Chapter 22 – Freya
Eight Weeks Later
It was good to be back home.
However, there was a slight problem. A gnawing, nagging feeling inside that I wasn’t home. Nothing felt the same. Not even as I stood by the tall windows, gazing out at the LA skyline, the familiar city lights twinkling like diamonds against the dark canvas of the night.
To think that there was a time when I wanted nothing more than a more active life outside the walls of the cubicle back at the office, only to get stuck in the mansion of a lead mobster as his wife.
It had been a month since we’d returned from Moscow, moving into Egor’s giant mansion here in LA, and the world seemed to have settled back into its routine, except mine. Mine was forever changed.
I swept my hair behind my ears and crossed my arms over my chest, my thoughts drifting to my husband . He’d been in and out of courtrooms, with Arlo working tirelessly to clear his name. And clear it they did—the charges against him had been dropped, and he was once again a free man. Thanks to the evidence I provided, even if he didn’t think it was consequential to show gratitude. A part of me felt unease knowing that justice hadn’t been served.
But one thing had gone right—Egor released John, just as I’d asked. Though I’d heard rumors that John hadn’t emerged unscathed, that he’d suffered from broken ribs and bones at Egor’s hands, through his brothers. I shuddered at the thought, my mind reeling with implications. He truly was a monster, no matter how charming he seemed.
A gust of cool breeze from the air-conditioner forced gooseflesh to rise on my skin, and I rubbed my arms to keep myself warm. The house was quiet. It always was. Egor hadn’t been home much, and Anatoly preferred moving around town with his boss to babysitting the lonely wife at home. Anna hadn’t come with us, and I missed her. We might not have been the best of friends, but she was the best companion when I needed that most.
I chuckled aloud, remembering how I’d grown tired of eating her traditional blini , amongst other special dishes she loved cooking frequently, and now I missed every one of them. Here, it was just me in this big house, all alone. Egor didn’t bother with my food or cooking. He ate three square meals outside the house but kept the fridge loaded. He’d said he wanted me to eat healthy and proved it by ensuring I had a full supply of healthy food, stocking the fridge to the brim with fresh fruits, vegetables, and lean meat. There were rows of juicy apples, crisp carrots, and plump grapes. The shelves were lined with whole-grain bread, lean turkey, and fresh fish. I even spotted containers of my favorite Greek yogurt topped with fresh berries.
So, I was free to cook and eat whatever I wanted.
And like the gnawing feeling of not being at home, there was another that lingered. How often did Egor attend to work outside? Was it always business, or was there a bit of pleasure in the mix? In summary, and in plain English, was there a chance that he was... shagging other women?
For a man like him, of his build and reputation, thoughts like that weren’t far-fetched, and his private business should not have posed a challenge or a bother to me, but it did. The vile claws of jealousy wrapped themselves around my heart and squeezed until bitterness consumed me. My mind wasn’t helping, either, conjuring rancid pictures of him between another woman’s legs, touching her as he touched me, kissing her as he kissed me, filling her up, and driving her crazy with need, just as he had with me.
My thoughts drifted further and further down the crude mental images, almost far gone, when I felt an uncomfortable squishiness between my legs, like something warm and wet trickling down my skin in a line.
Lifting my skirt, I peeled my gaze off the twinkling city lights and stared at the trickle making its way down. I touched it, pressed my fingers together, and peered closer.
My heartbeat accelerated, thrashing against my ribcage, and panic overwhelmed my senses.
Blood.