CHAPTER 15
Petal
Am I in shock? This must be what shock feels like. I think?
Opulence surrounds me in this fancy bathroom the man, Zinovy he said to call him, brought me to.
Gleaming marble surrounds me everywhere from the floor to the ceiling, yet even the tiles under my socked-feet feels warm and relaxing.
I glance at the shiny silver handle of the door, finding it’s still locked, leaving me alone to process everything that’s happened in the last few hours.
“I do not hear the water running, little bird.” It’s not a question.
The intense rumble of his statement is hardly muffled by the thick door between us.
After hanging my backpack from a hook in the kitchen, just inside the door from the enormous garage where he parked his gigantic truck, in at the massive mansion he drove us to, Zinovy led me up to this bathroom and instructed me to wash up.
He also commanded me to leave the clothes I’d been wearing in a metal bucket he’d handed me just before closing the door.
Something about incinerating possible evidence?
I hadn’t realized I’d been near enough to the terrifying action to get anything incriminating on me, but a look in the mirror shows a sprinkling of red mist over my face and arms that must have come from when George and Zinovy shot the man trying to rob the diner.
“Still not hearing the shower. If you cannot do as you are told, you will make me believe you need me to come in to help you, my Petal.” There’s a pause, and my feet refuse to carry me away from the door in case I miss a single word he says in that sexy Russian accent.
“Or maybe, that is what you would like, hmm? You want me to prove I was serious when I said you are all I see?”
The reminder of his solemn promise when he buckled me into his truck sends a skitter of apprehension down my spine even as it soothes my needy heart. I can’t recall anyone ever making me feel so seen, so taken care of, as I have felt these last weeks with the sense of being watched by Zinovy.
“I can do it!”
I jump at his chuckle in response, realizing he can tell how close I’ve hovered to the door by how loudly my voice carries through it. My cheeks flood with the heat of embarrassment. How is it I’ve become so awkward?
“Good. Get to it then. I’ll wait right here for you to finish.
Then it’s straight to bed. Today has been very stressful, and you must rest.” He sounds so formal when he speaks to me, yet the few things I heard him say to that other man before we left Pete’s were much more casual. Even if they were just as bossy.
The shower is a marvel, and not only because I’ve been making do with quickie sink wash ups in between truck stop showers lately.
Hot water steams the air, and the scent of lavender perfumes the room.
Muscles I haven’t unclenched in months soften and accept this is a safe place.
At least, a safer place than I’ve been in who knows how long.
I notice the bottles filling the inset shower ledge and immediately discomfort sours my excitement.
“What’s with all the women’s stuff in here?
Am I going to make some lady wanna take my head off for using her shower?
” I raise my voice to be heard over the pounding spray of not one, or even two showerheads, but eight.
Eight separate showerheads spaced around the enclosure that is actually, seriously, a room of a shower.
The bottles of scented bodywash, shampoo, conditioner, and even shave oil and a brand new looking razor are all clustered on a recessed cubby along one wall and look as if they’ve never been used.
Whoever owns these luxury toiletries is bound to return for them.
There’s easily five hundred dollars or more worth of fancy stuff I’ve only ever seen in magazines.
“There is no one to be angry with you for using anything here. This is your house, little bird.”
The door must be thicker than I thought, because I’m sure I misheard what he just said.
“I’m sorry, what?” Maybe, I yell a little overloud back at the door.
The door swings open not a moment later, allowing Zinovy to stroll through as casually as a person might enter a grocery store.
He makes no apologies for barging in here, lock be damned.
His eyes eat up my nakedness, scanning me from head to toe with long slow pauses to drink me in.
Shock has me rooted in place, halfway over the threshold into the shower enclosure.
“You… You can’t just… I mean… Ugh!” I finally get control of my motor skills and force my legs to hustle me behind the tiled wall that surrounds the shower.
“I had intended to give you time and privacy to acclimate, but your worries must be put to rest. I will not allow you to believe another woman could be here. This is your home.”
“My home?” I parrot back.
“Your name is on the deed. I bought this home for you. It is in your name, so you will never sleep in a storage garage again.” His accent has become thicker and thicker as lust glows more and more bright in his eyes.
The meaning of his statement sinks in, bringing with it a hundred questions and a few absolute certainties.
Biggest of all is the realization that I really have had someone watching me.
Following me. Stalking me. I wasn’t imagining things or being overreactive.
Not only was I actually being followed, but I was right every time I allowed myself to feel calm anyway.
By rights, I should have been freaked out at the thought of someone stalking me, especially in the wake of everything Jordan put me through.
Thinking about his claim that this is my house, my mansion, has a tidal wave of anxiety slamming into me.
My knees buckle, and I sink onto the wide bench that lines one entire wall of the shower room.
The events of tonight seem to be multiplying and getting more and more absurd.
From the chaos at the diner to my mysterious stalker showing up just in time to rescue me, and now him bringing me to this humongous place he says is mine? It’s too much to unpack.
“Are you okay? You are never this quiet.” Zinovy’s rough accent makes the question sound almost like an accusation, and it’s the push that sends me over the edge. I’m crashing out, and I know it, even as I feel completely powerless to stop it.
“I’ve never been kidnapped by a giant Russian who interrupts a shootout at my job, either!” I shout. “If this is my house, then I get to say who can be in it. And I say you can’t. Get out, Zinovy. Out of my bathroom!”
Tears mix with the water splashing my face from the nearest showerhead.
I hate the feeling of being out of control, and I doubly hate that I just lashed out at a man who’s done nothing but show me kindness since the moment he first sat at the counter of Pete’s Pastries.
My tongue feels too thick to call back the words, and when I hear the heavy tread of Zinovy’s boots tromping out of the room, I’m not sure I could speak even if I tried.
I’m too confused. Too scared and overwhelmed.
Too everything to sort out what’s going on between us right now.
This is all happening so fast. I just need a minute alone to figure out what I need to do next.
I nearly got shot by would-be robbers then watched the guy I’m pretty sure has been stalking me for days murder at least one of the robbers.
Now, I’m in the guy’s house, and he’s professing all sorts of possessiveness, and I just need a second to breathe.