Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Margaret

DearGod, I am sore.

Last night would seem like a dream if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable throb between my legs. It feels like I sat on an eggplant and honestly, that isn’t that far from the truth. I don’t need to compare my hot Russian lover to other men to know he’s well endowed. It’s intuitive. Just like I know most men aren’t as generous in bed or willing to go full throttle on a woman’s kinky fantasies as easily as Lenin. If they were, my mom and the women in relationships I’ve met wouldn’t have been so miserable all the time.

All signs point to me being a lucky duck.

A smile is plastered across my face as I stretch my arms up over my head and wiggle my booty around in the sheets. Lenin isn’t in bed, but I hear the shower running and it’s comforting to know he’s close. He’s only one room away and I can’t wait to see him again. I want him to make bad jokes, be too literal and call me “angel.” There are so many things I like about Lenin, in addition to being flat on my butt in love with him.

Who knew it could happen so fast?

Definitely not me. There might be some unanswered questions about how we met last night—and the gun he carries—but those answers will come in time. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and I’m not going to be impatient. Not when I can be happy instead. If I’ve learned anything in my eighteen years, it’s that a lot of people aren’t blessed with happiness. Maybe I’m one of the few who actually gets to experience it. I’m going along for the ride.

Lenin walks out of the bathroom with a white towel wrapped around his hips and I’m immediately hypnotized. He looks me over with concern as if I might have injured myself while he’s been away, but I only have eyes for his butt. God, it’s made of marble. It barely moves when he walks, his buns just sitting there like two juicy mountains and I want to bite into them one by one.

“Are you admiring your handiwork, Margaret?”

“My handiwork?”

He hums and whips off his towel, showing me the red welts on his ass.

I gasp, horror snaking through me. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“What? Why?” He frowns at me in total confusion. “I want to get them tattooed on. A badge of honor courtesy of my angel.”

Heat sinks in my belly at the idea of him having permanent ink on his skin related to me. “Can I get one, too?”

Now he’s the one who’s horrified. “You think I would be able to stand someone putting a needle to your skin?”

“Lots of people do it.”

“You’re not lots of people, Margaret. You’re my only person.”

The air leaves me. “That’s really sweet.”

“Da, you’ve turned me sweet. Are you happy?”

“Yes. I am.”

His smile is the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen. “Then I am also happy.”

I’ve forgotten all about being sore. Mostly because he’s been standing in front of me naked during our talk and his erection grows by the minute. “Where are we going today? Are you taking me to your place?”

His smile drops. “Nyet. It’s time to find a new place. One we can call ours.” He’s not looking at me. “I need you to stay here while I return home and gather a few things. Then we will leave Baltimore. I have a destination in mind.”

“Where?”

“I want to surprise you.”

Alarm leaps in my bloodstream. “I would rather know where we’re going, Lenin. I haven’t been in control of my life for a really long time. Can’t we talk about it?”

He looks miserable now. “You will wait here for me, angel. Okay? Then we will talk?” He drags on a pair of boxer briefs, wincing when he stows his arousal. Then he paces for a moment, like a restless panther. “If I tell you everything…maybe you won’t be here when I return. Do you understand my worry?”

“It would have to be pretty bad to make me leave.” Vulnerability turns my face hot. “I told you I loved you and I meant it.”

Lenin drops to his knees beside the bed. “Angel.” He bows his head. “It is because you love me that I can’t take the risk. I won’t play fast and loose with a miracle.”

“We don’t have to talk about everything now, but at least take me with you. Show me where you live.”

His expression is agonized but determined. “It is not safe.”

A hint of unease swims in my stomach. “You just helped me escape from being locked up and now you’re already doing the same thing.” My voice falters as the walls of the room start to close in. “Please. Help me feel okay about this.”

“Just be patient—”

“No,” I say tremulously. “You can’t beg me to trust you and give me no trust in return. By keeping me in the dark, that’s what you’re doing.”

He lunges to his feet, driving a fist into the opposite palm with a growl. “I am not a good man, Margaret. I’m unworthy of kissing your feet. I’m trying to cut off the past so it never touches us, but until we’re out of town, there’s a chance my old life will sink its claws in one more time. My apartment is where they would come looking. If you were hurt in a crossfire, I would pray for the devil to drag me to hell because I wouldn’t be able to live another fucking second.”

I can hardly speak around the emotion in my throat. “Are all Russians so dramatic?”

The tension deflates from him when he sees my half-smile. “You will wait here?”

“Yes.”

He crosses the distance between us in one big step and gathers me in his arms, laying kisses on my hairline. “That was good. We had a little fight and—”

“I won. Get used to it.” I push my nose against the center of his chest and breathe deeply of his scent. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Lenin’s mouth closes over mine with a hungry sound and within seconds, his hands are everywhere. Cupping my bottom, stroking my thighs, twisting in my hair. My thighs tremble, wetness pooling between them, and suddenly I’m on my back and Lenin is on top of me, shoving down the waistband of his briefs, removing his cock. “Please. One more time before I go. Please.” Without waiting for my answer, he spears me with his manhood and wastes no time finding a bruising pace, thrusting into my wet entrance again and again without gentleness, my cries of his name echoing off the walls. “You make me crazy, little girl. I can’t stop fucking this pussy.” His head rears back and with his hips pumping furiously, he lets out a guttural shout. “SHE’S MINE!”

“You’re mine, too, Lenin.” I pull him down for a kiss and whimper against his mouth, “Come back safely.”

And he does.

But will I be there when he returns?

It takes mean hour to get restless.

Without Lenin around to distract me, the quiet becomes cloying and memories of the last time I was cooped up at a man’s request—was that really only yesterday?—begin to bombard my mind. I’ve never thought myself claustrophobic, but maybe the disorder has only developed since tasting freedom. I don’t like being stuck in one place without knowing my fate. And to top it all off, I’m worried about Lenin. What kind of danger is he in?

Could he get hurt?

With a small sound, I push to my feet, searching for something—anything—to distract me. I’ve already showered and eaten room service. I’ve doodled on the hotel stationery and watched fifteen minutes of a reality show. Nothing is holding my attention or making me any less anxious.

I pace from the bedroom to the living room and back again. On my second trip across the space, the telephone catches my eye. I haven’t had access to a phone since my mother left Baltimore. Hank only used his cell phone and didn’t have a landline. Excitement trickles into my belly. Is it possible to call my mother? Unless she changed her number, I know it by heart. She’s had the same one since she left my father.

My heart is clattering in my chest as I pick up the phone and hear the tone buzzing. I follow the instructions on the phone to dial out of the hotel and slowly key in my mother’s number. When it starts to ring, my mouth goes dry.

“Hello?”

My inhale is shaky. “Mom.”

“Margaret? Oh thank God.” Her relief is palpable through the phone. “Where are you, baby? I’m back in town. Tell me where you are!”

“You came back?”

“Yes! Just this morning. I missed you so much and I didn’t want to miss your eighteenth birthday! I just couldn’t stand to be away anymore.” She laughs nervously. “You weren’t where I left you.”

“Did you go to Hank’s?” My face heats. “Did he tell you he made me—”

“Just tell me where you are, please,” my mother says, more adamantly.

I frown down at the phone. Something seems off. “Um…”

“You’re in danger, Margaret. The man who kidnapped you is very dangerous.”

“He didn’t kidnap me,” I say quickly. “I left with him of my own free will.”

“Is he there? Is he making you say that?”

“No!”

“So he’s not with you right now?”

My nerves start to pop. “Mom, what’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you! The man you’re with was hired to kill Hank. He’s a murderer, baby. Tell me where you are so I can come pick you up.”

Those words drop in my stomach like falling pianos.

I close my eyes and see flashes of violence. Directed at myself. My mother.

I’ve fallen in love with a violent man. Just like my mother does, over and over again.

Even as I lament my seemingly terrible mistake, though, I can’t believe Lenin is a bad man. My heart won’t let it be true. My heart won’t stop loving him or believing in him.

“If you met him, you’d change your mind. He’s so good to me—”

Her scoff cuts me off. “How many times have I said those same words, Margaret?”

My face flames because she’s right. Still. I can see Lenin’s face, hear his voice, and it keeps me firm in my judgment. “He didn’t kill Hank. He’s…going to change. We’re going to leave this place behind.”

“Without seeing me?” Her tone takes on a higher pitch. “Can’t you come meet me for a little while before you go?”

“Of course I want to see you, I just told Lenin I’d wait for him to get back.”

“I don’t have much time, baby. Can’t you spare a few minutes?”

Disappointment smacks me in the face. She’s already leaving again? I don’t know why I’m surprised. She’s been absent for six months. Still, I can’t help but want to see my mother. She’s still the woman who curled around me in countless motel beds to keep me warm. The same woman who sold her sexual favors to feed me when times were tough. I owe it to my mother to at least spend a few minutes in her presence before we part ways again.

I cast a glance at the clock. Lenin has only been gone an hour. He said he would be back in two. There’s more than enough time to grab coffee with my mother before he gets back. He’ll never know I was gone.

“There’s a Starbucks near the hotel. East Pratt Street, I think?” I wet my lips nervously. Why am I so nervous? My gut won’t stop churning like a paddleboat wheel. “I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”

There aren’t many clothes to choose from, but I pull on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, before shoving my feet into sneakers and finger combing my hair. I pause on the way out the door, a voice in the back of my head whispering “stay,” but I don’t listen.

I should have listened. As soon as the Starbucks is within sight, a van pulls up to my left along the curb and the back window rolls down. There’s my mother, gaunter than usual, but smiling. Beckoning. My heart leaps despite the oddness of the situation and I gravitate toward the familiarity of her. “Mom.”

It’s only when I get closer do I see the gun pressed to the back of her head.

Hank is holding it.

“I had no choice,” she says, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“Get in,” Hank grates. “Or I pull the trigger.”