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He ducked through a small door to my left and disappeared into what I figured was the kitchen. For a moment, I just stood there, wondering how he’d learned to live like this. So simple. Most likely off grid.
I looked around and I noticed another door on the other side of the living room. The bedroom, I guessed. Curious, I walked over to the door, turned the handle, and pushed it open. The light from the living room lit up the narrow bedroom inside, and I could just make out the outline of a small table in the near corner. On its surface sat a notebook and a big, folded piece of paper that could have been a map. Beyond that, two computer monitors glowed dimly on a desk nestled against the far wall. Scanning the room further, I noticed a sniper rifle leaning against one corner. I gasped as my thoughts started to run. Quickly, I closed the door behind me and sat down on one of the couches.
I tried to make sense of what I had seen. What kind of person lived like this? Out in the middle of nowhere? With a fucking sniper rifle in his bedroom? Not any mobster I’d ever come across, that was for certain. But what the hell could I do about it now? I knew he was a killer to begin with. I even figured he was part of the Russian mob. So why freak out now about a rifle? This man had saved me, and quite frankly, he was the only sort of man a broken woman on the run like me needed.
So I sat and waited.
A few moments later, he came back into the living room balancing two mugs in one hand and a sugar bowl in the other.
“I thought maybe tea would be better. I only drink sencha from Japan though,” he explained, a bit embarrassed.
“That’s fine,” I returned, trying to sound reassuring.
“You should change that,” he continued, setting the mugs down on the table and gesturing to my dress with a nod. I looked down and found my dress covered in mud and blood.
I look like trash.
He pointed to the bathroom at the end of the living room and told me he’d bring me a fresh set of clothes. Then he ducked into the bedroom and came back out a few seconds later with a pair of sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a sweater.
“Thank you,” I said, accepting the clothes.
“I’ll be in the bedroom,” he said, avoiding my gaze. He picked up his mug of tea and walked toward the door. He cleared his throat and then carefully shut the door behind him.
It was a respectful gesture, but the way he was acting was strange. Like he couldn't look at my face. When he did, he wouldn’t meet my eyes and quickly looked away. I wondered why. How could a man like him, a man who drove like a stunt driver inFast & Furious, a man who was covered in mobster tattoos that had to be earned in the Russian mob... how could a man likethatbe shy around a woman?
Strange. Very strange.
I walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. On the shower wall, I noticed the bottle of shampoo and his aftershave. His things were all in order here too: his towels, sponges, and brushes, all carefully arranged. For a second, I thought of him, standing under the shower and washing his tattooed, muscular body, but I shook the thought away and locked the door. I slipped out of my wet clothes, hung them up on the metal clothesline strung across the wall, and turned on the shower.
Before I could help myself, the thought of him flickered across my mind again. Him, behind me, his skin against mine, as the shower water poured over our bodies. I crossed my arms over my bare chest and stood there, just dreaming of his muscular arms wrapped around me. I shut my eyes, and images of his steel-hard, tattooed chest flooded over me.
But just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move behind me, and I spun around. It was a huge fucking spider scurrying up the wall, trying to hide. It was ridiculous, but I screamed.
Seconds later, the bathroom door swung open, and Andrei rushed in, gun in hand. Quickly, I pulled a towel off the dry rack, covering my body with it—mostly the cigarette burn marks on my belly. Clutching the towel tighter, I dared to look at Andrei, whose eyes were wide with urgency as he stared at me. Blushing, I gestured at the spider on the wall.
Andrei blinked a few times at the baseball-sized creature before looking back at me. I felt like a total idiot, but spiders and cockroaches were a big no-no for me.
Andrei kept staring at me with the strangest expression. Did he see those nasty scars Marcello had burnt into my skin as punishment every time I defied him?
I turned to face the shower, even if that would expose my naked back to him. My face burned red when Andrei let out a soft growl.
“Get in,” he commanded.
“W... what?”
“I said get in the shower.”
There was a dark tone in his voice. Possessive.
Remembering my promise to do as I was told when I was around him, I stepped into the warm stream of water. Then I just stood there, staring at the wall, towel still clutched over my breasts and stomach. It was a strange feeling of fear and excitement that rushed through me.Was I trembling?
“Stop trembling. I told you I would never hurt you like your piece of shit ex did” was all he said before I felt a wet cloth scrub my back. It was with pressure, but the movement itself was slow and calm. I dared to breathe again. It felt... amazing.
“You have blood on your back,” he explained as he rubbed the cloth up and down in rhythmic motions. The hot sensation of want and desire burned inside me like a wildfire. I wanted Andrei to move down to my thighs and rub me right at my core. My breaths were short and quick. God damn, I never wanted to be touched so bad.
Suddenly, the warm sensation on my back was gone and he dropped the cloth to my feet.
“You can do the front yourself.”
