Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MIA
I stare at Demitri on the way back home. He says nothing, and eventually I can’t stand it.
“Why were there so many people there? Why did they need to be there? I still don’t know what the plan is. What about the stuff on the floor of the bar? What. The. Fuck. Demitri?”
It all comes pouring out, all the questions I had through the entire meeting. I stare at the watch on my wrist. Big Brother is watching, and all that shit.
“Also,” I add before he has time to respond, “do you think Joker is listening to this conversation now?”
That gets a grin out of him. “He doesn’t give a shit unless you need him, Krasotka .”
“How do you know? How well do you know him? And why was there a cop there?”
“If what Daniel told me earlier is true, the cop was there because Joker needs someone to smack him on the back of the head when he goes too far over the ‘mostly’ legal line. They are friends from Boulder Canyon.”
“Okay, that’s one. How about everyone else? The ones not actually employed by ANON?”
“So, Vic is married to Daniel, and she pretty much makes the rules. If she wants to be somewhere, she is, and he never stops her.”
“True love.” I roll my eyes.
“They called Davis because he’s the one who brought me in and hooked me up with Aunt Linda. He knows my family almost as well as I do. He blew his cover for me .”
He’s silent for a few minutes, lost in his own memories. I let him have them before going in again, trying to get more answers.
“What about the other woman, Kat? She said she was Vic’s sister?”
“Yeah, I guess she was already in the building talking to Vic, but she went through some stuff at the University surrounding my family, so I guess she just wanted to be there.”
“Or she’s nosy.”
“That, too.” He chuckles. “And Mary is DEA. She’s going to be the point person for the alphabet crew, I guess.”
“I guess she makes sense. But no one said anything about the stuff on the floor of the bar. Is it poison? Pee? Do I need to tell Brodie not to walk behind the bar until I can get a professional in there to clean it up?”
“It’s water. Plain, basic water. It’s a Sasha thing. And, yes, we need to clean it up. He would put it out to see if someone would slip in it and fall. If they hurt themselves, all the better. In some cases, it was guaranteed to cause an injury.”
“That’s kind of boring, Demitri.”
“I didn’t say the man was smart.”
We sit in silence for a few while Demitri rides the curves along the mountain range separating Rock Hill from Briar Mountain. This area is always dangerous, so I appreciate his care.
“What time will the bar open tonight?” he finally asks.
“Brodie will open at four. He can handle it until about six. That’s when the after-work and dinner crowd start coming in. And before you say it, this is my livelihood, and Brodie can’t make much more than a draft beer. I need to go to work.”
“I know.” He sighs. “I hate it, but I know. What do you do if you get sick? Or want a vacation?”
I laugh. “I don’t get sick. And when I do, I call Pat from Barlowe’s in Briar Mountain and he sends one of his guys over to help for the night. I haven’t taken a vacation since I opened the bar.”
“You haven’t been back home to see your parents?” He glances at me in surprise.
“Why would I? My mother would just tell me I’m getting old and fat, my father would try to get his friends to hit on me, and my siblings would tell me how perfect their lives are.”
“Your mother thinks you’re fat?”
“I’m exactly two sizes bigger than I was when I graduated high school. Until I start pushing out babies, she thinks you should stay the same size. Anything other than that is fat in her eyes and unacceptable.”
“She sounds…fun.”
“You have no idea.”
“And your dad does what?” he asks in a ‘if I ever see him, I’m going to kick his ass’ tone.
“Exactly what I said. Why do you think I moved here for college? There are schools in Montana with business and culinary programs.”
“Did he do that with your sister, too?”
“Yup. And she married one of them. Made daddy so happy. Found out later his friend paid him for the privilege of deflowering my sister.”
“That’s seriously fucked up.”
“Sure is. I left the day I turned eighteen and I haven’t been back.”
“And you moved here and?—”
“And met Brett Ashby, local cop. Thought he’d be safe. He wasn’t.”
I think he knows not to push any more than that. And isn’t that just the bitch of the matter? He’s been the perfect man. Patient, kind, too fucking understanding. It’s been weeks. He’s been sleeping at my house, playing protector to me day and night. But he hasn’t been back in my room since that first night. He’s held strong, keeping me where I usually have to be—at arm’s length.
But I don’t like it. Not at all. Today when he grabbed my hand, that was the first time he’d touched me. He still understands my safe zones, and he didn’t break them. But it made me realize I miss his touch. I miss him holding me like he did that night. The night I slept through and didn’t wake in a cold sweat, screaming. The night I woke up rested for the first time in a long time.
And then I went and ruined it by having a breakdown in the bathroom. Talking about these things is always hard. If I could forget them, I would. But the memories are never far away, triggered by so many things.
“What are you thinking about, Krasotka ?”
I feel my face heat in embarrassment. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
“Yup,” I agree.
“You still don’t feel like you can tell me things, do you?”
I hear the disappointment in his voice. The sadness that I’m keeping things from him. That I’m keeping everything from him.
“I want to tell you,” I quietly confess. “But I don’t know how.”
“The beginning is usually the best place to start.”
“I’m afraid you’ll walk away. Decide I’m too much work and tell me to fuck off.”
He laughs. A hard, almost choking sound. “You think you’re easy?” He finally wheezes. “Mia, you are the most controlling person I’ve ever met. And that’s saying a lot, considering my father was Ivan Pavlov.”
“So you’re already tired of me, then?”
“Did I say that?” He turns his head, giving me a cutting look. “No. I did not say that. I also don’t care that you’re controlling. It’s what you need to stay sane in this world. I’d never hold that against you, and when you’re controlling other people, it’s a fucking turn on. What I’m saying is, if I haven’t walked away yet, there isn’t anything you could tell me that would make me do it now.”
I stare out the window, watching the scenery go by. How do I tell him everything? How do I get through telling him all the dark parts of myself? I blow out a hard breath and close my eyes.
“My parents didn’t want me. I was the third child that made their perfect family off-balance. I was also a number of years younger than my siblings, who were the perfect eighteen months apart. My father started grooming me when I got my first training bra. I wasn’t supposed to go to college. I wasn’t supposed to want things for myself. I was supposed to get married young, have grandchildren they could ignore, and he didn’t care how old the man was, as long as he took me out of their house and off their budget.”
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “He sucks.”
“Yeah,” I laugh humorlessly. “And I knew from the age of ten that’s all I should be. I also knew there was no way in hell I was going to do that. I worked hard. I entered cooking competitions. After all, a proper wife knows how to cook, right? This was acceptable, but they didn’t know why I wanted it so badly. Every competition I entered came with a scholarship prize, not cash. Because if it had been cash, they would have kept it for themselves.”
“Smart girl.” He gives me a small grin.
“By the time I was a junior in high school, I had enough money to pay for college. To move out and away. I applied for every college that was more than one state away. One in Louisville, Kentucky, one in New York, Florida, and Virginia.”
“And Briar Mountain,” he finishes the list for me.
“Yeah, and Briar Mountain. I thought the small-town college would be better. Not as many people. I think I was wrong about that.”
“What happened, Mia?”
The way he asks when he already knows the answer is going to be painful. The gentleness of his voice, prompting me to go on, but still making it sound okay if I stop. Not sure when it happened, but we are sitting in my driveway. The truck is still running, and neither of us seems to be in a hurry to get out of the cab. Maybe this is what I need. The safety of an enclosed space with an easy exit. And let’s face it, sitting in a truck isn’t a facing each other activity, so the fact that I don’t have to look at him while I talk put me at ease. If I can’t see his eyes—the same eyes that are so expressive when he looks at me—maybe, just maybe, I can get through this.
“I met Brett my second week on campus. My roommate talked me into going to some party at a frat house. There was booze and other substances flowing freely. A guy tried to give me a drink, but I’m not stupid. I knew what roofies were, and I wasn’t going to take that chance. I slipped away and made my own drink while dumping the first one. That same guy kept watching me, waiting. When whatever he gave me didn’t take effect like he wanted, he got aggressive.” I pause to take a breath. “Other people there pulled him away. A big fight broke out, and the cops were called. Brett was the officer who showed up.”
“Was he the only one?” Demitri asks, nothing but curiosity in his voice.
“Yeah, and looking back, I know I missed everything that night, but he was a cop. They’re supposed to be safe, right? I ran to him for help. He was nice, Demitri. Really nice. He calmed me down, talked to me. Asked me about home, about my majors, my schedule. I told him everything. Even about not talking to my parents since I left.”
“You were alone and vulnerable.”
“That’s exactly what I was. And he took every opportunity to remind me of that for the next two years.”
“What did he do, Mia?”
“He made me fall in love with him,” I admit. “Only then did his true colors come out. But by then I was so dependent on him, I couldn’t get away. He started with his ‘lessons’ whenever he perceived I did something wrong. Don’t ask what I did wrong. According to him, if it was a day ending in Y, everything was wrong. The bar was constantly moving, and no matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough.”
“Tell me. Please.”
“It started small. Reprimanding me and telling me how worthless I was. Then he would demand I do whatever it was over again with him supervising. If the toast was too brown, do it again. If I missed a spot on the floor, do it again. The pictures on the walls were never dusted good enough. The spines on his books. Eventually, it graduated to physical things. He’d smack me if he didn’t like what I said. He’d grab my arms hard enough to leave bruises if he felt like I wasn’t paying enough attention. And then, it moved into raping me when I would say no, and after I tried to get away the first time, he tied me up and used me as a punching bag and a plaything.”
“I’m sorry.” Two simple words, no pity in his voice, just acceptance that this is what I went through.
“I was weak. I couldn’t leave. I needed him, and he needed me. If I could just be better, it would stop and he’d love me again.”
A tear slides down my face, quickly followed by another. And now that they’ve started, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get them to stop. I can’t talk anymore, and Demitri must know it, because he turns the truck off and gets out of the driver’s side door. When he opens my door, I jump at the sound.
“Can I help you to the house?” he quietly asks, his voice strong and sure. “Can I touch you?”
I nod, tears still streaming, and don’t flinch when Demitri picks me up from my seat and cradles me on the way to the door. I put my head on his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady. Calming. A sound of safety amongst the chaos.
I watch him through the watery haze of my vision and realize I’m not panicking. This man is touching me, and much like the night we slept with him holding me, I feel nothing but cherished and safe.
When Demitri opens the door and walks inside, I cling to him, willing him to not put me down. He hears my silent prayer and sits on the couch, holding me tight to his body, whispering words in Russian.
When I can speak again, I lift my head and look at him.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t.” He shakes his head. “There’s no need to thank me for taking care of you. Thank you for sharing with me.”
“Demitri?” I ask, my tongue darting out to lick my lips.
He raises his brows, his eyes watching the movement, but doesn’t say anything.
“I would like to try something. If it’s okay with you.”
“Anything.”
“I’d really like to kiss you.”
“Yes.”