Chapter 20
Irelynn
Ilya is gone when I wake. I find that he left the house, and Russia altogether, when I venture down for breakfast to find Luka and another man sitting with coffee, and matching grins on their faces as they listen to Polina grump about something in Russian. If I had to guess, I’d bet she’s nursing a wicked hangover. But as soon as she sees me, she shoots me a beaming smile and hurries to pour me a cup of coffee.
Sliding the brew onto the table, I start to pour cream and sugar into the black. “You don’t have to serve me, Polina.”
“Nonsense,” she clucks. “This is my job.”
“But—”
“Best not to argue with her today.” I glance at Luka in time to see him toss me a wink. “She’s prickly.”
Polina mutters something in Russian, and even though I don’t know the words, I sense enough to have a pretty good guess that Luka has landed himself a tongue lashing.
Luka must have a death wish, because he responds, “Get the girl her breakfast, woman.”
“Oh,” I try to wave it off with a nervous laugh. “I’m not hungry.”
Polina’s eyes snap to me. “You will eat.” She scowls at me as though I’ve suddenly joined the team who’ve done her wrong. “You’re too thin.”
That’s what living on peanut butter and jam sandwiches and eggs will do to a person. Instead of replying, I sip my coffee. Polina huffs as she scuttles back into the kitchen, muttering to herself as she goes.
I’m halfway finished my coffee before I gather the courage to ask, “Where is Ilya?”
“Gone.” The other man says firmly, not once looking at me as he scrolls through his phone.
Luka’s jaw clenches as he gives Boris a side-eye. “This is Boris. Together, we are your guard.”
I tense. “So, you’re here to make sure I don’t run away, then?”
“We’re here to protect you. As running away would put you in danger, yes, you could say we’re here to stop you from doing that.”
“What would I need protection from? I’ve already been kidnapped by a lunatic.”
Boris lifts his head from his phone in time for me to clock a thick black brow raising on a scarred face. Not wanting to look away, and hurt his feelings, I hold his dark, nearly black, eyes. “You think Ilya is a lunatic?”
His chuckle sends an unnerved shiver down my spine, but it’s Luka who drives that shiver home. “Ilya isn’t the only lunatic who’d be happy to, as you say, kidnap you.” My eyes snap to his as the blood drains from my face. He gives me a tight smile. “We’re here to ensure they don’t get the chance.”
“Oh—okay.” What else is a girl to say?
When Polina slides a dish of fried eggs and ham onto the table in front of me, I accept the silence as I dig in. With my plate cleared—I’m not chancing a beating from a hung over Polina when I leave an egg behind—I sit back and ask Luka, “Do you know when he will be back?”
“Should be tomorrow.”
I give a small nod. “Thank you.”
As I’m leaving the kitchen with every intention of hiding in my room—or Ilya’s room—until dinner—Luka calls my name, “Irelynn.”
I stop and turn. “Hmm?”
He stands and hands me what I quickly recognize is an ereader. The cover is floral, vibrant and blue. “It’s been loaded with books—” He clears his throat. “Books Ilya thinks you’ll like.”
“Oh. Thanks.” I don’t tell him that I won’t read it. I get terrible headaches when I read at length from a screen. It’s why I’d visited the library at home, because I hadn’t been able to afford to purchase paperbacks at the rate that I read them.
The gesture is nice, though.
I walk myself and my new, fully stocked ereader back to Ilya’s room.
Ilya doesn’t return the next day.
I spend my time between meals snuggling with Lucy on the couch in Ilya’s room and taking naps. Lucy is in love with his new home. He doesn’t know I have every intention of getting out of here with him in tow.
One would think it’s cruel to contain a cat to such a small space, but Lucy grew up in my one room apartment from kitten on, so Ilya’s massive rooms is like a castle in my cat’s eyes, surely. He’s living like a king.
It’s been three nights that I’ve slept alone in Ilya’s room. I haven’t heard from him, but after stealthily interrogating Luka, I’ve learned that he’s still alive and well, even though he’s experiencing some trouble with his business.
Luka doesn’t know when he’ll return.
I’m getting angrier as the days pass, because the man took me from my life only to dump me in his house in the middle of nowhere. In frigging Russia.
With nothing to do except read an ereader with books I desperately want to read but can’t.
I could kill him.
Really, my ability to murder is becoming more and more real as the days pass. My rage more and more honed.
I’m no longer able to sit idle in his room and wait, twiddling my thumbs and watching my cat fall in love with a thread count I’ll never be able to afford.
I’ve been exploring his house. I don’t even care if I’m invading his privacy at this point. The only room I’ve not been able to poke my head into is his office. The door is locked and even Luka doesn’t have a key.
He does, however, have four spare bedrooms on the same floor as his bedroom. They’re all beautiful, and big, and lovely.
But they don’t smell like winter and flame, spiced berries and sin.
By the sixth day of no Ilya, I move all my clothes from his closet into the room at the far end of the hall. Boris stands with his arms folded across a broad chest in the hall, ankles crossed as he leans his big body into the wall.
“You can help, you know?” I grump.
“Nope.”
I glare, then snap, “Then go away.”
“Nope.”
I roll my eyes. Over the last week, I’ve learned that Boris is difficult.
After hanging my clothes in the closet of the room that is decorated in soft creams and warm, rich browns with accents of red, I march myself back down the hallway, past Boris—I swear he’s smiling—and into Ilya’s room. With Lucy under my arm, I march back down the hall to my new room where I slam the door. Lucy gives the room a cautious once-over before he decides it’s to his newly honed, Kingly liking.
I spend the majority of my day sitting in the window nook with Lucy, watching the dogs roam their cage. There is more than one dog breed in the large enclosure, but they’re all beautifully trained. They sit prettily when the men pass, some even wagging their tails hopeful for pets. And sometimes, one of the men will pluck three or four dogs from the enclosure to walk the property with before they are enclosed again.
They’re all beautiful dogs. I’ve never had a dog, and can’t say I know breeds, but I can see that each one of these is powerful and probably deadly. Beside me, Lucy peers down at the enclosure with his yellow eyes and what can only be a kitty scowl.
“You don’t want to play with the big boys,” I tell him. “You’ll be the new chew toy.”
Lucy looks at me with a haughtiness that can only mean he understands, and he disapproves. I can’t help it, I laugh.
Goodness, I’m so lonely, I’m laughing at my cat because of a verbiage that is mostly inside my head.
I give another chuff, “I guess it’s really no different than when we were at home. Only now, we’re surrounded by pretty things.”
He must hear the sadness in my voice, because Lucy inches closer. His big yellow eyes implore me for a pet, and I oblige. Some of the tightness eases in my chest as I stroke his soft black fur.
Glancing back through the window at the dogs, I decide I’m going to meet them soon. Before I do, I’ll throw the curtains closed so as not to send a needle of jealousy through Lucy’s heart.
It’s been eight days. I’m convinced the asshole has abandoned me entirely.
“I swear, the next time I see him, I’m going to—I’m going to—” Big, warm brown eyes peer into my own as I sit on the frozen wood bench outside the kennel. There are eight dogs in total, and I’d say I’ve officially won over six in the last thirty-six hours. “Okay, okay, so I’m not a violent person. I can’t hurt him, though sometimes he makes me feel like I could turn a new leaf. But I’m angry,” I tell the dogs. They listen, for the most part, raptly.
Neither Luka nor Boris will let me inside the kennel, and they won’t take the dogs out for introductions, either. They’ve firmly forbade me from sticking any body parts through the cage and stand with their guns ready whenever I visit.
When I asked what the gun was for, Boris had said, “It’s for them. If they make any motion to harm you, I shoot to kill.”
I’d been horrified, but it had been enough for me to maintain my distance. Not because I thought the dogs would harm me, they seemed to like me just fine. But because I didn’t want one of them to take a step toward me and be shot for it.
Without glancing away from the pups, I ask Boris, “Why can’t you introduce me to them? I’ve seen you out here with them. They’re good with you. Playful, even.”
“Ilya and Misha are the only ones who make the introductions. Until then, the dogs see you as the enemy.”
“What does that mean?” I peer over my shoulder at him now.
His eyes slide from the cage to me. They move swiftly back to the cage; Boris doesn’t like to look at me. “You don’t want to find out.”
I glance back at the enclosure and mutter, “Dogs with teeth.” In my head I finish, “that tear into flesh.”
This is my third night in my new room, soon going on my second week without Ilya. I hate that I miss him.
But I do. So, so much.
Luka is nice and Polina and Daniil are great. How I feel about Boris is undecided. He and Luka take shifts ‘guarding’ me. Luka is easy to get on with. But Boris…sometimes, the way he watches me with his lips twisted into a scowl, I have a feeling he doesn’t like me. Or maybe he’s trying not to like me, but I don’t know why he’d do that.
I’ve been trying to win him over, however. Today, I made a traditional Russian pastry with Polina, and as Boris was just getting on his ‘Guard Irelynn Gig’ I’d decided to sweeten him up with a still warm from the oven, freshly glazed, treat.
Then, I challenged him to a duel in the form of a card game I’d played with my father before…
Anyway, I kicked Boris’ butt three times at War, won one real grin, and a half chuckle. At my third win, I danced a jig in my chair and earned myself one of those manly head dip and shakes. The ones where they’re trying to hide how sweetly amused they are by a woman.
As for me, my grin had been triumphant. Not long after, I’d yawned, and Boris had called it a night. He’d walked me up to my new room, glancing once at Ilya’s closed door before muttering, “He’s not going to like this.”
Not even Luka had warned me with such words. To Boris, I lifted a shoulder and replied, “Well, I don’t like him.”
His brows dipped in, and he studied me for a moment too long. Discomfort edged into the fragile comfort I’d built with Boris so far, and I’d placed a hesitant hand on the knob of my door, ready to run.
Then he’d said, “Sleep well, Little Irelynn.” With warning in his eyes, he added, “Lock your door.”
Now, I’ve showered in the lovely, attached bathroom, and am settled in bed wearing—shoot—a shirt I’d thieved from Ilya’s closet under Luka’s watchful, amused eye earlier today.
I’d tried to wear my own t-shirts to bed once Ilya left and didn’t return. But the material felt wrong and somehow itchy on my skin. The scent was a whole other matter. I realize, much to my horror, that I crave the scent of him when I sleep. It makes me feel not quite so alone.
I’ll never admit the words aloud. Not. Ever.
I fall into a fitful sleep. Every night has been fitful since Ilya left.
I hate that I miss him.
I hate that it took only days to need him.
I need to get out of here before he steals my heart like he stole my body.