Bond to Break (Stolen Obsessions #4)

29. Fyodor

CHAPTER 29

FYODOR

I’m disappointed in my sons and myself, but I’m not disappointed with Katya, who has agreed to meet with a physical therapist for the first time without any complaint. With the single caveat that I will not try to force the issue of her dancing again.

The doctor I’ve chosen for her works out of a sleek glass high-rise on the other side of town, and driving with her at my side is the strangest comfort. I’m still feeling disturbed by what she said and my response to it, but everything about her feels too damn good, and I don’t have any real chance to fight what’s happening between us.

We take the elevator up, and after I sign her in, I leave her in the waiting room to talk with the doctor. I trust she won’t try to escape, and I care about how she feels enough to spare her. I know hearing these things again and again hurts. I’ll only include her if his opinion of her prognosis is different.

After some discussion with the doctor, I agree it’s best I leave dancing again to her if she’s ever ready, but she will likely never be able to safely dance en pointe again.

It hurts to hear since her dancing was such a big part of both of our lives, but I put on a brave face for her because she is the only one actually suffering. Even though the world is without the beauty of her talent, she’s now with me, and that never would have happened otherwise. I guess I truly am an evil, selfish bastard because all of that leads to my happiness.

I return to the waiting room, and her plush little lips purse while her eyes say “I told you so.”

My smile offers an apology, but I say nothing as I help her back to the therapy room. We’re paired off with a young female physical therapist, and Katya immediately looks more comfortable upon seeing her. We exchange pleasantries, and they get to work quickly, finding they have a few things in common.

As she does the exercises, she surprises all of us, and I see exactly what I used to see in her on stage, a woman full of grace and determination. She’s so beautiful, and I never doubt again if she needs to dance. Her being is enough.

“You’re not in as bad a shape as you think, Miss Smith,” her physical therapist says about twenty minutes later. Katya’s brow furrows at first, given it’s not her name, but it smooths out when she realizes why the man who bought her at auction might have used a fake name.

“I don’t know about that,” she huffs as she pushes herself to take the next step, her face red and bright with her effort.

“I do.” She laughs. “You’re doing excellent.”

When we finish, Katya’s beaming. She’s also sweat-soaked, exhausted, and in pain, but I can see in her the first real flash of hope. I don’t know what kind of medical care she was getting previously, but it’s clear now that she has more options than she realized. As we leave, the physical therapist hands her a pamphlet about an experimental surgery that could greatly improve the flexibility in her tendons.

As we drive home, she sits in the passenger seat beside me, reading it, and my sense of pride in her grows until I think I’m about to burst. I never imagined this beautiful, determined woman to be a quitter, and I am so glad I wasn’t wrong about her. She just needed a hand up. I’m going to spend the rest of my life giving her a hand up.

We’re only a few minutes away from the apartment when I get a text message. The name Scott Hawver flashes across the screen. I saved his number the last time he messaged me, knowing I would eventually circle back to him.

“Scott? How the hell do you know Scott?” she squeaks.

“How do you know Scott?” I shoot back.

“He’s my friend’s boyfriend.”

“Mmm,” I tell her. She doesn’t say anything else, and her need to question me is practically pouring off her, but I let her sweat. If she doesn’t want to tell me what he did to her, that’s just fine.

A minute later, when she hasn’t cracked, I pull out the phone to read his message, and I catch her eyes flash over.

Scott: Fine, I’ll meet. 18 Leavenworth.

She’s quiet for a few more minutes, biding her time until she finds the right thing to say.

“We’re not going home,” she comments as we miss the turn into the garage, and the fact she calls it home makes me feel all kinds of warm and cold. She deserves a better home than some apartment, maybe a cabin in the woods, but I’m glad she feels that comfortable with me.

“No, we’re not.”

“Where are we going?”

“Scott wants his cut.”

I press the gas, tension vibrating under my skin. I wonder what changed that he’d tell me where he is. He must really need the money.

“I’d really rather not see him or Natalia for that matter…” That’s fine, she’ll be locked in the car while I deal with him.

“Why don’t you want to see your friend?” I would understand if she sounded angry or betrayed, but she seems sad.

“I asked her to leave with me, and she said no. I’ve been worried about her.” Her pretty lips pout as she stares out the window. I’m not sure if I’m more irritated by her naivety or grateful for it. She wouldn’t be with me otherwise.

“Did you ever consider she might have had another reason for saying no?”

“Of course not!” The accusation shocks her, but she doesn’t say anything else. Her eyes drift off toward the window, watching the city pass. She’s already deep in thought, and rather than push the issue, I leave her there to come to her own conclusions.

Pure anger keeps my foot heavy on the gas pedal, so we pull up in front of Scott’s apartment sooner rather than later. I can’t say I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting this end of town, though several of my goons operate nearby.

Nervous energy radiates off her, and she’s distracted as she stares at the front door. She’s clearly not as oblivious to what these people did to her as she would like to act. She still doesn’t look at me, so I grab her chin and turn her face toward me.

When I finally have that beautiful gray gaze on me, I kiss her on the mouth, catching her sweet bottom lip between both of mine. She makes a delicious little gasp of surprise, and I break the contact a moment later. I’m already hard from the one sound she made. It’s the first time I’ve ever kissed her this way, passive, because we’re going to part for a few moments. It makes me want to fuck her.

Her eyes shine with a brief flash of joy, and her lips curl in the most stunning smile. It resolves me that this was worth the trip.

“Which unit is theirs?” I’m still holding her chin as I ask. For a moment, she tries to deny me and avoid me, but I just hold her and wait.

“Four.” She finally gives in.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I kiss her once more on the lips before I close the door and lock it.

“Hey!” Her shout is muffled by the car, but I’ve clearly annoyed her.

My gaze slides across the street. Trash overflows cans and rolls down the sidewalk. The light posts hang broken and forgotten, and there’s an alley directly beside the building where people are actively using drugs. Far be it from me to judge; I’ve surely done enough in my life, but I’m surprised something bad didn’t happen to her while she was staying here.

The old concrete steps tremble as I apply my full weight, time, and use, leaving them crumbling. I count the windows as I go up four floors, probably somewhere around eight apartments. Scott didn’t tell me which one, but I didn’t tell him I was already on my way with the girl he betrayed.

Their apartment is on the fourth floor, and when I arrive outside, shouts are already spilling into the hallway. I don’t bother to knock or wait for them to finish. I’ve been pissed for days, pushed far outside my comfort zone, and I’m ready for some violence. I may not be young, but I’m still an incredibly strong man.

One kick and the door and hinges rip straight out of the wall, spraying splinters and plaster. Two people stand inside, and both shriek as I step into the room with a cloud of dust surrounding me.

I can’t even tell which one is which at first, fucking pathetic, but the dust clears, revealing Scott scurrying to the kitchen with his girlfriend right behind him.

The entire apartment is shabby and small, and it smells like water damage. His family has a lot of money, and that’s why finding him myself was a problem. They own this place, but they don’t charge him to stay here. They own a lot of apartment buildings.

You wouldn’t guess that he comes from money, given the state of this apartment. His involvement with people like Franco and my sons makes sense because Scott also has a drug problem. Needles and paraphernalia cover the apartment, and I wonder if Katya was exposed to all this while she was here.

I know she’s clean since blood tests were one of the first things the doctor did, but I hate to think she was potentially exposed to used needles while already developing an infection.

The two of them cower by the stove. The room is one long box. The apartment looks like a two bedroom, but all of their living space is in one long line.

“What do you want?” Natalia shrieks. She’s wearing a set of pajama pants over the top of a stained leotard. She was one of the dancers in Franco’s company, though I suppose that makes her unemployed now.

“Who are you, man?” Scott asks, red-eyed and shaking.

I breathe through my nose and try to control my temper as I realize just how much of this fucked-up shit has come down to drugs. Just how much I am responsible for the issues in my own family and city because I’ve been running these same drugs for years and never thought twice about it. I always thought if I was strong enough not to get caught up, so were my sons, and I see now how fucking wrong I was.

“You need your money?” I ask Scott, and his expression shifts to hopeful and greedy as he stares. Addicts will often overlook a lot of red flags if they think their fix is in sight.

“Who are you, man?” He smiles slightly this time, a glimmer of hope crossing his greasy face.

“Fyodor Domalachego.”

The hope falls hard and fast, practically thudding against the floor. Given what he did to Katya, the profound fear replacing it satisfies me immensely.

“Mr. Domalachego. No, this is a mistake! I wasn’t texting you. I was texting the person who owes me the money!”

“Did you ask whom the number belonged to?”

His eyes shift around the room, and it’s clear he did not. “I mean, I didn’t think it mattered.”

“What about now?”

He swallows but doesn’t pluck up the nerve to answer.

“Who gave you this number?”

“I don’t know his name. He was the doorman.”

I smile to myself. I quite like Ivor. He has an interesting sense of humor.

“So you’ve been texting a number you don’t know, demanding money from what could be a very dangerous man, and now you’ve sent your address?” His eyes widen as I lay it out for him, but like a good lowlife, he keeps pressing for what he wants.

“I just need my money,” he repeats like he’ll have any use for money when I’m done with him.

“You gave him our address, Scott?” the girl beside him shouts, finally realizing how fucked they are because of him.

“Where the fuck was I going to meet him to pick up five grand that I wouldn’t get robbed on the way home? Everyone around knows I’m holding these days. They’d be expecting fent and to get a wad of cash.”

He throws his hands as he talks, the aggression seeping off him palpable. She flinches each time he comes close to her, and while I hate her for what she’s done to Katya, maybe she doesn’t need to die. Katya would prefer that anyway.

This isn’t far from what I expected, though I find I’m more disappointed than I thought I would be. Some sick part of me owes this scumbag a debt of gratitude. I’m thankful Katya is mine, but he was supposed to help her. He betrayed her. He has to pay for that.

“What percent of three million is five thousand dollars, Scott?” His face goes ashen.

“Three million? She sold for three million?” He curses a stream, and his fist hits the floor.

I look at her friend, who shakes as she realizes she has my attention.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” she begs, throwing up her hands. Her tits push together, and she sticks her chest out. “I’ll do anything.”

That’s very much unnecessary.

“Did you know what would happen to your friend Katya when she left? What were they going to do to her that would allow him the cut he’s been bothering me for days about? It couldn’t have been anything good.”

“I, uh, no—no of course not!” She’s lying through her teeth, but still, I know harming her would upset Katya. She deserves to pay for what she did to her, but there has to be a balance. A person can only take so much loss, and she doesn’t need to feel this one too. She should hate this bitch, not mourn her.

I pretend I believe her because it’s easier than fighting with her when I know I’m not going to kill her anyway.

“Grab a bag of your shit and go,” I tell her.

“I, but I don’t have anywhere to go.” Tears fill her eyes, and I almost laugh in her face. Neither did my Katya when they sent her off to a sex auction. One I only attended out of worry for my fucking sons. Fate can be strange at times.

“Neither did Katya. Now get the fuck out before I do to you what you did to your best friend . Though I doubt anyone would pay even five grand for you.”

She doesn’t wait another moment, scurrying off to one of the rooms to pack up a bag, and it’s just Scott and me.

“I didn’t know I was texting you, Mr. Domalachego, I swear. I thought it was one of the normal guys, you know, the pimps who hang out down by the bar. That’s where most of the girls came from.”

His hands stay out in front of him, and he slides down the cabinet, his ass landing against the tile floor. The position is about as pathetic as I could imagine for a man. It’s a shame he’s going to die in it.

“That’s not actually why I’m here, Scott. I understand you didn’t know who I was, and you just wanted your money. I can respect a deal, and I understand the power of the dollar.” Once more, he’s stupid enough to look relieved. “But that’s not actually why you and I have a problem.”

“What?” His eyebrows push together, his dirty blond hair falling in his face. His hands fall with his full-of-shit, placating demeanor. “What the fuck are you talking about, then?”

That shitty attitude, the same one from the texts, demanding his money.

“You and your little fucking girlfriend were supposed to help Katya, not betray her and literally fucking sell her.” I annunciate the last few words because it seems so far outside the normal bounds of friendship.

His mouth drops open in a picture of confusion, and I admit my motivations aren’t always clear even to me. If this were just about money or text messages, I surely wouldn’t be handling it myself. He’s nowhere near important enough to warrant a visit from the retired boss, but like all things Katya, this has become personal.

“But you bought her. Why would you be mad?”

“It’s possible to believe two things at the same time, Scott. So thank you for bringing her into my life permanently, but you’re going to have to pay for what you did.”

“I didn’t do shit! It was Franco!”

“And who called Franco?”

“Franco was her director, man. They knew each other.”

Being called anything by this disgusting waste of space sets my teeth on edge, but I’m surely not his man. I take six steps, and I’m standing in front of him. “I said, who called Franco?”

“I did, but I thought he would help her.”

“You knew exactly what you were fucking doing,” I tell him as I take the seventh step onto his ankle. I’m nothing if not a little superstitious.

He screams as his bones crunch and the treads of my boot tear into his weak flesh. I remove my foot, revealing his flesh and bones rearranged to match the shape of my boot. One look at his mangled ankle, and he’s doubled over and vomiting on the floor. The wet splash hits the cabinets, and I step back to avoid the spray. I’m not ruining a fifteen-thousand-dollar suit on the contents of this dirty fucker’s stomach.

I’d like to take my time with him just because I feel that anyone who’s ever harmed Katya should suffer grievously, but I won’t do that, knowing she’s in the car waiting for me in this shit neighborhood. I strongly doubt Natalia had the nerve to stop and speak to her, but that option also concerns me. She’s already on the edge, barely pulled back from her suicide attempt, and I can’t have that bitch ruin her.

Given the police chief has already received a large enough payment to cover his mortgage and car payment this month, as well as cover his twice-weekly hooker, I’ll be doing this one a little more quietly than Franco.

I start pulling open drawers until I find the one containing the knives. Scott lies on the floor, broken and whimpering. I’ll be glad to never hear him make that sound again. There really aren’t any good options. Unfortunately for Scott, he didn’t invest in his cutlery, so this is going to be especially grim. Dull knives hurt, but I don’t make the rules.

He seems to realize what I’m doing and starts babbling a stream of broken begging. I don’t bother to listen to the individual words because none of them matter to me. However, I do give him the respect of looking him in the eye as I stab the rusty blade deep into his neck. It takes most of my strength with how dull the blade is, and I do my best to saw through his tissue.

I’m not gonna spend all day killing him with this rusty fucking knife, and it’s his own goddamn fault for not having better tools in his kitchen. The wound I’ve left is fatal, and he’ll die eventually, long before anyone would be able to help him.

I leave him lying on the floor, knife on the floor beside him, gurgling on his own blood. I take the stairs two at a time, forgetting for a moment I’m not a young man anymore as I head back out to the car to make sure that my Katya is okay.