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His beautiful eyes harden. “Watch your mouth.”
“Or what?”
“Want to lose more freedom? I have no problem keeping you locked up in my flat.”
I shut my mouth. The very point of helping him with this job is gaining freedom. I need that now more than ever.
He smiles coldly. “Glad you understand.”
My body sags, the fight leaving me abruptly. All I feel now is tired, and it scares the hell out of me.
Closing the distance, Yan puts his hands on my shoulders. “It wasn’t what it looked like back there.”
The unwelcome image of him in bed with Ilya and the brunette slips into my mind. Like earlier in the bar, the idea constricts my chest. I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but it does. It hurts like the continuous prick of a tattoo needle.
I stare up at his face, taking in the hard lines of his handsome features. He doesn’t belong to me, I know that. Or I should. “What you do is none of my business.”
“I’m not going to have sex with someone else while I’m fucking you bareback.”
My snort is as crude as his words. “That’s most considerate. Thanks for not giving me STDs.”
He catches my head between his broad palms. “Drop the sarcasm. It’s not about diseases. Using a condom with someone else will solve that risk easily enough.”
The someone else cuts into my heart. “Then why bother to abstain? Go ahead. Fuck her.”
His hand fists in my hair. “You don’t tell me what to do. In case you’re slow in figuring it out, it’s the other way around.”
“Oh, I’ve figured it out.”
His jaw flexes. “Then what’s your problem?”
“I don’t get it,” I say honestly. “I don’t understand you.”
“What don’t you understand?”
“If it’s not about diseases, then what’s it about?”
“Principle.”
I laugh. “Are you telling me you actually have some?”
His gaze turns sharp, the green of his irises cooling further. “Careful, princess. You’re skating on thin ice.”
He’s right. I’m risking his anger and for what? A warped sense of jealousy? I still. Fuck. I cannot be jealous. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose this situation, this very wrong situation. Yet a little voice deep inside says I keep on telling him “yes” every time he asks me if I want sex.
“While we’re on the topic”—he releases my hair and drags his fingers over my scalp, as if soothing the sting he’s inflicted—“it works both ways. You don’t sleep with someone else. You don’t even look at another man.”
I blink up at him. “Like who?”
“Ilya.”
Ah, twin rivalry. Is that what this is about? “You were happy enough to share before.”
His eyes darken. “You’re different.”
“How?”
“No one has ever belonged to me.”
It’s not a compliment, nor a sweet declaration of feelings. It’s a warning, a reminder of who we are, of what I am to him. An object. A toy. A convenient fuck to keep his bed warm. An enemy to lock up while he lives his life freely.
Someone to kill once he’s done with me.
I push the knowledge away because I can’t look at it too closely. It hurts too much.
He tilts back my head, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Do you understand?”
“I’m not stupid,” I say softly.
His gaze skims over my lips. “Stupid is the last thing I’d take you for.”
“Then you didn’t have to barge in here chasing me. You know I won’t run.”
“Just making sure you get how this works.” His words are full of a dark promise.
“You’ve been crystal clear.”
He nods. It’s a small peace offering. “Let’s get out of here before someone needs the bathroom.”
Anton is waiting outside when we exit. He informs us Ilya and the woman have gone upstairs.
“Don’t worry,” he says to Yan. “Ilya signed in under a false name.”
“Great,” Yan says. “In that case, you get to stay here to make sure Ilya doesn’t do something foolish in a fit of drunken rage—like paying with a credit card.” And ignoring the long string of cusswords flying out of Anton’s mouth, he drags me off.
At Yan’s place, I unpack my new clothes. He makes space for me in his closet, and I hang the dress next to the dry-cleaning bags with his pressed shirts and pants. It seems wrong there, out of place, but I have bigger worries on my mind.
After arranging the disguise material on the bed, I wrap each item in the provided tissue paper and seal it in a plastic bag. I make sure nothing is squashed or creased when I pack it back into the case and store it on the top shelf of the closet where it’ll stay dry and cool. Even that simple task exhausts me.
I need energy. I need to eat, but the mere thought of food makes me queasy.
Wearily, I take off the clothes I’ve been wearing since yesterday, dress in a new T-shirt and sweatpants, and go in search of Yan. I find him working on his laptop on the couch.
