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Pulling the fabric up to my nose, I inhale deeply, breathing in as much of his masculine scent as possible. Then I undo the buttons and fold the jacket, setting it carefully aside.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin as I sink into the tub. It’s almost too hot for my frigid skin, but as I submerge myself, I’m grateful for the intense warmth. It seeps through me, chasing away the bone-deep cold that had consumed me.
A washcloth and soap sit beside the tub, waiting for my use. And suddenly, the urge to wash myself clean of those men is overwhelming. Grabbing the bar of soap, I wet it and run it over every inch of my flesh. Then, with the washcloth, I scrub my skin pink, paying special attention to anywhere those men touched me.
I can’t believe how close I came to being raped. It feels almost surreal, the men’s faces blurring in my mind. All except the one set of soulless black eyes that burn into my eyelids every time I close them.
And then Pyotr appeared out of nowhere. The look of predatory violence on his face could almost have been terrifying. He was radiant with rage–or perhaps I was so out of my mind with fear that I started hallucinating. But seeing him so furious only filled me with relief.
I’ve never seen a man die before.
I know Nico has killed men–even if he hasn’t told me as much outright. But I know he did to save Anya’s life when she was kidnapped. And Nico, Lucca, and Cassio killed the Matron’s men when she kidnapped Bianka and took Cassio prisoner.
I’m surrounded by people capable of murder. But I’ve never seen it firsthand until tonight.
I’ve had too many firsts tonight.
And I don’t know what to do–about any of it, but mostly about Pyotr. I’m sure he doesn’t want me. Barely any time passed between when we made love and when he told me it was a mistake. And his actions just now only reinforce the sentiment. He barely touched me beyond what was absolutely necessary to get me back to my room.
Not that I can be upset about it. Even if he doesn’t want me, he saved me. He protected me from a horrible fate and was so gentle with me afterward.
The contradictory signals have my mind reeling. Then again, he made it clear at the start of the school year that even if he doesn’t want me, no one else gets to touch what’s his. Perhaps that’s all it was.
Still, I’m grateful.
It doesn’t make me any less conflicted. I’m still trapped in a relationship with Pyotr–someone who could claim he loves me and then flip a switch as soon as he’s done with my body. I can’t tell if anything he said this weekend was the truth. But one thing is crystal clear. He feels like being with me was a mistake.
I close my eyes and hold my breath as I sink beneath the water. Under its surface, I find quiet calmness. It doesn’t bring enlightenment to me, but it does help clear my mind, if just for a moment.
I stay there as long as my body will allow, blocking out the ugly world above. And when my lungs start to burn, I roughly scrub my face clean of makeup. Then I come up for air.
It feels good to be clean of the night. I’ve washed the salt from my face, the invisible filth from my body. My hair’s still a mess of bobby pins and wet knots, so I get to work picking it apart.
By the time I’m done, the water’s starting to cool. And still, I’m no closer to making sense of where to go from here.
My father won’t let me out of my marriage contract just because I’ll be unhappy and alone, married to some gangster who doesn’t love me. If Pyotr does decide to go through with the wedding, I’ll be all the way in New York, far from my family. Surrounded by people I don’t know.
And if Pyotr decides not to marry me, I’ll probably end up somewhere far worse.
Bone-weary, I decide to try and make sense of it all in the morning. For now, I step out of the lukewarm water and pull the plug. I’m glad Pyotr knew to draw me a bath. It chased away the worst of the cold and helped me at least physically wash away the events of the night.
Toweling dry, I go to my suitcase and dig through it to find my warmest pair of flannel pajamas. I dress quickly, then wrap my hair in the towel to help it dry as I brush my teeth and finish getting ready for bed.
I’m so tired; I know I’ll fall asleep as soon as I hit the mattress. I don’t bother blowing my hair dry. Instead, I brush my teeth and comb out my tangled locks. Then I turn out the lights and slip beneath the warm covers.
The sheets still smell like Pyotr, and it leaves a hollow ache in my chest. But at the same time, it makes me feel safe somehow. Rolling onto my side, I curl into a ball, pulling the blankets snuggly around me. And I let myself fall into oblivion.
* * *
Onyx eyes bore into mine as rough hands reach out to snatch me in the darkness. An iron grip wraps around my hips, pinning me in place, and when I try to fight back, to kick out, I find that I can’t move my legs.
They’ve been restrained, and my heart hammers in my chest as I realize the two larger men from earlier tonight are holding me down. Legs spread, I’m trapped in an utterly vulnerable position with no way of protecting myself. And the lean, soulless-eyed Russian leans over me, leering hungrily.
“I knew you wanted my thick Russian cock,” he purrs. “Don’t worry, pet. No one has to know I’m taking your virginity.”
I shriek, kicking out with all my might, and manage to break free from my captors. Toppling off the side of the card table, I make a mad dash for the door. Only it’s too dark to see where I’m going.
I don’t care. I stumble over something sharp but keep going until I find the door handle and yank it open. Light pours across the threshold, washing me with relief, and I lunge into the hallway.
