Chapter 19
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Julia
I feel his hands parting my thighs as he positions himself between them. The scent of rosemary and pine overwhelms my senses as I run my fingers through his dark hair.
When I feel how hard he is for me, I can't hold back the sound that escapes my lips because this man embodies every fantasy I've ever had.
His lips find the base of my neck as he slowly begins to move his hips, creating just the right friction that makes me feel like I might explode at any moment.
I tangle my hands in his hair, desperate to beg him not to stop. To continue what he's doing because I need this release as badly as my next breath.
"Julia!" The shout startles me awake, my hand flying to my throat.
Oh no. Not again.
When I look at Maksim, I see him shirtless, staring at me with confusion. It was just a dream, and I could cry from frustration because these dreams have become so constant that sometimes I wish I'd never wake up.
Because in reality, he'll never be mine. In reality, there's a barrier between us that he keeps firmly in place, no matter how hard I try to cross it. And I'm tired of it.
I'm twenty years old. I have needs, and it's painfully obvious he won't be the one to fulfill them.
"I had a nightmare," I tell him over my shoulder as I head to the bathroom.
"Judging by the sounds you were making, you seemed to be enjoying that nightmare," he retorts, and I have to stop myself from throwing back an acid reply.
I'm frustrated, and it's entirely his fault. How can he sleep half naked next to me in bed for two years and expect it not to stir anything?
Of course he doesn't care. He regularly comes home at night reeking of cheap women's perfume, and my stomach turns just imagining where that scent comes from. I don't know why I don't do something similar.
Over the past year, I've been given more freedoms—I've even gone out with them twice. Ivan and Aleksandr seem to have forgotten my presence, or they've just gotten used to seeing my face around. I'm not sure which.
I could find myself a partner for one night. Just enough to release all this sexual frustration I've built up from spending every day next to a man who looks like a god.
When I exit the bathroom, Maksim is frowning at me.
"Are you okay? You seem tense."
I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. For a split second, I'm tempted to tell him exactly what my problem is, but the impulse passes when I remember six months ago when I mentioned wanting to have sex.
The way he rejected me then, telling me we don't have that kind of relationship, crushed my heart even more than before.
Because I want Maksim like I've never wanted anyone, and seeing him prefer other women while refusing to touch me completely shatters me.
Who would want someone else's leftovers, after all?
It's pathetic thinking this way because I know that's not why he rejects me.
I don't answer him. Instead, I gather my things for training with Akim. Because ever since I mentioned sex, Akim has been the one training me. That's how badly I disgusted Maksim with my suggestion.
I walk out the door without looking at him.
Since the day I shot Aleksandr, I've been able to move relatively freely around the property. No one has bothered me out of fear of Maksim, and at least that gives me some freedom, so I don't feel completely trapped in this house.
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," Akim says as soon as he sees me.
"More like the whole mattress," I mutter, and I don't miss his laugh.
For a moment, I look at him. A few rays of sunlight fall on his face, softening his features. His eyes are warmer than my roommate's, and his hair is longer in the back, tied up to keep it from spreading out. I wonder if I could talk to him about my problem.
"Akim, would you have sex with me?"
I wish I had a camera to capture his face right now. Something between curiosity and fear flashes across his features.
"I'm not that easy to win over, Juls," he says with a laugh, but I catch something in his voice, a slight hesitation in his flirtation.
"I'm serious, Akim. I'm an adult with needs, and it's not like I can go on dates like a normal woman."
"Does Maksim know about this?"
Just the mention of his name makes me want to use him as today's target practice.
"He wasn't interested in the offer," I say, feeling heat crawl up my neck and spread across my chest.
For several seconds, while I fidget with my gun and check twenty times that it's loaded, I feel his gaze on me. Unable to wait for another rejection, I rush to add, "Please forget what I said. I think this place is making me lose my mind."
A lie because the place isn't to blame. I'm human, and it's not fair that they can go out and satisfy their needs while I can do nothing.
"Juls, it's not that. He'd rip out my liver and spleen and make me eat them if I touched you," he explains in the tone a parent uses to make a child understand.
"For that, he'd have to care, Akim."
I hate how much frustration I packed into that sentence, but I can't help it. That's how I feel.
"I think that's exactly his problem. He cares too much and doesn't know what to do with those feelings."
I try to listen and repeat to myself that Akim is right. Maksim isn't indifferent—he just doesn't know how to handle emotions like the rest of us, and instead of facing them, it's easier to ignore them. But this wall between us feels like it's suffocating me more with each passing day.
"Yesterday we found another child at the edge of the forest. This time it looks like they put up a serious fight against their attacker, which is probably why he's so on edge. We couldn't identify the perpetrator from the DNA."
"?Ay Diosito! But there hasn’t been an attack for over six months," I say quietly, remembering the nights we spent watching to see who was luring these children out and killing them so brutally.
"Yeah, something's rotten here, Juls. I don't know why, but something feels completely wrong.
How about later we go to the flower shop and you pick out some sunflowers, then we can get ingredients and you can cook some tacos al pastor?
I think we need a little normalcy to recover," he suggests, and I can't help the smile that spreads across my face.
I know the cruel things Akim does too. Two months ago, I found him in this same barn where we train, interrogating a soldier.
The man was missing both hands, and Akim was cauterizing the wounds.
When he saw my pale face and how I froze, his only response was, "So he doesn't bleed out too quickly.
" Yet this man wants to brighten my day, and since my chances of leaving here alone are zero, I accept.
During training, I try to pour all my stress and frustration into my targets and the punches I throw at Akim. At some point, I'm sure I'm sweating from head to toe, and only when I feel my muscles about to give out do I step back and call it quits.
Before heading back to the house, I ask him to show me some photos of the child who was killed this time, and he's right. The signs of struggle are clearly visible on the body. Either the attacker is losing patience, or the children are becoming more skeptical.
We've tried to warn them, but they're just kids. If someone tricks them with the promise of escaping this hell, they all accept.
When I enter the house, I hear a scream from the basement and already know what's happening. They've brought in another convoy even though there are still people from the last group down there. Too many children. Too many victims.
For two years, we've been trying to infiltrate the inner circle to find out who Ivan's "suppliers" are, which accounts and routes he uses for important shipments, but without success. The last mole ended up disfigured in the Oka River. How the hell he got there, even we don't know.
Move, Julia.
In all the months I've been here, the only times I could have tried to escape were when either Maksim or Akim took me off the property.
I knew what it meant if I ran. After the spectacle with Aleksandr two years ago, any mistake, any slipup would be pinned on Maksim, and I didn't want to cause him any more trouble. So I closed my eyes, ears, and soul to all the terrified screams, all the blood, all the beatings I witnessed.
I throw myself into the shower, trying to wash away the day's unease and frustration. I checked on the girls yesterday, and they were fine. My uncle seems to be managing with two eight-year-old firecrackers, and at least that's some consolation.
I search for something more feminine to wear, just for this occasion.
I feel like I've become one with cargo pants and black or beige T-shirts, but somehow they've become part of who I am.
After putting on a pair of jeans, boots, and a red knitted sweater, I stand and look in the mirror.
My face is more mature than when I first arrived here, and I look into my own eyes, searching for a trace of my father.
Te extrano tanto, Papá.
There are days when I can't breathe thinking about them. Days when I wish Martin's punch had dragged me into permanent darkness. But I'm here, and I'm trying not to lose myself. For them. For him.
I didn't even notice I wasn't alone in the room anymore until two gray eyes appear in the mirror.
I don't flinch because his presence is always an antidote to my anxiety.
It's his detachment and the way he seems unaffected by anyone and anything that makes me hope I'll be like that someday.
Because I feel too much. I want too much.
"Where are you going dressed like that?" His tone is meant to be curious, but I don't miss the note of suspicion.
"Akim said we could go into town to buy some flowers and ingredients for tacos al pastor," I recite without any emotion in my voice.
He doesn't deserve my emotions.
Something in his features tenses, and I can't help the way my heartbeat doubles.
Do something, Maksim. Anything.
"You're not going out."