11. Radimir

11

RADIMIR

I woke up, disoriented and groggy. I was lying on a hard wooden floor: had I fallen out of bed?

Something else was different. I always sleep alone, but I was pressed up against a soft, warm someone, my arm protectively around her. I inhaled and smelled strawberries and violets. My memory finally kicked in. Bronwyn.

I looked around. We were lying on the floor of the bookstore, behind the counter. The sky was just starting to lighten, and I guessed it was about six in the morning. The temperature had dropped, which was probably what had woken me: both of us were naked and our only blanket was my suit jacket, which only covered about half of us. I was cold, aching, and I had a crick in my neck from using a beanbag chair for a pillow.

And yet somehow, I was the most comfortable I’d ever been. I’d forgotten what it was like to sleep with someone. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I’d just meant to cuddle her for a moment, in the afterglow, and somehow… She was just so relaxing to be with, a balm to my soul. And the sex. God, the little moans and gasps she made when I drove deep into her. The urgency, as she’d torn at my shirt. She was so good, the light to my dark, but that goodness hid a sex drive as powerful as mine. Even now, my cock was hardening against her ass. I’d happily fuck her every night for the rest of my life.

The first bar of Stravinsky’s The Rake’s Progress split the silence, and I cursed under my breath: chyort ! I scrambled to find my pants, pulled out my phone, and breathlessly answered it before she woke. “Yes?” I whispered, furious.

“Where are you?” asked Gennadiy. “You told me to find Doyle and Yoz and then I didn’t hear from you again.”

I smoothed Bronwyn’s hair back from her face. Still asleep. I started to gently inch my body away from hers. “Sorry,” I whispered. “I got held up.”

“Why are you whispering?” Gennadiy paused and I could hear him thinking. “Are you with a woman?”

“Of course not,” I whispered. I managed to roll away from Bronwyn and climbed to my feet. Naked, I stalked into the back room. “Did you find them?” I asked in my normal voice.

“Of course I found them. They’re at the warehouse waiting for you. And I brought…pruning shears.”

The pause was deliberate. He wanted me to know that he knew something was going on. Pruning shears have a very particular purpose, in our world, and that purpose made no sense at all for someone like me without a wife, girlfriend or sister.

But one of the good things about being the boss was that I didn’t have to explain myself. “Good work,” I told him. “I’ll be along later.”

“That wasn’t what I was calling about,” said Gennadiy. “We just heard: Borislav Nazarov is leaving for a week’s trip to Vegas tomorrow.”

Chyort ! That meant I’d have to kill him that evening. I glanced through the open doorway to where Bronwyn slept, and a knot formed in my stomach. Guilt?! Over killing a rapist bastard like Borislav?

I closed my eyes and sighed. In those few hours with her, I’d forgotten what I was. Now I’d been reminded, and it was like being violently slapped awake. “I’ll get it done,” I told Gennadiy, and ended the call.

I found a pen, pulled a piece of paper from her printer and wrote her a note. There was a throw blanket in the back room and I laid that over her so she’d be warm. Then I dressed, taking the suit jacket I’d left the last time, as well. I didn’t want to leave myself any excuse to come back. Fucking her had been a mistake. Getting close to her, a worse one.

I bent down to kiss her and felt that pull again. I just wanted to climb under that blanket with her and stay there...

I forced those feelings down inside. This had to end now, for her sake. I kissed her sleeping cheek. “Goodbye, Krasavitsa, ” I whispered.

And I walked out of her life forever.