Chapter 25
Paige
Vanya grabs the bags from the car as I throw my clothes back on, and we finally head inside, out of the cold.
After he opens the door, cool air floods into the space, mixing with the trapped warmth.
The house appears basic yet comfortable. As personalized as a hotel room or a cabin at a campground where you know, without investigating, there are a dozen more like this just out of sight.
I wonder if it’s a rental, or if the Bratva actually owns numerous houses around Chicago.
The home features a natural color scheme for the walls, contractor-grade laminate countertops, and stainless steel appliances that are a few years old but well-maintained. One big living area, complete with a fireplace in one corner near the dark green couch, bleeds into a front room and a kitchen.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the main door.
My hair flows free, tangled and wild from Vanya’s fingers and the wind, curling into birds’ nests around my face. Dirt smudges my cheeks, and my limbs continue to wobble from what we did outside.
Guns and orgasms.
Even more from the way he broke me down and built me back up until I didn’t recognize myself.
No.
Until I recognized myself for the first time in fifteen years.
I’m still unsure what to do with this newfound knowledge, but I suppose I’ve got a few days to figure myself out.
Without a word, Vanya gravitates to the kitchen.
I sink into a chair at the wooden table. My legs won’t quite hold me yet. Everything aches in ways I’ve only ever dreamed of. I didn’t bother putting my bra or panties back on, choosing to tuck them into my pockets instead. Every fiber of my clothing rubs against every inch of my skin.
The hiss of the fridge opening draws my attention.
Vanya’s got a cast-iron skillet on the stove, and smoke rises in dark little wisps. How long was I lost in thought, reveling in my “lesson”?
He sets a package on the counter and extracts two thick pre-seasoned steaks, resting them on a plate.
I stare at his back. “When did you have time to get all that ready?”
“Delivery.” He peers over his shoulder with a slow smile. “I was told where to go, so I sent a shopping list ahead of us.”
“You planned this? Bringing me here.” I glance around the house again. Nothing’s changed. Blank, basic, generic…but clean. The air’s not even stuffy. Someone’s been by recently.
“Organized crime requires organization, Paige. It’s right there in the name.”
I want to hit him with a spatula for that attitude, but I’m too tired to budge. “Smart-ass.”
He chuckles before turning back to the stove and transferring the steaks from the plate to the pan. The sizzle starts immediately, the fat popping and hissing.
A moment later, the aroma of seared meat and a hint of butter and thyme hits. My mouth waters.
We’ve really been floating between feast and famine for the last few days. Long stretches with no food between succulent room service and road snacks.
Two thunks resonate from the kitchen. Unable to contain my curiosity, I push to my feet and shuffle across the room.
“Do you know how to cook?” Vanya digs around in the freezer. Two russet potatoes sit on the counter.
I lean over and sniff the steaks, hot stove air puffing against my cheeks. “I’m no chef, but I manage not to starve most days.”
The laugh he responds with, real and hearty, warms me all the way down to my toes.
I could slurp that laugh up like a bowl of soup.
He passes me a bag of frozen broccoli and the potatoes. “Then I’ll leave the sides to you.” After that, he opens a bottle of red wine, pours two glasses, and slides one across the counter toward me.
We move about the kitchen in companionable silence.
Baked potatoes will take way longer than the steaks will, so I chop them up and start roasting them in a separate pan. Our elbows bump as we maneuver around each other.
The scene is casual, homey, and generic, just like this house.
And so very…peaceful.
Soothing, after our outdoor activities.
After today—after how he taught me to start getting over my greatest fear—I don’t think I’ll ever flinch at the crack of gunshots again.
I might soak my underwear.
But I won’t flinch.
I smile into my wine as Vanya’s hand grazes the small of my back.
Together, we plate the food and set the table.
A simple, wholesome meal. Good for the soul.
His knee brushes mine, sparking static across my skin. From over the rims of our wine glasses, our eyes meet and hold.
The steak tastes perfect. Seared outside, pink in the middle, juicy and tender. My senses, still dialed up to eleven and hyperaware, register every flavor, every texture.
Under the table, Vanya’s foot slides up my calf.
I glance up in time to spy that wicked, knowing smile on his lips and the way he presses his fork against his mouth.
My stomach flips, anticipation bubbling through my chest.
I set down my glass.
Vanya rises. “I’ll do the dishes. You finish your wine.”
Before I can react, he reaches over, snatches my plate, and heads to the sink.
The damn tease.
As I sit at the table, though, with my belly full of steak and wine, I realize that I’m honestly too tired to even care.
The long-ass car ride all over town and the gun range activities that followed took everything I had, leaving me wrung dry.
With water splashing in the sink, I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes.
Just for a moment, I’ll allow myself to relax.
Paige
The bedroom I wake in is basic and functional, just like the rest of the house.
Eggshell walls. King-sized bed. Plain white linens with pine tree and bear print on the thick comforter. Everything screams campground cabin in the woods.
But with Vanya sprawled beside me, the place feels like home.
I shift, careful not to wake him. My body protests every movement.
My wrists are still tender from the zip-cuffs, red marks circling them like bracelets.
Scratches run down my stomach and breasts from the plywood table.
My thighs ache. My pussy is so sore, I clench at the mere idea of more stimulation.
I’m marked. Changed.
Emerging from a chrysalis.
And I can’t go back.
I take a moment to enjoy the only complete privacy I’ve had since Vanya first showed up.
As I do, my gaze drifts to the nightstand.
His gun, his phone, my purse. He carried me and our important possessions in here without waking me up. That’s how exhausted I was.
Self-reflection and discovery are hard work. Apparently, rough sex with a hot Russian mobster is too.
I open my new black leather purse and pull out the only thing I need.
Mom’s photo.
That cheesy grin on her face. The palm tree swaying and ocean waves flowing behind her. My own blue eyes staring back at me.
One day before she died.
I gaze at her. Then I glance at the bed.
Vanya’s hair sticks up in wild directions that would horrify his conscious self. His chest rises and falls.
He’s battered, scarred, dangerous…and so painfully alive.
My living present. My dead past.
Two worlds. One room.
And what about my future?
I brush my thumb over my mother’s face one more time. Then I slide the picture back into the side pocket and snap the clutch shut. The Paige that needed that photo to function no longer exists. I’m ready to move on.
I’m also ready to help Vanya. I don’t know exactly why he needs The Snow Maiden and Other Lost Tales, but I’ve come to trust him. I understand now that this book is of vital importance.
I respect the tomes in our library, cherish every single one. As a result, I got so wrapped up in what might happen to this one once he had it in his possession. Terrified he or Roman might desecrate it. I felt nervous and guilty about hiding the book at work and blowing up my orderly life.
Well, that ship has sailed.
And a book is not more valuable than a person.
I don’t know what Vanya needs it for, but we’re being hunted because of it. Lives are on the line, and if he doesn’t get this book to his Pakhan, lives could be lost. Maybe even his.
I can’t have that on my shoulders. I can’t lose someone else I care about.
Beside me, Vanya stirs.
His eyes slit open, fixating on me immediately.
Then his gaze tracks the purse as I set it aside.
Climbing out of bed, naked and bearing the marks of everything I’ve asked for and nothing else, I smile. “I’m going to go make some coffee. Come join me, and I’ll tell you about this interesting collection of Russian fairy tales I read recently.”