Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Galina

T he following day, the routine was the same. But I'd called off from my shift, knowing it was the smart thing to do even if it felt wrong with my end goal.

We ate breakfast before Arlo took me to the gym, where he barked out in Russian at the men there, which had them scattering out of sight, and then he proceeded to help me train for a few hours.

After a light lunch, we came back to his apartment, where I showered, then proceeded to pass out until dinner. My body ached, even my skin hurting from the almost brutal way Arlo had pushed me with self-defense.

And although I'd never been so tired before, I'd also never felt stronger or more sure of protecting myself. I'd never felt so… safe.

The sun had set an hour ago, and Arlo ordered Italian, which had just been delivered. The bags were fancy and black, gold lettering stamped across the front. I'd never eaten from anywhere that had delivery bags as swanky as these or, hell, delivery bags at all.

I was doing everything in my power not to look at him. I felt his eyes on me, so magnetic that I was hyperaware of every little move he made.

He hadn't gone to work—or whatever he did to make a living—since he'd brought me to his apartment, and my curiosity was starting to get the better of me, but I refrained from asking. I did have tonight off but was scheduled for Sal's tomorrow, and I wasn't going to miss it. No matter what he said.

I brought my fork to the chicken parm on my plate and cut off a piece, focusing way too damn hard on it. It was either that or look at Arlo.

The flavors burst in my mouth, the sauce rich and everything combining together as if the cook had been creating a masterpiece. But instead of his tools being a canvas and paints, he used tomatoes, basil, and other seasoning.

And it was the fact that I was trying so hard not to focus on Arlo, who sat across from me yet felt so close, that I was comparing food with painting.

For fuck's sake.

The tension in my body got too tight, but I finally looked up at him. He was leaning back and his body shifted to the side slightly, a glass in his hand with clear liquid filling it, liquid I knew wasn't water. He had one arm bent at the elbow and resting over the back of his chair, his focus trained on me. I actually shivered. I had no idea why this man had this kind of effect on me, but there was no pushing it aside.

There was no ignoring it or trying to act like I had a handle on anything. I didn't. My life was so messed up at the moment that any kind of relationship, including the sexual kind, shouldn't have even been a blip in my mind.

"I have to leave after dinner to do some work." He let those words hang in the air, and I didn't respond because I knew he wasn't finished. He slowly took a long drink of his vodka and then set the glass on the table, keeping his hand wrapped around it, his index finger slowly tapping against the side in an almost hypnotic way.

"Okay," I said a little too breathily and then felt my cheeks heat. I reached across the table for my glass of red wine, the exact opposite of what I should've been drinking. After I took a drink and set the glass back on the table, a heavy weight of silence moved between us.

"I don't have to ask that you stay in the apartment while I'm gone, right?" His voice was low and firm, as if he was trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. And although this man was dangerous on every level, I knew he wouldn't hurt me.

Stupid, stupid girl.

"I'll stay in the house, because I know it's dangerous, but we do need to discuss me going to work tomorrow."

He didn't move, said nothing, but I saw the subtle tightening of his jaw after I spoke.

"We'll talk about it," he said, and now it was my turn to clench my teeth together, because his tone felt strangely like he'd only said the words to placate me.

I wanted to instantly lash out. I didn't need another father. And although mine was worthless and the world wouldn't miss him if he was gone, I also didn't need anybody to look after me. I could do that myself. No one could take care of me better than me .

So although I wanted to stay on the subject, because that's what I did—fight—how I survived, I had to pick and choose my battles. I didn't have anywhere to be tonight, and I felt safe here. With Arlo. He was helping me by training with me, showing me how to protect myself. But I did repeat in my head a mantra I'd said over and over again, that I would get answers from him one way or another. Eventually.

It was another twenty minutes before I finally finished my dinner. I'd never eaten so well than when I was with Arlo, that was for sure. I'd never been full, always feeling that sliver of hunger biting at the edge.

And the entire time I'd been eating, Arlo had watched me. As if he couldn't take his eyes off me. I didn't know whether to be flattered or if he thought there was something wrong with me, but I chose the former, because the things I felt toward him with just a glance, things that made my belly tighten and my heart flutter, couldn't handle rejection, not with the way my life had been going.

I finished off my wine, the alcohol giving me a warm sensation, my limbs feeling a little heavier than normal.

"Come here, I want to show you something." He stood and walked past me, and I had no choice but to follow.

We made our way through the living room to the other side, where the shadows seemed thicker, where the lighting didn't penetrate. He stopped at a sliding glass door I hadn't even noticed, it was so seamless with the rest of the windows.

When he pulled it open, the night air washed in, teasing the strands of my hair around my shoulders. It was chilly, but it felt good, my body temperature seeming stifling whenever I was near him. We stepped out onto the balcony, and I felt the breath leave me at the scenic view in front.

Although the city had been gorgeous on the other side of the windows, as I walked toward the balcony and curled my hands around the cold, hard edge, it now seemed so surreal.

The banister was made up of thick glass with steel framing, giving the illusion that you were closer to falling over the edge than you really were. It had my legs tingling and my knees buckling. It made me feel alive.

This high up, the wind was vicious, lashing out at you as if it were angry you'd dared to come out and experience it. I felt Arlo's presence as he came to stand next to me, but I couldn't drag my gaze away from the cityscape.

Even so high up, I could hear the faint trickling sounds of life down below. I could visualize people yelling at each other, honking their horns and waving their fists in their anger. I imagined lovers were whispering soft things in each other's ears and children crying for their mothers to buy them more sweets.

I could practically smell the hot dogs from the street vendors, the yeasty scent of the fresh bread that filtered out from the open doorways of cafés and bakeries. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was somebody else, somewhere else where nothing could touch me. And being stories upon stories above it all, it was an almost tangible feeling that it was true.

"I know you want answers," he finally said after a long moment of silence.

I turned my head to look at him, my upper body leaning against the banister, the wind now more of an intimate caress.

"But you being dragged deeper into this—into a darkness that is unforgiving—comes with a price." His eyes looked so dark under the moonlight and backlit by the cityscape. "I don't think you understand how?—"

"Dangerous it is?" All the whys bounced in my head, but they didn't make it past my lips. I found my gaze drifting lower. His mouth had tipped up at the corners slightly as I'd cut him off, but he still finished his sentence.

"Something like that." His voice wrapped around me, pulling that invisible thread between us tighter until I feared it would either snap before we made contact or irrevocably keep me ensnared.

I forced myself to look back into his eyes, trying to wade through the fog that had suddenly filled my head. "I can handle precautions. I can even handle violence." I've seen enough of it. "I just don't want lies." I didn't know what I meant by saying those words, but his expression told me maybe he understood. But still he said nothing, and I felt like the flickering in his eyes told me he couldn't promise me the truth regardless.

I cleared my throat and faced the city again, a shiver taking hold of me tightly. "Would it be possible to go to my apartment and grab the rest of my things?" I didn't know if I expected him to tell me I'd go back there soon so there was no need to get my stuff, but he kept quiet for so long I glanced back at him. He was still watching me, but the look on his face was conflicted.

"Tell me what you want, and I'll stop by and grab what you need."

Now it was my turn to stay silent for long moments. "No offense, but I usually wait until the third date before having the guy riffle through my underwear drawer," I teased, but the way his pupils dilated after I spoke had any humor leaving me. His expression was so intense that I felt goose bumps move along my arms and legs. I shivered again.

When he reached up and smoothed his thumb along my cheek, I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. He felt so good, his skin warm, his hand big.

"Ya by ubil lyubogo, kto pytalsya zabrat' tebya u menya."

I felt my heart race faster at his words. I didn't know what he said, but he whispered it so deeply, with so much possessiveness laced within, that I knew whatever he'd just spoken was the absolute truth.

"Did you just say I wasn't worth all this trouble?" My voice was light, or at least I was trying to make light of the sudden heaviness I felt.

He didn't smirk, didn't do anything but stare at my lips, ones I suddenly felt like licking. "Let me know what you need, and I'll make sure you get it. Whatever you need," he said deeply, his gaze still on my mouth.

And then he turned and left me standing there, and a part of me knew he'd forced himself to leave, because if he hadn't, I was pretty sure this night would have been ending a hell of a lot differently.

Like with me in his bed.