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“It’s not about what I want,” he replied, not even missing a beat. “This is about you.”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” I said quietly, ceding defeat by drifting back and reclining in my chair. “I wouldn’t know what to do with one evenifsomeone wanted to date me.”
For admitting the truth, I was rewarded with a flicker of discomfort on Misha’s face. It started in a flash of darkness in his eyes and spread to his mouth, turning it into a thin line before he swallowed. He glanced away for a split second, his lashes dropping because he’d either looked at the floor or because he blinked too hard. Either way, when his gaze returned to mine, all he presented was a calm visage. “If it helps, neither have I.”
“Yeah, but you’ve probably had girlfriends, right? Since apparently that’s an option for you.”
“No. No boyfriend, no girlfriend, no spouse, no one. Only my job and Nadia.” The dog perked up at the sound of her name and trotted to Misha’s side, sitting at his feet. He petted her gently, alternating between scratching behind her ear and stroking along her neck.
“So youarebi?”
“I’m just me,” he answered with a tight smile. “The world is too concerned with labels. I understand it creates order out of chaos but I’ve lived my whole life trying to measure up to someone else’s standards of what I should or shouldn’t be. It’s exhausting, especially when the bar keeps moving.”
“That’s why it’s better to set the bar low, so people don’t expect shit from you. Saves you the hassle of having to live up to it,” I said matter-of-factly, relieved we’d moved back into familiar territory—misery. “Works the other way too. Expect the worst out of everything and you might end up surprised.”
“Might?” He raised one brow. “I take it that hasn’t happened yet.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Life’s been pretty predictable until you came around.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Just… haven’t figured you out yet.”And it’s bugging the hell out of me.
He took another sip of tea, his clear blue eyes meeting mine over the rim of the mug. Lowering it to the table, his head tilted to one side, studying me in return. “What is there to figure out?”
Everything. What made a guy like him tick? What made a guy like him look at a fucking waste of space like me and think I was worth anything beyond a quick fuck or a pocket of pills? He’d gone out of his way for me again andagainbut asked for nothing. Even when Ithrewmyself at him, he upheld some chivalric notion of doing the “right” thing, the honorable thing. A killer with a conscience. It made no sense.
“Why you give a damn, for starters,” I answered after a minute. “I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you and you keep coming back for more like some kind of masochist. I don’t get it.”
“I see something in you, Marek. I’ve seen it since the first time we met. If you’re not going to fight for it, I’ll do it for you. I’ve been fighting my whole life. What’s one more battle, if the cause is worthy?”
As much as I wanted to believe him, I didn’t. I didn’t know what the fuck he was looking at but the degenerate in front of him didn’t merit a second glance let alone some moral crusade. He hoped that I’d see myself the same way he did? Well, I hoped he’d wake up and realize some causesweren’tworth it.
18
MISHA
Dragginga kitchen chair across the linoleum floor, I propped it in front of my latest interviewee and straddled it, folding my arms across the back and resting my chin on my forearm.
Jude, one of the more familiar bartenders from Dalton’s, struggled against the ropes binding him to another chair but there was no getting out of Anton’s knot work. Perspiration beaded across his forehead, gathering into one big droplet that ran down the side of his face suddenly, making him jump away from it. Other than restraining him, we hadn’t even touched him yet. I had a feeling this was going to be a relatively easy interview.
“I simply need to ask you a few questions,” I said calmly, plucking the saffron handkerchief out of my front pocket and dabbing it across his face gently. He yelped anyway like I’d punched him.
“I don’t know where he is,” Jude spit out quickly, despite the fact I hadn’t asked anything.
Anton and I exchanged a glance before I continued. “Wherewhois?”
“Marek. That’s why you’re here, right? You’re looking for him? I recognize you guys. But I already told that other dude he quit a couple months ago and I haven’t talked to him since.”
I slid another glance to Anton, who shrugged in return. Despite his enthusiasm, Valery wouldn’t be foolish enough to disobey me, and neither would Maxim. I doubted their men even knew who Marek was beyond being a bartender at Delirium, so who else was looking for him?
“What did this man look like?”
“I don’t know. Old.” Jude squeezed his eyes shut. “Black hair. Sounded like you.”
Fucking Dimitri…
I unfolded the handkerchief by snapping it open in front of Jude’s face. He yelped again and slid down in his seat as much as the bindings would allow. Turning my attention to the square of fabric, I flipped it over on the backside of the chair and began refolding it with his perspiration on the inside. “Tell me… What else did you say to this man? And he to you?”
