Page 22 of Assassin's Heart


Font Size:  

That particular knowledge goes straight to my cock, a throbbing jolt that pulses through me and gets me hard in an instant, leaving me straining painfully against my zipper and gritting my teeth under the sudden onslaught of arousal.

This is fucking ridiculous.I should be past the point in life where just the thought of a woman not wearing any panties gives me an instant hard-on, particularly when the woman in questioniswearing a skirt down below her knees. There’s nothing remotely sexy about Lidiya’s outfit, or at least there shouldn’t be—but all I can see is the way the fitted sweater clings to the curves of her breasts, the way the skirt skims over her slender hips, and it makes my mouth go dry as we walk out of the hotel room, with me doing my best to conceal the situation my cock currently has me in.

I feel like I’m losing my mind.

The cold, at least, helps stem the tide as we step outside. It’s the usual bitter cold of January in Moscow, and the way it slaps me in the face as we step out onto the street is enough to take my mind off of my arousal and ease it a bit. “Don’t get any ideas,” I warn Lidiya as we start to walk. “I’m a faster runner than I look, and Iwillfind you, even if I don’t catch you at first.”

“Don’t worry.” There’s a hint of sullenness in her voice as she faces forward, head bent against the wind as she pointedly refuses to look at me. “I told you, I’ve already resigned myself to this. I’m not going to try to run off.”

“Good.” I shove my gloved hands in my coat pockets for added warmth, and we walk in silence after that, all the way to the part of town where Lidiya’s apartment building is located.

Her neighborhood, while I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a slum, could politely be referred to asrecuperating.There are a few new shops that look more polished than the other run-down buildings around them, but it’s obvious that only time will tell whether they bring the rest of the neighborhood up with them or fall into disrepair with everything surrounding them. Looking at the rest of the shops and apartments we walk past, my money would be on the latter.

Lidiya’s building is a shabby walkup made of beige brick, the lower edges of the walls covered in a blackish-green substance that could be moss or mold, it’s impossible to say. The stairs have seen better days, and the fire escape going up the side of the building is rusted in places—it looks as if you’d be taking a considerable gamble trying to get out using it, particularly if you lived on one of the upper floors.

Her apartment is on the tenth floor and looks exactly like what I would have expected from the outer façade of the building. It’s only slightly bigger than my hotel room with yellowish tile that is clearly stained from age, not dirt—the kind of tile that once was white but now can’t be made white again no matter how much bleach is applied. The apartment itself is sparkling clean and tidy, which fits with what I’ve seen of Lidiya’s personality so far, but the rest of it is in equally shabby condition that no amount of cleaning can fix.

The counters are the same yellowish Formica, the appliances are from the last century, and the tiny table and chair next to the slim window are clearly not only secondhand, but probably fourth or fifth-hand. The only other furniture is a pull-down bed from an equally flimsy-looking faux wood drywall, neatly made with a pile of threadbare quilts, and a tall wooden dresser in similar shape to the table and chair in the “kitchen.” The only other room is a bathroom the size of a tiny supply closet, with a small shower, the kind with only a curtain and a lip at the edge of it to prevent the water flowing out, and a toilet with a yellowed pedestal sink.

It’s also so fucking cold that it feels worse than being outside, almost.

“My radiator is broken,” Lidiya says apologetically as we walk in. “It has been for a while, they won’t bother coming to fix it.”

“How the fuck do you not freeze to death?” My hands are in fleece-lined leather gloves, jammed into the pockets of my wool coat, and I still have to fight the urge to pull them out and blow on them.

“Bundled up and all of those quilts.” Lidiya points to the bed. “But it’s still cold.”

“Why don’t you move?” I realize as the question comes out of my mouth that it’s none of my business, and probably a dick thing to ask considering she likely has considered it a hundred times, but I can’t help it. It’s clear she does her best to keep this place habitable, and for all that I have a well-padded bank account I’ve slept in some grimy places on jobs out of necessity—but everything about this apartment feels miserable.

Lidiya fixes me with a pointed glare that tells me exactly that—that it’s none of my business. But she answers anyway. “There’s not much vacancy open in apartments I can afford,” she says, striding across the tiny space to yank open one of the dresser drawers. “And a lot of them don’t care to rent to students. Besides, anything more expensive than this, and it would cut into what I could send to mybabushkaevery month. And, if you haven’t figured it out,” she adds, dropping a pile of clothes onto the bed and giving me that same pointed look, “mybabushkais the most important person in the world to me. She’s all I have left, and I don’t know for how long. What you’re doing, keeping me in your hotel, means less time that I get to see her. But I’m doing it to protect her. To make sure you don’t keep me from caring for her in whatever way I can. So yes, I live in this shitty apartment, with no heat, and I don’t move. And that’s why.”

She looks back down at the bed, pressing her hands into the pile of clothes. “You don’t have to understand me, Levin Volkov. But hopefully you understand why I’m doing what I’m doing a little better, now.”

Lidiya

Iwas embarrassed, bringing him back here.

I still don’t know exactly what Levin does, or who he works for, or how rich he might be. But it’s clear that he has some wealth. His clothes and coat and gloves are all finely made, his short hair is well-cut, the vodka on his breath last night smelled expensive—sharp and clean, not sour like cheap vodka. He didn’t flinch at the room service, which means either he or his boss can easily afford it, and if he works for a man who could afford it then likely he’s paid well enough that he could, too. He moves around the fancy hotel we’re staying in with ease, not like a man unaccustomed to fine things. Before Grisha, the hotel room and food would have been a shock to me—even after months of dating Grisha, I’m still not used to it. But I didn’t see any of that faint discomfort in Levin.

There’s no telling where he normally lives, or what that place is like, or even if he maybe just lives out of hotels, going from job to job. But I would bet the money I don’t have that wherever he lives or stays, it doesn’t look like this.

I hate him seeing the yellowed surfaces that don’t ever look clean no matter how hard I try, the ratty quilts, the bathroom that even I can barely fit in to shower. I hate seeing him standing there shivering, feeling sorry for me that I live here, because if there’s one thing I hate it’s anyone pitying me. I’vechosenthis, so I can help support my grandmother, and if it’s miserable at times I can at least feel confident that it’s for a good reason. But seeing it through Levin’s eyes, I feel ashamed, and I hate it. I never brought Grisha here for that reason, but somehow it feels even worse, coming from Levin.

“I’m just going to get some things together,” I mutter, pulling clothes out of my dresser drawers and stacking them on the bed. My suitcase is underneath it, also worse for wear, and I studiously avoid looking at Levin as I grab a pair of jeans and a sweater and duck into the bathroom to change and get my toiletries and makeup.

It’s a process that feels familiar, after the past months dating Grisha. Once we started sleeping together I spent more time at his apartment than mine, so grabbing clothes and things from my place after class and schlepping it over to his was a regular occurrence, one that felt exciting, anticipatory. Like going on vacation most days of the week. And then the weekends would roll around and I’d do quick laundry at the sketchy laundromat and pack up again, this time to take the train to see mybabushka.

Now, though, all the anticipation is gone, replaced by dread and sadness. I’d been falling in love with Grisha, maybe eveninlove with him, and I’d barely even begun to process that loss and feeling of betrayal before Levin had broken the news to me that I was being thrust right back into the relationship. So now all I can think about is that the blue sweater I’m pulling on, softer and better quality than some of my others because mybabushkahad knitted it for my last birthday out of angora yarn, was Grisha’s favorite—or at least he’d said it was. He’d said it was exactly the color of my eyes, and of course I’d believed him, because I’d believed everything he’d said to me.

I walk out of the tiny bathroom, clutching a bag filled with my makeup and not much else—the hotel provides pretty much everything I could need in the way of toiletries—and I see Levin’s eyes skim over me. It’s a quick glance, as if he’s trying to stop himself but can’t, and it gives me a strange flutter deep in my stomach to see it.

“That’s a nice sweater,” he says gruffly. “Same color as your eyes.”

I freeze halfway to the bed, my heart suddenly pounding for no reason at all. “Grisha said that too,” I mumble, and I see a look flicker across Levin’s face that I don’t entirely understand. It might be irritation, or it could be something deeper than that—it almost looks like anger, though that doesn’t make sense either. Levinwantsme to reconnect with Grisha, so he should be pleased if I say anything positive about him at all, but every time he comes up there’s that odd look on Levin’s face, as if he secretly hates the man.

Maybe he does. Whatever Grisha’s done, it must be serious, so maybe Levin has personal feelings about it as well. I try to put it out of my head, focusing on quickly packing up my nicer clothes and tossing my makeup bag and a few books into the suitcase, something to pass my time in the hotel room besides watching tv.

“If you need anything else,” Levin clears his throat. “I can fetch it for you. Books, anything you might want. Just let me know.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like