Chapter 14 Nadya
NADYA
Ididn’t want to come to Xander's apartment after all of that and being out all night, but I'm exhausted and my dress is stained in blood.
Coming here was the only way to get cleaned up before returning to more of my sister's questions and I need a bit of a nap before I am emotionally prepared to handle that.
The scene we left behind was brutal even by his standards—eleven bodies total, with enough blood to paint the concrete floor from wall to wall.
Yet Xander shows no signs of the tension that usually follows his work.
He's not bossing me around or handing out orders.
It feels weird, like I’m not in the same place.
I hover by the window as he disappears into the kitchen and returns with two glasses and a bottle of vodka.
"Sit," he says, but the word lacks its usual edge.
He seems as tired as I am.
I perch on the edge of the couch, watching him pour generous amounts into both glasses.
He settles across from me, and I can smell his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and the faint chemical tang of the cleaning supplies we used.
The glass he hands me is half full, easily three shots that will knock me out for the day.
"You did good work tonight," he says, taking a sip.
The praise catches me off guard.
Usually, he pays me and sends me home with one word of acknowledgement.
But tonight is different from our typical interactions.
"It was messier than usual," I reply, testing the vodka with a small sip.
The alcohol burns down my throat.
"The Brotherhood is getting sloppy. There were a lot of needless victims tonight."
His pale eyes stay fixed on my face.
"You noticed the shell casings."
I had.
With eleven men dead and at least five men on Xander's team, it was a blood bath.
None of them stood a chance.
I'm surprised he walked out with a few blood splatters on his shirt and nothing more.
My hand is heavy with fatigue as I lift it to my lips to sip.
"They must be very bad men to earn this punishment… or else your boss…" I can't finish what I'm saying.
To admit what Xander is aloud, to say audibly what he represents, what his boss represents, would be to confess that I'm a bad person.
I know being with him, following his orders, it's not something I have a choice to do.
If I walk away, I die.
But that's not why I'm staying and I know it now.
He hasn't had to threaten me once in weeks.
"Leonid is a hard man, Ptichka. I have to follow orders just like you. If I fail…"
His head tucks, and for a split second, I see the man hiding under the weight of the world.
Xander has as much weight on his shoulders as he has applied to mine, and I find myself wanting to fix that for him.
I know I never can. The men he works with and for are monsters.
They won't even pause to think what's right or wrong if it came to killing either of us.
They look at us as assets or liabilities and nothing more.
I set the vodka down, slide out of the coat and leave my mother's shawl on the table, then walk around to him, and as I approach, he sits straighter, offering me the opportunity to slide onto his lap.
Straddling him, I cup his rugged face in my palms and press a kiss to his lips.
"I understand, Khishchnik."
The word was once a threat and now is more of a term of endearment.
The predator who once stalked me has become the wall of fire around me to protect me.
He doesn't have to explain the situation he's in other than that he was ordered, but he downs his vodka and sets the glass aside, then grips my hips and pours it out.
"The men I'm hunting, they have been slowly infiltrating our organization. The things they've done have made me look weak."
His eyes darken as he says, "And I'm anything but weak. You know that."
"Of course, I know," I tell him, letting my hands rest on his chest.
His heart is pounding and I realize how vulnerable he must feel.
He's sharing secrets with me that we both know will be the end of me if Leonid knows I know.
I'm not like those floozies at the party who bat their eyelashes and shake their asses for attention.
I'm perceptive and determined.
I'm sure that makes me valuable to Xander, but to Leonid it makes me a threat.
"Well I was ordered to kill them all, as you know, by Novy God. And I'm almost there."
His grip tightens on my hips.
"And I need your help now more than ever, Nadya."
Confused, I scrunch my nose and readjust my position on his lap to sink down farther.
The dress bunches around my hips and he inches it up until his thumbs can brush across bare flesh that, too, is stained with blood from tonight's cleaning.
"I'm here to help you…" I whisper, but I'm still terrified of what happens when this hit list is finished and he doesn't need a cleaner anymore.
His boss is a lethal man.
I don't want to have to run the rest of my life.
"I need more than a cleaner."
This time when his eyes meet mine I see determination in them.
"I need your help planning the final few hits.
They know I'm coming for them, Ptichka. I've hunted them one by one, and now after Sokolov's son's body will be found floating down river, there will be no mistaking what happened.
I need to root the final men out and finish this, and I can't do it alone. "
I don't like what he's asking me at all.
Cleaning dead bodies is one thing.
I'd go to the gulag for life as it is, but helping him plan an actual murder—more than one?
"Xan—"
"Shh," he says, pressing a finger to my lips.
"Don't say no, little bird."
His eyes search my face and his fingers curl around the back of my neck.
When he pulls me down for a kiss I let him.
It's warm and sensual, deepening to open my mouth.
He groans into it and I feel the familiar stirrings of heat in my groin, but I can't let myself go this time.
All I can think is that he wants me to help him kill people, and I'm not okay with that.
My stupid brain might possibly be able to turn a blind eye when it comes to his misdeeds.
I might be able to lie down and sleep at night because my schooling has trained me to look at blood spatter patterns as mathematical equations, but if I knowingly help him plan a man's murder, what does that really make me then?
"What is it?" he asks, pulling aback.
The vodka on his breath is intoxicating.
I want to stay, to lean into his kisses and forget, but if I do, he will convince me that helping him is the right thing.
"I can't…" I whisper, and push back on his chest.
"My cycle…" I tell him, muttering the lamest excuse so I can get out of this.
"It doesn't bother me," he grunts, pulling me back, but I press my hands more firmly against the heated kiss he offers.
"Xander, no."
This time, he lets me go, and I stand.
"I should change…"
Lingering, I wait for him to rise and lead me to the bedroom where he has a few other things he bought for me weeks ago, things I refused to take to the apartment because of Irina's questions.
He walks into his closet and finds another black dress, similar but not identical, and tosses it at me.
The things he asked me to do for him feel like an elephant in the room as I strip out of the ruined dress and slide into the fresh one.
Xander's eyes never leave my body.
They map every curve and trace every line.
I notice his bulge and feel guilty that I'm outright refusing to pleasure him when I damn well want it just as bad, but I need space to breathe.
"You'll call, I assume?" I ask him, knowing the next time he calls it won't be for a clean up job.
He will be asking me to plan an execution, and worse.
He will want me to find a way to stalk someone and deliver them to the executioner too.
I stand in front of the mirror, adjusting the neckline as I zip into the new dress, which I hope Irina does not recognize is different, and he comes to stand behind me.
His hands grip my biceps as he presses a kiss to the back of my head.
"Stay with me, please. We don't have to fuck. I just don't want to be alone today."
Sunlight is starting to slowly trickle in the windows as dawn approaches.
But I have an obvious excuse and one I am more than happy to use.
"I promised to help Anya and Mikhail with the yolka."
I feign a frown as I turn in his arms and rise up on tip toes to kiss him.
"And family is everything, right?"
Playing to his sense of duty and loyalty, I smile and he nods.
"It is…" he grunts, but he's not happy.
He follows me to the front room where I collect my mother's shawl, my clutch, and don my coat.
The children will be waking soon, my sister too, and we will select the perfect tree—well the best one we can afford.
I can't keep being loose with cash anymore.
I have to make it look like we're still struggling or Irina will flip out.
"You sure you can't stay?" he asks again as we reach the door and I frown.
"Khishchnik, I have to be with the children. And I need a nap."
If I'm defiant or forceful this man will snap, and I don’t want that.
I just want some time to think and process.
"I'll have Igor drive you home," he says, finally relenting.
His quick peck on the cheek is chaste, anger darkening his eyes.
He doesn't like being told no, but he's allowing it for now.
I get the feeling he won't always be so considerate.
And as I sit in the back seat of his car being shuttled back to my "normal" life, I feel torn.
I'm terrified of how deeply I'm being dragged into his world, but in the same breath, I'm finding I will do anything for this man.
I'm not sure how to feel about that.
That's what love is, right?
To waste your whole life pouring out just to make someone else's life better because you can't stand to see the sadness in their eyes…
Yes, I'm ruined.
And soon I'll be a murderer just like him.