Chapter 12 Micah #2
My eyes land on his arm. There are several dark marks along his arm, close to where he’s rolled up his sleeves.
It’s impossible to mistake them for anything other than what they are: track marks, and the bruising around them makes them look recent.
I wonder if my family supplies him.
I wonder if Ilya supplies him.
“Thanks again,” I mumble, looking quickly away.
That’s what I always do, isn’t it? Look away, pretend there’s no problem, go about my life as though nothing’s wrong at all.
It’s easier this way.
The most surprising thing is that he didn’t take the money for himself. The drug addicts I’ve known were prone to stealing.
The guy jogs off, and if it weren’t for the track marks, I wouldn’t have known he was an addict. Is it a recent habit? Is he one of those rare occasional users?
Should I tell Ilya about him?
He would want to know if his staff was high at work, right? Unless he supplies his staff.
This entire restaurant could be a front for drug trafficking.
No, Adam had said Ilya had gambling dens.
That doesn’t automatically preclude drugs, though.
I pull my phone out and tab over to the contacts. My thumb hovers over Adam’s name.
I should call him. I need to call him.
I need to tell him something, anything at all.
Trembling, I tap the screen, and the line begins to ring. I hope Adam will be too busy to take the call, or that he’ll ignore me, but I’m not that lucky. He answers on the third ring.
“Micah?”
“Hi,” I say thickly, quickly closing the door to the break room.
“Hi,” Adam replies. “Are you all right? He’s not making you do anything you hate, right?”
Even if he was, would Adam tell me to leave the situation? Or is he more concerned about his promotion than my safety?
I don’t like those thoughts.
“No, I’m fine,” I tell him, which is true. Maybe I should lie, though. Maybe I should say something about how terrible the sex is, or make it clear that I don’t want to be here.
I don’t know how he’d react to that. I never can read him.
“I’m working at one of his restaurants,” I add.
“Yeah? Which one?” Adam chuckles. “Is he paying you minimum wage? At least you’re getting something out of this.”
I give him the name of the restaurant. “Yes,” I lie. Adam doesn’t need to know how much Ilya is actually paying me. “But it’s okay. I’m not doing a lot of work. There are a lot of people who work here.”
What do I tell him?
I have to give him something, don’t I?
But all I really know is about Ilya’s family life, and that feels too sacred to share with Adam.
“I think there might be drugs here,” I say helplessly. “Some of the wait staff…”
Adam scoffs on the other end. “All restaurant workers are doped up addicts. I need more than that.”
“I only just started,” I tell him. “I didn’t even know about the drugs until tonight. I can…” My stomach sinks. “I can try to find out more. Who the dealer is, if it’s Ilya.” Even though I’d closed the door, I keep my voice low.
“Yeah. Keep doing that,” Adam says. After a small pause, he says, “When were you going to tell me you broke into my house, by the way?”
Never.
But that was never an option. He’d have brought it up, one way or another. Maybe it’s good that we’re getting it out of the way now instead of when I go back.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, in lieu of actually answering the question. “I didn’t take anything of yours. I promise.”
“You’d better not have,” Adam mutters. “Just as long as you didn’t do something stupid like tell Ilya Zima where I live.”
“Of course not,” I lie, fighting to remember how to breathe.
There’s a long pause, and I brace myself for another reprimand.
Finally, Adam huffs softly. “I miss you, babe. The house is a mess without you, and I’m eating so much worse without you taking care of me.”
I swallow my sigh of relief. I don’t know why Adam is willing to drop it so easily, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
“I miss you, too.” I can only imagine the condition of the place. He’s messy at the best of times, and I’ve never understood how one grown man can create so much chaos in a relatively small space. “I’ll be back soon.”
I don’t want to be.
The realization hits me hard, and I’m glad he can’t see the look on my face.
“I should go,” I say. “I need to get back to work.”
“Yeah. The sooner you find some real dirt, the sooner you can come back to me.” Adam ends the call.
I sag down into the nearby chair, the stress making my hands shake.
I realize I’m still clutching the envelope of tips, and I tuck it into my cello case, not bothering to count it — not even wanting to count it, because I feel too guilty about accepting it to begin with. Ilya’s already paying me too much.
I’m lost in thought when I hear the door open, and I jump to my feet when I see Ilya at the entrance to the break room.
“Ily…” My voice trails off.
Ilya’s expression is dark and murderous. His usually neatly combed hair is disheveled, and the collar of his shirt is in disarray. He’s no longer wearing his jacket, either, just the shirt and slacks.
And a pair of leather gloves he hadn’t been wearing before.
Ilya notices me and inhales sharply. “Mishka! Why are you here? You were playing.”
I’m momentarily frozen, but I shake it off. “I had to stop for the night,” I tell him.
Shit.
Did he hear me? Does he have this office bugged? My heart beats in triple time.
He’s going to kill me.
“I’m sorry,” I add, my voice quivering. “But are you okay?”
If I pretend everything is normal, maybe I can pretend he misunderstood. I was calling a friend, or, or…
Ilya stares at me, his frow burrowing. “You had to stop for the night? What time is it?” He reaches for his pocket, but his hands are shaking. The phone clatters to the floor.
Ilya lets out a loud curse in Russian.
I hurry forward, grabbing his phone and offering it to him. “Here,” I say, and concern colors my voice. “Are you… What happened?”
My mouth is dry.
I should stop before I make things worse.
But I could find out something important.
This farce could end here and now, and I won’t have to pretend to enjoy this life Ilya is offering me.
I’ll go back to my boyfriend, just like Adam wants.
It doesn’t matter. It never has. Right now, the only priority I have is to make sure Ilya didn’t overhear anything — that, and to find out anything I can.
I have to make all of this worth the risk.
“Come on. Let’s get out of here.” I pause. “Do you think you can drive? If not, let’s sit down while you—”
I shouldn’t be ordering him around. I cower, expecting him to respond negatively to the attention.
“I’m sorry,” I add quickly. “I shouldn’t be telling you what to do.”
“Don’t apologize,” Ilya snaps, then he curses again. “Sorry. It is… I had rough evening. Give me ten minutes, I change clothes, get ready. We… We’ll go home.” He says another angry Russian word.
I want to go to him, but I can’t bring myself to get closer.
What if, a small voice whispers in the back of my mind, he doesn’t care where we are and he lashes out at you?
But I don’t think Ilya will.
I hope he won’t.
I don’t want him to be like every other man I’ve ever tried to trust.
“Okay,” I say, pretending my voice isn’t trembling.
Ilya runs his gloved hand over his face and takes a deep breath. “Ten minutes.” He goes to one of the lockers and unlocks it. He grabs a sweater from inside, but he stares at it for a few moments before he shakes his head and pulls it on.
He takes the gloves off and stuffs them into his pockets.
“I’ll use rest—I’ll use the restroom and then we can leave,” Ilya says. He stops halfway to the door. “Or I can take you to a hotel instead. Whatever you want.”
I blink at him, taken aback. “Why would I want to go to a hotel?” I ask him, taking a few tentative steps in his direction. “I want to be around you, Ilya.”
Even if I’m scared to death.
Even if I’m wondering if starting to place any trust in him at all was stupid.
Even if I’m still not sure he didn’t overhear my conversation, and he’s waiting for us to be alone before he acts.
Ilya gives me a sad smile. “I am a scary man, Mishka. I know how I look right now. I will not be good for cuddles tonight.”
“I don’t always need cuddling,” I say quietly. “I can handle this. I can handle you.”
I’ve handled worse from Adam, and in the future, when I return to him…
“I want to go home with you,” I say instead of following that thought to its conclusion.
Ilya looks at me, and something shifts. His expression goes from angry to exhausted, and he wraps his arms around me, pulling me tight against his chest.
“Thank you,” Ilya whispers.
Relief floods me, and I nod before resting my cheek against his broad chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you get tired of me.”
Not until I find out more about his secrets.
Not until I get to know more about the man behind the mask.
Why do I care? When did things get so murky?
I’m reluctant to part from him, feeling beyond clingy even though I know we can’t stay like this for the rest of the night. Ilya pulls away and nods. “Do you need help with your cello?”
“Yes, please.” He’s always shown nothing but care with it, and he handles it more easily than I do.
I know he won’t treat it with anything less than care.
Unlike Adam.
Why do I keep comparing them?
It’s almost like my mind thinks there’s actually a reason.
Ilya carefully picks up the cello case, and he carries it to the back door like it weighs nothing at all.
I hold the door open for him and help him get it into the back seat of the car. Ilya lets out a small huff of air.
“You could have used the wheels,” I point out gently, bracing myself for a harsh reprimand.
Ilya laughs. “But there was the step. Wheels do not go over steps.”
That’s fair enough. I don’t point out that he could’ve used the wheels until he got to the steps. There’s no sense in further inviting any sort of negative reaction. “Thank you,” I say. “For caring for him.”