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I wasn’t afraid. Whatever I’d gotten myself into, I could handle it.
I followed him inside.
The living room was as depressing as the front of the house suggested. What I hadn’t expected was the woman lying on the couch. The smell of liquor and cheap air freshener assaulted my nose. A lonely, scented candle was burning on the table next to an overflowing ashtray. It was as though this woman had picked up the vanilla and lemon verbena jar candle in a store and imagined that burning it would transform her home into one from a magazine. It hadn’t worked.
I stood awkwardly in the doorway, paused in the act of toeing off my boots. Kirill turned and looked at me, his mouth quirking with amusement at my attempt at manners. Maybe I was a lot softer than I liked to think. His smirk certainly seemed to imply it. My cheeks burned a little. I wasn’t used to this. This stranger had me off balance and out of my comfort zone. All my carefully constructed masks were wearing thin under his insightful stare. I finished removing my shoes because it would be weird to have one on and one off.
“Make yourself at home, Princess,” Kirill’s tone was softly mocking but not in a way that bothered me.
He approached the woman on the couch, folding his lanky body to crouch beside her. “Mom, I’m home. I’m going to make dinner.”
The woman didn’t stir. My heart tugged at the sight of her. It was my kryptonite. I’d taken care of my mother for years, and seeing Kirill’s gentleness with the woman on the couch softened something inside me.
He stood and stared at her for a long moment before turning to the kitchen. “Come on. I’ll make you a sandwich.”
I followed and watched him open a shiny bag of cheap white bread. It was contraband in my house. I hadn’t had that kind of stuff in . . . ever. As well as being a sociopath, my father was also a health-food nut.
“So, you’re my local guide. Who do I need to watch out for?” Kirill asked as he prepared peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with calm efficiency.
“Well, weird boy, let’s start with whose blood it is on your shirt,” I replied, finally finding my voice.
He raised an eyebrow at the moniker but didn’t remark on it. “Tall kid, football player maybe, looked like the product of serious inbreeding. I think his buddy called him Kap.”
I winced. I knew exactly who he was talking about.
Kirill gave me a sideways look. “That bad?”
“Kaplan Holmes. He’s bad news and boasts one of the bigger fan clubs. You cross him, you cross them all,” I told him.
He was also coming off his fourth suspension for sexual assault. Like all the rest, the girl who had accused him disappeared to another school, and good old Kap got to return to class with his loud protests of innocence. He was gutter filth, but that didn’t stop my father from wanting to set me up with him. He did business with the Holmes Corporation, and it would suit him down to the ground to be tied to them in some way.
“Does breaking his nose count as crossing him?” Kirill wondered.
I clapped a hand over my mouth at the sudden image, fighting a giggle. Inevergiggled. When I regained my composure, I tried to force the smile off my face, but Kirill’s smirk let me know he’d seen it. So much for seeming cool around this new guy.
“You’re absolutely fucked,” I told Kirill.
He turned from the counter and set down a plate for me. The sandwich was cut carefully into four. He set his down and settled his long body into a rickety chair. I sat opposite and watched him raise his water glass in a mock salute.
“Good job I have you as my interpreter, then. The bitch no one messes with.”
I let out a laugh at that. I couldn’t help it. I picked up my sandwich and took a bite. It was good. Really good. I couldn’t remember the last time someone had made me something to eat who my father wasn’t paying.
“I can handle Kap Holmes. I want your shirt in return, though,” I said through my mouthful. “Someone needs to frame that thing.”
Kirill laughed. It was warm and deep, and I immediately wanted to hear it again. His interestingly odd face creased in a proper smile for the first time, and I had a sudden insight into how he would look when he was older. It wasn’t unpleasant. Not even a little.
“I’ll drink to that,” he said and clinked his glass against mine.
8
KIRILL
NOW
The plastic chair beneath me squeaked as I shifted on it. It had been an hour since I’d brought Mallory to a hospital I trusted, and she hadn’t woken up yet.
Standing, I went to look at her for the tenth time in the hour. It was less thrilling watching her sleep here, knowing she was relatively safe in a public place. I preferred watching her sleep when she was holed up in her shit-hole apartment, with only a flimsy lock and a ratty blanket to keep me away. Soon, very soon, I’d watch her sleep every night in her pretty, new prison.
