Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Galina

I stood in the center of what was clearly a guest room. I was pretty sure no one had ever even been in this room aside from a housekeeper. It was empty of life. It could have been a hotel room for how "warm and welcoming" it was.

I scanned the room and took in how sparse everything was. The queen-size bed pressed against the wall in the center of the room. One dresser across from that. A TV sitting on top of it. There was a padded chair beside the lone window, the sheer curtains in place allowing muted light to filter through. There was a small bathroom attached to the room, and one small landscape painting that hung on the wall beside the bed.

I walked up to the picture and stood in front of it. I hadn't bothered turning on the lights. I was already sucked into the darkness, so I might as well get used to it. I stared at that picture, a serene beach scene with tall grass frozen in a swaying motion from the wind, waves hitting against the shore and causing white peaks, a long stretch of sandy land leading to paradise. There was even a little bridge leading down to the water.

It was generic, probably had come with the apartment.

I turned and looked at my backpack that sat on the dark comforter in the center of the mattress. I walked over to it at the same time I got out of the dress, feeling like the material was permanently stuck to me because of the blood. I let it drop to the floor unceremoniously as I reached into my backpack and pulled out a T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

Once I was in the bathroom, I wasn't surprised to see a toothbrush and toothpaste, soap, shampoo, even face wash sitting on the counter. All unused. I could've imagined this was a swanky hotel stay if I wasn't being kept here against my will. But I wasn't stupid. I knew that man—Leonid—was bad. Very bad. And for whatever reason, Arlo wanted to protect me. I wasn't anybody special, had nothing to offer, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth in my situation.

I couldn't pay him for keeping me safe. I could barely even afford to keep myself alive and safe from the men I was running from. I set my outfit on the granite bathroom counter and braced my hands on the edge, closing my eyes and just breathing. I didn't want to look at my reflection. I didn't want to see blood on my skin, a reminder of tonight.

So instead I ignored the mirror and grabbed the shampoo and body wash, went into the shower, and cranked it on as hot as I could stand it.

I scrubbed myself for twenty minutes until my skin was raw and red, until it was numb, and washed away any remnants of death. With my shirt and shorts on, I climbed into the bed, pulled the blanket over my head, and then let the darkness take me away.

S omething loud woke me with a startle, my eyes surging open, my heart racing. I hadn't dreamed last night. I didn't see scary faces surrounding me in the darkness, didn't feel someone chasing me as I looked over my shoulder. I didn't dream of being held down and blood covering me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd slept so soundly, where the nightmares didn't drag me down and try to keep me there.

I pushed the blanket off my body and sat up, wincing from the kink in my neck from sleeping in the same position all night. Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Even though I knew the hectic-day life was in full gear just outside the glass and steel, I didn't hear honking cars or the thick life of traffic. I inhaled and smelled the faintest hint of lavender and lemon.

I heard another sound come from outside the room, and I stared at the closed bedroom door for a moment before forcing myself out of bed and into the bathroom. After I used the restroom, I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I looked at myself in the mirror. My long dark hair was in unruly waves and cascading down my shoulders and back, tangles touching my cheeks. My hair was even more crazy because I'd slept with it wet, and trying to tame it was a losing battle. I gave up, grabbed a hair tie from my backpack, and was back in front of the mirror, pulling the long fall off my shoulders and into a ponytail.

The bags under my eyes were horrendous, and they stood out like a neon sign against my too-pale face. But it didn't matter. I wasn't about to enter a beauty contest. I was quite literally trying to stay alive. So fuck it if I looked like the living dead.

I left the bathroom and shut off the light, headed toward the bedroom door, and gripped the handle, my nerves taking control. I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway but didn't move right away, just stood there trying to control my breathing. I didn't hear anything, just the stillness of the apartment, which was a little unnerving. But then I shook my head to clear it, feeling stupid. A quiet house should be the least unnerving thing going on in my life right now.

I stopped at the end of the hall and saw part of the kitchen and living room. My heart was thundering in my chest so loudly I wondered if it could be heard outside my body.

There was a light sound of something being set down, and I leaned to the side and looked into the kitchen. There, sitting at the small dining room table, was Arlo. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him sitting there shirtless, tattoos covering his body, some that were very clearly Russian.

Bratva.

It all fell into place as I took in the stars on his shoulders, the Russian-style cathedral tattooed in vivid, gorgeous detail in the center of his chest, and a Russian nesting doll inked on his entire right side. He had a myriad of other dark and colorful ink along his broad shoulders, biceps, forearms, and very defined chest.

I felt a flush move through me so powerfully it was hard to catch my breath for a moment.

My gaze landed on the gun sitting right beside his hand on the dining room table.

Without looking up from the paper in front of him, he said in a deep, low voice, "If you're a coffee drinker, there's some in the pot. If not, all I have is water." He flipped a page on the paper. "The pastries were just delivered and are in a box on the counter."

I didn't move for a second, and he looked up at me, dark gaze slowly moving up and down my body. My shorts were high up on my thighs, my T-shirt long enough to cover them. It probably looked like I wore nothing underneath.

Although I was fully dressed, I couldn't help but feel like I was totally nude in front of him. I tugged on the hem of my shirt before diverting my gaze and making my way toward the kitchen. I could smell the coffee, and although I wasn't much of a fan, I figured now was as good a time as ever to get a little caffeine fix.

After I poured a cup, not bothering with sugar or milk because I didn't want to go rummaging through his things, I opened up the box and grabbed the first danish I could see. I could still feel Arlo looking at me, but I refused to meet his gaze.

Although I had so many more questions, I didn't know if he'd be forthcoming with the answers. But then again, I wouldn't know unless I asked.

After I swallowed a bite of danish and washed it down with some coffee, I set the cup on the granite counter and looked up at him. He was back to reading the paper, and from the distance I could see it was in another language—Eastern European if I had to guess by the letters.

Although he didn't have a noticeable accent, a few times I had heard a difference in the way he pronounced certain words. "I didn't realize you could get international papers in Desolation." Truth was, I didn't know if you could or couldn't get anything in this godforsaken city. I hadn't been here long enough, and it wasn't as if I'd checked out the lay of the land.

He leaned back in the chair, and I forced myself not to look at the way the muscles under his tattooed, golden skin flexed with that small movement.

Arlo was a big man, broad shoulders, a wide chest, and a ridiculously defined abdomen. I could see the gray sweatpants he wore from this vantage point, a very outlined V of cut muscle starting on either side of his waist and disappearing underneath the material. I picked up my glass and took a drink. As soon as I swallowed too much liquid, I regretted it.

I sputtered and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes watering, my tongue burning because the coffee was so damn hot. I turned my back to Arlo and coughed a couple more times, patting my chest and only turned around once I could breathe again. He still had his focus on me, but the corner of his mouth was tipped up ever so slightly, as if he thought it was amusing. I found a spark of anger and annoyance moving through me, but I didn't say anything.

"Desolation can get anything you want, Lina." He lifted his coffee mug to his mouth and took a long, slow drink as he watched me. Don't look at that bulging bicep. Don't watch the way it clenches and relaxes just from him picking up a damn ceramic mug.

"Italian, Russian, Spanish. Any language you want… anything you want, you can get for a price." He set his mug down but kept his fingers curled around the handle. His other arm still rested over the back of the chair beside him. His position was easygoing and relaxed, and God, he made it look sexy.

Maybe I was suffering from some instantaneous Stockholm syndrome? But I knew that wasn't true. I'd felt this dark desire for him the moment I saw him months ago. Now that I was in his home… forced to stay here for my "own good," I felt like I was losing my mind slowly.

"Do you know how to fight?"

His question took me off guard, and I eyed him as I swallowed another bite of danish. "I think?" I felt my face heat at the stupid words that just spilled from my mouth. "Well, I've taken a couple self-defense classes and always carry pepper spray on me. I can defend myself if needed." I wondered if he'd seen me in the alley after I doused the asshole in the face with my pepper spray before kneeing him in the nuts and taking off.

Although the truth was, I'd gotten very lucky in that instance, in being able to leave. The bastard had been stronger, bigger. All it would've taken was my hands to be restrained and my bag tossed away, and I would've been at his mercy. I wasn't strong in the physical sense, and the few self-defense moves I knew wouldn't help me if somebody really wanted to hurt me.

"I'll teach you how to fight."

I felt my eyebrows rise to my hairline at his words. Teach me how to fight? It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him no, that fighting and violence were the last things I wanted. But was it really? I needed to learn to protect myself, not just from the Vegas shit, but all this other stuff now too.

"Nonnegotiable, Lina."

I didn't know if me defying him pissed him off or amused him. It was hard to read Arlo's expressions the majority of the time, because he kept himself so closed off.

"Okay," I said without any heat. I would've taken more of the self-defense classes in Vegas before fleeing, but funds and time hadn't really allowed it. And as I stared at him, I knew without a doubt Arlo could kill somebody with his bare hands if need be. "But can you tell me why you're doing this? Like, I understand the safety aspect, but why do you care? I'm a nobody."

He just looked at me, not speaking, but there was this hard tension around him. I knew I'd still get no answers from him.

Fine, if he wanted to give me a hard time, then I'd just show him how stubborn I was. "I need to work on my next shift." The hard set of his jaw told me he was about to argue, but I shook my head. "Listen," I said before he could go into whatever spiel he was about to say to me. "I don't know what mess I'm caught up in, because you won't tell me, but I know if you wanted to hurt me, I wouldn't be in your apartment right now, eating a strawberry danish and drinking bitter-ass coffee." His lips quirked slightly as if he was amused. "But I have to go to work. I can't just not . It's clear you're not hard up for money," I said and pointedly looked around his lavish penthouse apartment, "but I don't have that luxury or privilege. I…" I stopped before I could say I was running and needed all the funds I could get.

His eyes narrowed marginally when I wouldn't press on. It was very clear this man got what he wanted without anyone giving him shit about it, but I was already in a deep enough hole with my own problems, and then there was all this other stuff that was now laid in my lap. I just wanted to figure out how things were going to go and if they could even get better at this point.

But I wasn't ready to give up on this. If he wanted to "keep me safe" and force me to stay, then there was one thing he'd learn about me, and that was I didn't give up easily when I put my mind to something.

We were in this silent stare-off for a couple of seconds, and when he didn't speak, I exhaled and just pressed on. "I have to work," I said, softer this time, hating myself that I heard the defeat in my voice. "I know you said it's not safe, and I'm not stupid, but you don't understand, I have to make money."

"If you're in trouble, all you have to do is tell me and I can help." His voice was low and deep, but I didn't miss the edge, didn't miss the danger lying underneath.

"Maybe I don't want anyone's help." The words were so soft I didn't even know if he heard, but when he spoke, I knew he had.

"Maybe sometimes we have to ask for help, even if we don't want it."

I was shaking my head before he finished but couldn't find the words to say anything. I looked around his incredible apartment, took in the natural light filling the space, noticed all the expensive, sleek appliances, and didn't miss how everything screamed of wealth.

"You can't possibly know how it feels to struggle." I was assuming, and I shouldn't. I knew nothing about Arlo, where he came from or how he'd grown up. When I looked back at him, I could see the hardness back in his eyes.

"I had some clothing delivered for you."

He changed the subject so fast my head spun. He looked pointedly at my shirt and shorts. I didn't bother asking how he knew my size to order me anything. "You can't work out in those." He lifted his gaze back to my face. "We'll leave in an hour to teach you how to defend yourself, moy svet ."

I didn't know what he'd just said in Russian, but I could assume it was along the lines of "ungrateful bitch."

I exhaled and finished my danish and coffee, rinsed out my cup, and set it in the sink. I wanted to ask him over and over again why he was doing any of this, letting me stay in this posh apartment, feeding me, clothing me… protecting me. I just wanted to take his face in my hands and… kiss him.

Instead I picked up the bag he'd gestured toward on the ground by the breakfast bar and walked away, mentally adding up how much I'd owe Arlo after this was all said and done.

And as I walked back to the guest room to change, I felt him watching me the whole time.