live with that.”
“Well, I can’t.”
“Annika.” I grind my jaw. “Either leave or I fuck you. Sore or not.”
