Chapter 12 Micah #3
Gendering the instrument reminds me of our first conversation, and it brings a wistful smile to my lips. I wish it had been a genuine meeting, not something I’d orchestrated at Adam’s behest.
We don’t speak as we drive back to his condo. I wonder about where he’d gone, what he’d done, to end up so agitated.
It’s not my business, except it is.
I need to know, but I don’t want to know.
The first thing Ilya does when we get back to the condo is disappear into the shower. I listen to the water running and contemplate leaving despite it all. I have the tip money. That would get me a bus ticket or a train ticket to…
Well, to the hotel I’d already turned down.
Or out of New Bristol entirely.
It’s not much, and it wouldn’t get me far, but maybe other cities would offer new opportunities.
The cynical but realistic part of me reminds myself that I have nothing: no job history, no time to pack the clothes Ilya’s gotten for me, nowhere to go.
I hate it.
I hate the sense of helplessness I feel.
Adam’s still waiting for me, anyway.
He misses me.
He needs me.
I let out a slow breath then turn for the kitchen. I don’t know if he ate at the restaurant or not, but I dig through the fridge and pantry to look for something I can cook if it turns out he hadn’t. Caring for a man is something I know how to do, and if he relaxes with me, he might talk.
If he relaxes, I’ll be safe.
I’ve finished prepping a quick dish of pasta and a fried egg when Ilya returns, wearing a t-shirt and loose sweats. He’s still toweling his hair dry.
“Sorry,” Ilya says, and he sounds subdued. “I scared you.”
I hesitate, not sure whether I should lie or tell the truth. Somehow, I don’t think lying about this is going to get me anywhere, so I nod to him. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I don’t know what happened, but…”
But he hadn’t lashed out at me, in the end.
Maybe it’s because this is early days, when everything is good and perfect.
Or maybe he would never be violent to someone he genuinely likes.
To me.
“Do you want to talk about it? I won’t judge.” It feels heavy-handed, but like I’d told Adam, I’m no spy.
“It is nothing,” Ilya mutters as he sits down at the kitchen table.
I set the food down in front of him and quickly take a seat across from him.
Ilya takes two bites, then sighs again. “You didn’t have to cook. But thank you. I am feeling myself better.”
“I know I didn’t have to,” I tell him. “I wanted to.” I’m too rattled to be hungry, but I force myself to eat, too.
I’m used to doing that.
After his plate is half eaten, Ilya says, “I’m not a nice man, Mishka. I should hide this from you, but you already know this.”
“I do,” I say. There’s no sense in bothering to lie, and besides, if he thinks I’m somehow involved in the same sorts of things, he might be more inclined to tell me the truth of what’s going on.
“It doesn’t bother me. I mean… I don’t know what you’re doing, exactly, but I know it’s not…
” I trail off, not sure what word to use.
“Legal?” Ilya supplies. He smiles at me. “Did that pig—your cop—tell you that?”
I could lie about this, too, but I don’t. “Yes,” I tell him. “He tried to tell me not to trust you. He said you were with the, um, with the Russian mafia.”
“The bratva,” Ilya says. “The OPG. Yes. My father was big member of the bratva. If I did not go to jail, he would have let his men kill me. But now he’s dead, and I’m here.”
I swallow hard. Hearing him admit it isn’t what I’d expected. I’d thought he’d deny it, that I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of it. “Did you… kill him?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer to that question but unable to stop myself from asking anyway.
Ilya bursts out laughing. “They think I did. The other leaders. They think I killed him, and they are happy but they are afraid. So I’m here, in charge of New Bristol, where I can’t try to take over my father’s legacy.
” Ilya winks at me. “But I didn’t do it.
He had a heart attack. I simply did not call the ambulance. ”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say about that. Who would?
I don’t even know if I’d call an ambulance for my own parents, and they hadn’t done anything even close to what his father had done.
“Now I’m here, and I like America more than Russia, and I’m tired of it all.” Ilya reaches out to touch my hand. “I kept thinking about you, and how nice it was to use the flogger, how much I liked it—and how much I hated everything else I was doing.”
“You mean everything with the bratva,” I clarify. I don’t know why it surprises me as much as it does. That kind of life seems like it would chew anyone up and spit them out.
“I don’t want to be my father. I didn’t feel like my father with you. But tonight, I did. I thought, this is what Vladislav Zima would do.”
I search his expression. “You didn’t hurt me,” I tell him, and I’m somehow sure he wouldn’t. Ilya might get angry, and he might even yell, but he’d never lay a hand on me. “You aren’t like him.”
Then again, I don’t know who did get hurt, or why.
Ilya sighs deeply. “You are too good to be with me, Mishka. We will find you a nicer boyfriend. One who is your age and is gentle.”
“I’m not,” I say fiercely. “I’m not too good. I’m not good at all.”
I’m a spy and I will betray him despite how good he’s been to me.
And for what?
“I don’t want a nicer boyfriend. I don’t want one who’s my age, who doesn’t understand the way the world works,” I continue. “I would never relate to someone like that. I want you.”
The sheer reality of that, the fact that the words are true, hits me like a sledgehammer.
Ilya smiles sadly. “I should insist, but I’m selfish. I’ll keep you for as long as you want to stay.”
I don’t want to leave.
I don’t want to go back to Adam.
“I want to be kept,” I whisper, my voice ragged as my heart races. “I want to be kept by you.”
Ilya picks up my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Then for now, you are mine, Mishka.”
I smile, but it’s lopsided and feels strange. For now.
I squeeze his hand back. “Yours,” I say, and it’s strange. It’s so damn strange, and I don’t know what to make of that simple word or the significance of it.
I don’t know what to do.
But I do know one thing.
Somewhere along the way, I went from wanting to do this for Adam to wanting to do this for myself. And now that I have…
I want Ilya.
Fuck.