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“Christ,” Anton and Petro say at once.
Dez holds a bloodied finger between his own, a slick smile on his face. “I told you not to touch her.” Something akin to worship warms my soul as he shoves the digit in his pocket, unphased that he’s detached a body part.
“What did you do?” Father screeches, holding the bottom of his shirt over his bleeding hand.
“You were warned,” Anton comments.
“Twice,” Petro reiterates.
Dez holds his hand out for me again, and this time, I take it. I still feel fear for this person, but it’s lessened by the fact that he took action before my father could hurt me. Which I’m sure was his intent.
“You cut off my finger!” I can tell Dez is exasperated with the entire encounter by the twitch of his lips.
“I can cut off more if you keep up the crying.” Without letting go of me, he pulls out another blade, prepared to do as promised.
“Please don’t,” I whisper at his side so that only he would hear me.
“Why not?” When our eyes meet, the lack of emotion in his dark stare should be startling, frightening even, but it warms me. If he’s considering not doing it, it’s because I’ve made the request.
Squeezing his hand until I feel the blade in his palm pierce my skin, my gasp widens his eyes. “Because he’s not worth it.”
Dez’s gaze has moved down to look at our entwined fingers, the little beads of blood dripping off the tips and pooling on the top of his black boot. Cupping my hand between both of his, he tells me, “You are worth everything,” and I think I melt a little bit more for him.
“You’ll leave. Now,” Dez demands of my father, giving him a look from the corner of his eye. “You won’t come back until or unless you’re invited.”
“I’m not just going to leave my daughter in the hands of a psychopath!” I wince at the whine in his words.
“Psychopath.” Dez repeats the word.
“Oh fuck,” Petro mutters as his head drops.
“She belongs to me now. You will leave on your own two feet or in a body bag.” The warning in Dez’s voice is flat, emotionless, but a more significant threat than the knives he carries on his person.
My father sputters, his eyes moving from me to Dez to Anton and back to me. “Let’s go, daughter. You are not staying here.” Unlike Dez, he can’t mask his rage, and I know if I don’t do as he says, there will be hell to pay, with me as the sole victim.
Taking a step towards him, I release Dez’s hand, but he tugs me back into his body. Settling me behind his tall frame as he squares off with the older man in my life.
“Please, Dez.” I press my head into his back, the muscles rippling at my plea. A plea for what, I have no idea. I don’t know if I want him to let me go or keep me, and that’s a serious problem.
“The girl stays,” he grits out.
FIVE
DEZ
Istill feel her blood in the palm of my hand. The way she dug in, not wanting to let go and not caring that she was scarring herself. I’ve never been so entranced in my life.
Liliya sleeps now.
In my bed. The colorful pillow under her head, blankets wrapping her lithe body.
Safe.
I saw the look in her father’s eyes. Heard what he wasn’t willing to say aloud. Liliya was being groomed for someone else.
The way he couldn’t speak her name when addressing her told me a story of a man who didn’t care what kind of sociopath purchased his child so long as he was paid top dollar.
From my perch on the end of the bed, I notice the moment she begins to stir. Her arms stretch above her head, her button nose scrunches up, and her delicate feet peek out from the edge of the blanket. I’m not sure what does it since I don’t move or make a sound, but her eyes fly open, and she sits up in bed so quickly that she nearly falls off the edge.
