Chapter 32
Varvara
The urge to shower is clawing at me, but I daren’t. My arse still hurts from the first spanking. I don’t feel like testing him and going for round two. I turn over in bed and stare at the window with the cum on it.
“Insane psycho,” I mutter and decide I can do something about that.
No way am I leaving that for Pyotr or someone else to clean up.
I push myself off the mattress, my legs trembling from the sheer force he used to pin me against the pane.
I find a small, clean towel in the ensuite and damp it with warm water.
I don’t need a full scrub, just enough to erase the evidence of his public display.
Walking back to the glass, I scrub the streaks away with aggressive, circular motions. I won’t be able to look at the guards ever again after this. Not that I have managed to before now. I couldn’t pick them out of a line-up if my life depended on it.
Probably not the best way to tell a friend from a foe if someone were to break in.
I finish the task and toss the towel into the hamper.
I shouldn’t feel this safe behind a locked door, yet the silence is a heavy blanket.
I crawl back into the bed, pulling the duvet up to my chin.
My mind drifts to Lev. He’s out there somewhere, ending a life because of me.
I close my eyes and wait for the sound of the key in the lock, my soul itching for his return.
The house is too quiet. A buzzing coming from the floor makes me jump.
I look around, wondering what it is and then recall the new phone stuffed into the back of my jeans pocket. I lean over the end of the bed and grab the denim, pulling the phone out with my other hand.
Lev.
I slide my thumb over the screen. “Everything okay?” I ask, almost dreading the answer.
“Yes,” he pants, sounding like he has run a marathon. “You?”
I hear a loud thud and frown. “Fine. What is going on?”
“Mercer is dead. I’m just taking the trash out.”
“Trash?”
“Yeah. I’m going to be ages yet.”
“Why?”
“Punishment. Penance. A drive to the coast.”
“The coast? Speak in full sentences.”
“Are you still in bed?”
I glance around at the massive bed surrounding me. “Yes.”
“Are you still full of my cum?”
I smile. “Yes.” The air in the room feels different now that Mercer is a corpse. The invisible weight that sat on my lungs for two years has lifted, replaced by the heavy, dark presence of the man on the other end of the line. “You’re a fucking deviant, Lev. You know that?”
“I’m your deviant. Don’t forget it. Go to sleep, Varvara. I’ll be back before the sun is up.”
The line goes dead. I stare at the ceiling, my fingers twitching against the sheets.
I want to feel the water on my skin, to wash away the sweat and the grime of the club, but his command holds me in place.
It isn’t fear that keeps me still. It’s the knowledge that he did this for me just to settle my ghosts.
I let the phone drop onto the duvet beside me. Two years of flinching at shadows, of triple-locking doors and memorising exit routes, and it took a monster to give me back any semblance of peace. The irony isn’t lost on me.
Mercer is gone. The knowledge settles into my bones, not as joy but as a quiet, cold relief. Lev took that fear and buried it somewhere deep and dark. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other monsters out there, but my monster is the baddest one of them all.
I’ll go to sleep, and when I wake, he’ll be here, and I’ll finally feel clean.
I lie back and close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come.
I’m more intrigued than I want to be about why Lev won’t kill my dad.
I said I didn’t want to know, and I don’t…
but maybe I am a little curious. Maybe I’m a little more than a little curious.
I’m a lot curious, and that pisses me off because I told him I didn’t want to know.
I told him my dad was dead to me, and I meant it.
I still mean it. But the fact that Lev, of all people, decided against putting a bullet in his skull means something shifted in that phone call.
Something my father said made the monster pause.
I hate that I want to know what it was.
I roll onto my side and punch the pillow into a better shape. It doesn’t help. The silence is too loud, and my brain won’t shut up. What could my dad possibly have said that would make Lev stand down? What excuse could justify Marika shooting at us? What truth could make any of this make sense?
Nothing. There’s nothing. He’s a lying bastard who buried my mother, then married my best friend and built a criminal empire while I thought he was doing tax returns and drinking shit wine.
I don’t care. I don’t.
I chose the monster who carved his name into my skin and killed a detective to slay my demons.
I don’t need to know why my dad gets to live. I just need Lev to come home.
Restless, I get up again and reach for the vodka bottle Pyotr left behind. It’s still half full. I take a swig straight from the neck because I’m past pretending I have any class left. The burn settles the itch in my chest, but it doesn’t quiet my head.
I cap the bottle and set it on the nightstand. My eyes drift to the locked door. I’m not a prisoner anymore. I’m the thing the beast protects, and that makes me more dangerous than any of them realise.
I lie back down and finally let my eyes close. When the key turns in the lock, I’ll be ready.
Ready for what? Who knows. Time will tell. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, I know that Lev will keep me safe.
The vodka buzz fades, leaving me too sharp, too aware. The sheets against my bare skin feel like a dare.
Eventually, I’m dragged under from pure exhaustion.