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Viktor’s attention bounced back to me, and I raised my hand.
Soon.
A quick nod agreed, but his eyes watched her hand placement over me for a moment longer. He then pulled the door further open for me.
I left him behind and headed up the stairs with the mutts in tow.
“Myjesto,” I ordered them to stay by the bedroom door in Russian. Wex automatically listened, while Vino hesitated, but finally obeyed with a loud groan.
I set the lights in the room the way she preferred them, a low glimmer, and continued toward the bathroom. With her limbs wrapped around me, I pulled the shower door open and adjusted the water temperature.
A bath would’ve settled her aching body better, but I didn’t want her to soak in his blood. I wanted it off her skin and drained into the pipes and down the sewer along with the rest of the filth of this city.
Katia’s legs loosened, and her arms unraveled from around my neck. I held her waist as she steadied her feet, and when my gaze lifted, I tensed.
Her face had deteriorated since the short time I’d last seen it. Her neck had deepened in dark hues of purples and furious red prints. Black outlines took over the edge of her left eye as it swelled, creasing the heavy temples near shut. The corner of her brow was smudged with dried blood from a gash, and her lips stayed parted.
Katia turned her back on me and slipped the thin fabric of her dress off her shoulders. I didn’t see a zipper I could help lower, and her ass wouldn’t allow the slim textile on her waist to fall by itself.
The only way she could remove it was by lifting it over her head. Katia tugged down, not even attempting to raise her arms to pull.
“Let me.” I touched her arm, and she relaxed in consent.
I stepped closer. Feeling her warmth, I caged her body in with my hands low on her hips until I felt the ripped slit of her dress. Fisting my hand tightly with fabric, I pulled it apart, tearing it in quick jerks until she was bare.
Quietly, Katia entered the shower, shutting the glass door and the vision of her bruised body into a rotting memory.
Fuck.
I left the bathroom and kept the door cracked enough to hear, but I couldn’t tolerate the wrath, the ire that pricked my fingers, the rage to set loose the demon. I wasn’t meant to care, to nurture wounds, or take away pain. I did the opposite.
Wex and Vino didn’t follow as I stepped out of the room.
My footfalls mixed with another pair that neared, and when I passed the last picture frame, Viktor came into view. A glass bottle of water in one hand, and a few other objects in the other.
His eyes peered behind me, seeing the bedroom door ajar along with the sound of running water, and when he spoke, he chose Russian.
“??? ? ????????”Is she…okay?his native tongue fired.
I transitioned to the language and spoke back in Russian knowing our conversation would remain safe that way.
“Da.”
“I thought you might need this.”
Viktor offered me the contents in his hands. I had bandages and a first aid kit under the sink, but he’d brought the medicated ointment I would need. It was made in Russia, and Viktor had introduced it to us when he was old enough to afford smuggling it into the States. It wasn’t regulated by the standards of this country. Too strong and dangerous they’d once labeled it, and yet it had healed many wounds. We mainly used it on others, too stubborn to accelerate the ease of pain. But I couldn’t tolerate her pain. Not in this way.
I took the chilled water, ointment, a pill, and the gentle cleaning shit he offered with a silent thank you.
“What did you see?”
“I went through everything. They slipped inside and camped for hours.”
“They?”
“Yes. Three men in total. They covered the three bathrooms on the main floor.”
I shook my head.
