17. Laszlo #2
She was calculated and clever. She didn’t realize how well she instinctually understood the politics of the Bratva.
“You don’t owe me anything. I need to know that you know that.”
“I don’t owe you anything, Laszlo Szász. I know that.”
“You hold all the leverage over me. You could ruin my life. Put me in jail.”
Her face warped with distaste. “I don’t want to do that.”
I realized I was gripping the steering wheel like I was trying to snap it in half and had to force myself to relax.
“I shouldn’t have left you today. Trust me that I did it because it was important.”
“I trust you.” She said it as if it were the easiest thing in the world. As if she meant it!
“You know how psychotic that sounds, right?”
She laughed. It was real, and easy, and tinged with a hint of darkness.
“Funny story, my maternal great-grandfather had psychosis. Thought the Nazi’s had followed him back from the war, and they were working in the lab across town.
Secret experiments, he’d said. Of course, years after the war was over, there were rumblings about Operation Paperclip, but Arkham denied that any of the scientists at the Institute for Intellectual Ascension were involved. ”
“Didn’t they release documents showing that was true?”
“Yup. He was dead by then, though. But maybe it runs in the family.”
What a strange girl. There were so many curious things about her. I collected them like stray puzzle pieces, hoping I could figure her out one day, but she kept surprising me.
“Thank you for the clothes. Sorry I ruined this one. It was very thoughtful of you. I liked it.”
“I’ll get you more later. Another one, just like that.
A dozen.” I wanted to spoil her. Buy her a whole new wardrobe.
Pamper her. Once Jimmy was neutered, I had to send her away, but for the time being, I would keep her happy and cared for.
“I’ve ordered you a cellphone, too. It’ll be delivered tomorrow.
You need to keep it on you at all times. ”
She stared out the window at the neighbourhood and didn’t answer.
We pulled into the building and I helped her into the upstairs bathroom, setting her down on the bench. I took out the alcohol and gauze from the bathroom cabinet. Her hands were offered, and despite the grit and abrasions, the bleeding had stopped. It wasn’t deep, thankfully.
She wore little makeup, some mascara, and lipstick, and I noticed for the first time the smattering of freckles across her nose. She stared at her hands as I washed them, wincing once when I had to get an embedded rock out of the wound.
My nimble fingers let me make delicate but quick work of it as I sat across from her. There was no eliminating all the pain, but she was brave.
Her hands were dainty in mine. I felt like I held a fragile, rare bird.
It hurt to remember what I’d done to her.
“What happened?” she asked, noticing my own bloody knuckles, the way my rings ate into my fingers. I wouldn’t lie to her.
“Gorky is an asshole,” I said, and she softened, a strange expression lighting up her features.
Was she grateful?
Fuck.
“He said you kneed him in the balls.”
She flushed, little creases forming at the edges of her eyes as she looked down, embarrassed.
“Hey. Eyes up here,” I said, my voice stern, and she obeyed. “I don’t doubt that whatever he did, he deserved worse than that. You can’t go back there. You understand, right?”
She let out a huff of air, “What about Roxy?”
“I’ll get Roxy’s number and when we get your phone, I’ll program it in. And I’ll leave her a way to contact you. Just promise me you won’t go to the club anymore.”
“Okay, Laszlo. I promise.”
I finished applying the ointment. I couldn’t look at her, so I stared at her hands, studied them. They were pink and raw and elegant and beautiful. She made jewellery with those hands.
Her necklace.
She wasn’t wearing it.
I frowned, my brows knit together, my fingers grazing the spot where it usually sat between her clavicle. Only then could I meet her gaze. She was crying. It was silent, large tears spilling from her cheeks as her plush lower lip trembled.
I wanted to close the distance between us, kiss her hard and let her breathe all her pain into me.
Her palm was soft and sticky as she guided it to my jaw. She held me, stroking my cheekbone with her thumb as she continued to spill a river down her face. She was dripping wet, her long hair heavy from the rain, but she still looked like an angel.
Those few moments when I couldn’t find her, when I saw her running, filled with fear… I thought I’d lost her. That I really destroyed anything there could have been between us. And the ache in my heart told me that the feelings I had for her wouldn’t just go away.
She’d unlocked something in me, something I didn’t even realize I was capable of.
“Laszlo…”
“Hm?”
She looked at me with watery blue eyes, as deep and as beautiful as the ocean.
“Free will is an illusion. The water of a stream might feel free, but the riverbed itself guides the water on a confined path.”
Something about what she said struck me in a place I didn’t have language for. An understanding. An agreement, despite myself, despite how philosophical she’d turned.
“I don’t have a cellphone, but I also don’t have a social security number, or a birth certificate, or a licence. As far as the government is concerned, I don’t exist, and that’s not a quick or easy thing to change, especially without my parents. That’s the riverbed I found myself following.”
Things clicked into place. Fragments of her past, the puzzle I was trying to solve.
I hadn’t trapped her. She’d been trapped by something laid in childhood, same as me.
I couldn’t help it.
As much as I wanted to hold it all in, my sympathy for her bubbled over.
My parents tormented me. Hers turned her into a ghost. Abandoned her when she needed them most.
An errant tear rolled down my cheek. Over her thumb. Down her palm. It crossed a wound, and a part of me was inside her once more.
“It’s okay. I’m glad our rivers found each other,” she murmured.
Those words broke me, and I drew her into me.
The scent of her shampoo filled my nose, grounding me in her.
Her long, golden hair clung damply to my hand as I rubbed her back.
I didn’t deserve the comfort I stole from her.
The warmth of her body pressed in against mine. She held me with such gentleness.
How could she be this good?
This pure?
She should fucking hate me, but she held me like she gave a shit.
I should be the one taking care of her.
“You’re hungry. I’ll order food.” My voice came out as unnecessarily harsh. I was pissed at myself for being so selfish and she flinched. “Do you want sushi?” I added, trying to ease the new tension I’d put in her.
“What’s that?”
I blinked at her. Was she being serious? “Fish or vegetables wrapped in seaweed. I can do burgers and fries if you prefer.”
“Oh, uh. No, sushi is fine.”
She swiped her puffy face. Even swollen from tears, she was the loveliest woman I’d ever seen.
“Okay. I’ll give you some privacy and grab you some dry clothes.”
“That’d be great. Thank you, Laszlo.”
I had to get away from her. She was intruding on my life. Distracting me from what I needed to do. Things were too delicate to let her upset them.
I opened the online ordering app, and absently made my way down the hall, into her bedroom.
Her bedroom.
Damn it. No. It was my room. So why did it smell like her? Why did that make me smile?
That momentary lapse delayed me from noticing the splinters of glass on the floor, next to the bed.
The photo of Lilien and I, shattered.
Someone had broken into my penthouse.