Chapter 7
Maddie
Iwatch Volodya walk away, wanting to scream at his retreating broad shoulders.
I’m getting sick and tired of him leaving me wet and wanting.
Last night he’d put a damn knife to my throat and then told me to run from him.
When I’d gotten to my room, it had taken one single swipe of my finger over my clit before I’d come so hard I’d actually fallen to my goddamn knees.
I think he would’ve appreciated that had he been there to witness it.
By the time I get all the groceries put up, the anger has mostly subsided.
The ache between my legs, not so much, but at least the rage is gone.
I busy myself with housework for the rest of the day, and then pretend like I don’t care when Volodya isn’t back by suppertime.
I fill the dogs’ bowls up and eat with them and then spend an hour playing and loving on them before I finally give up and haul my ass to bed.
The next few days pass by with me barely seeing him, and I’m pretty sure he’s avoiding me.
I’m not sure what to do about it, but my mom gives me the perfect excuse to confront him when she calls me, telling me all about some foundation that’s gotten in touch with her, offering to pay for all her treatments.
And if that wasn’t suspicious enough, the best oncologist in the city, the one I’d tried like hell to get her an appointment with but was never able to because her copay was too expensive, is out of the blue calling her to set up a visit.
My mom is so happy she’s crying into the phone, and my head is spinning too fast for me to catch up. None of it makes any fucking sense. The man who is scary as fuck, who I witnessed commit murder, is now paying for my mom’s treatments and getting her the best doctor available?
“Mom, that’s amazing,” I finally manage to say. “What’s the name of the foundation? Do you know who runs it?”
“They just said it was the Cubby Bear Foundation, and that all my future medical expenses would be taken care of, including any outstanding bills I already have. And Dr. Gibson, can you believe it?” I hear the relieved sigh coming through the phone.
“For the first time in a long time, I actually feel like I can beat this damn thing.”
My throat feels tight at my mom’s words.
I know she’s been worrying and that being diagnosed again was like a punch in the gut, but I hadn’t realized just how much of a toll it’s been taking on her.
She’s always put on a brave face for me, and I hate that she’s been secretly worrying so much about this.
“Of course you’re going to beat it, Mom. You’re going to kick its ass again, and this time it’s going to be for good. When’s your first appointment?”
“This Monday at nine.”
“I’ll be there,” I promise her.
We say our goodbyes and now I’m more determined than ever to confront Volodya.
Since it’s Thursday, I go into his room so I can wash his bedding.
I haven’t been in here since he gave me the tour.
I’ve been avoiding it. The room looks just as pristine as the last time I saw it.
I start peeling off the blankets and sheets, ignoring the way his scent clings to everything.
Bunching it all up, I carry it to the laundry room, but before I drop it in the washer, I press my face into it and inhale deeply, filling my lungs with the spicy cologne and the unique scent underneath that’s just him.
It’s not my proudest moment, and I’d be mortified if he caught me inhaling his used sheets like a fucking perv, but I can’t help it.
I take one more deep breath of him and then toss it in.
Not surprisingly, he doesn’t show for supper, but I don’t let it deter me.
I play with the dogs out back and then bring them in so we can all wait together.
I’m starting to learn their different personalities, so I’m not surprised at all when Graza jumps up on the couch next to me, laying his big, grey head in my lap.
He loves cuddles more than the other two.
They all three love to be petted, but Graza is the only dog I’ve ever known who loves to be hugged on.
I turn on the TV and pick a random movie, not really caring what it is as long as it keeps my mind occupied.
When Volodya finally drags his ass through the door, the dogs and I are sprawled all over his couch and I’m two seconds away from falling asleep.
His open floor plan allows him a clear view of us when he steps into the kitchen.
I hear his heavy sigh from across the room.
“I don’t allow them on the couch,” he says, pouring himself a vodka. “That’s why I bought them the nice dog beds.”
The dogs give me a pleading look to please not kick them off, so I don’t. I pet them and keep my eyes on the man who’s been ignoring me all week. “I had an interesting phone call with my mom today.”
“Oh yeah?” He takes a drink and steps into the living room, taking the seat across from where I’m sitting. His knees and arms are spread wide, the glass in his hand and a wicked glint in his eyes. The man takes up so much damn space. He enters a room and it instantly grows smaller.
I sit up, trying to not feel so intimidated by him. “Seems some sort of foundation came across her name and decided to pay for all her treatment. They even got her in with the best oncologist in the city.”
“Well, that’s fortunate. I’m sure she’s happy about that. What’s the name of the foundation?”
“The Cubby Bear Foundation,” I say, and he nearly chokes on his drink.
He lets out a harsh laugh. “That’s a really fucking stupid name.” Pulling his phone out, he angrily swipes his finger across the screen, sending a quick text to someone before putting it away again.
“It’s you, isn’t it?” I ask.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I run my fingers over Graza’s back, stroking his silky fur while I study Volodya.
“Fine. Play dumb all you want. I know it’s you, and usually I’d call you out on it and insist you tell me the truth, but this is for my mom, and I haven’t heard her sound this happy in a long time.
I have no idea why you’re choosing to do it, but thank you. ”
He stays silent and takes another drink, and god is it infuriating. Giving Graza another pet, I stand up, deciding I’m way too tired to deal with all this.
“Leftovers are in the fridge if you want them. I guess I’ll see you again in a week.”
When I start to leave, he says, “I’m taking care of supper tomorrow, so don’t cook.”
“You mean you’re actually going to be here?”
He lifts his glass again, and this time I notice the red on his hands.
“Holy shit,” I whisper, stepping closer.
He lifts a dark brow at me when I grab his arm to get a closer look.
“Is that blood? Are you covered in dried blood?” Before he can answer, I’m kneeling before him, pulling his sleeve up and searching him for injuries.
“Are you hurt? Do you need me to take you to a doctor?”
His laughter is the last thing I’m expecting. I drop his arm and glare at him. “I’m glad this is so fucking funny to you.”
“I’m not hurt, kiska. It’s so sweet that you worry, though.”
“So what, did you kill a guy tonight?”
A smile plays at the corner of his lips. “Do you really expect me to answer that?”
“How many people have you killed, Volodya?” The question comes out in a whisper, and I’m not really expecting an answer, but he reaches his hand out, stroking my cheek with one of the fingers that’s covered in some poor fucker’s blood.
“Too many to remember,” he says, but he doesn’t seem too bothered by it.
He doesn’t give me a haggard look. He’s not a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders who’s haunted by his guilty conscience.
He seems perfectly at peace with it. The only thing I see written on his face is desire, but beneath that is a stubbornness that refuses to let him act on it.
He’d crossed the line when he’d kissed me in the kitchen, and he’s determined to not cross it again.
“I’m going to bed,” I tell him, because if I stay here any longer, I’m going to do something really embarrassing like crawl into his lap.
“Sweet dreams, kiska,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek one last time before I stand and force my feet to move.
“Night, Volodya,” I say on my way out, ignoring the voice in my head that’s pleading with me to go back to him.
I don’t fall for people this quickly. I’m usually pretty damn level-headed and in control of my emotions, but something about that man makes me feel like I’m spiraling out of control, like I’ve lost my footing and I’m just waiting to fall. He knocks me completely off balance.
I go to my room, but it takes me a long time before I’m able to fall asleep.
The next night I’m not sure what to expect.
I do as he said and don’t prepare supper.
When I’ve just about convinced myself that he’s actually not going to show, he comes walking in with a bag of groceries, and as soon as the dogs see him, they go nuts.
They’re always excited when he comes home, but tonight they go absolutely berserk.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask him.
He puts the bag on the counter and says, “Steak night,” as if it’s a no-brainer.
I watch him start to prepare everything and then follow him to the veranda. He gets the grill started and throws on the potatoes, and while those start to cook, he throws the ball for his dogs.
“This is why you smelled like a grill,” I say, muttering to myself.
“What?” He tosses the ball again and watches me.
“When you took me, happy anniversary by the way, I noticed that you smelled like you’d been grilling. Do you do this every Friday?”
He gives his broad shoulders a shrug. “It’s steak night.” He gives me a wink and adds, “Happy anniversary to you too.”