Chapter 9 Willow
WILLOW
My heart slams against my ribs, my fight or flight impulse surging into gear as Malice strides toward me.
He’s just as terrifyingly beautiful as I remember him. All dark gray eyes and sharp cheekbones, like some kind of gorgeous demon. A devil walking the earth and coming right toward me.
I take a step back, wanting to put more space between us, but he doesn’t let me. He keeps coming, and I stumble backward until I smack into the back of the nearby building.
As he closes the last bit of distance between us, my hand delves into my messenger bag, closing around the cool metal of the switchblade handle. Acting on instinct and pure, raw fear, I grab it out, flicking the mechanism to release the blade at the same time I bring it up.
I raise it to the level of Malice’s throat just as he takes a final step forward, and the sharp edge of the blade makes contact with his skin.
His eyes widen, and he goes still, stopping with about a foot of space left between us. It’s clear he didn’t expect someone like me to do something like this, and I wonder how long it’s been since someone fought back against this dominating, powerful man.
The surprise in his expression doesn’t last for long, though. His face twists into a grim smile, and instead of backing away, he leans in closer to me, letting the edge of the knife press a little more firmly into his skin.
I swallow hard, and his smile turns into a smirk.
“If you’re going to pull a knife on me, Solnyshka, you’d better be prepared to use it,” he purrs, his voice low and dangerous.
It sends a shiver up my spine, but I try not to show it. My mouth is dry, and my heart feels like it’s going a mile a minute in my chest, but I don’t back down. I keep the knife where it is, tightening my fingers around the handle.
“If you and your brothers want me to pretend you don’t exist, maybe you should stop showing up wherever I am,” I shoot back. “Stop. Following. Me.”
Malice’s smile turns hard and sharp around the edges—just like the rest of him.
“Sorry. That’s not how this works,” he says bluntly. “We do whatever the fuck we like, and you’ll do whatever the fuck we say.”
Something in me lurches at that, and I squeeze the handle of the knife tighter, my knuckles turning white.
“Who was that guy?” Malice asks, changing the subject so fast it leaves me reeling.
“What guy?”
His eyes narrow. “The one who talked to you earlier.”
I blink, because I genuinely don’t know what he’s talking about for a moment. Who? The admin guy?
“Oh. You mean Colin?” I say after a beat.
Malice’s lips press together. “Is that his name?”
“Why do you want to know?” I fire back.
He fixes me with a hard look. “Because I want to know every-fucking-thing.”
Control freak.
The thought flits through my head, but I don’t let the words come out of my mouth. I really don’t want to know what happens if I piss this guy off more than I already have. Instead, I just shrug a shoulder.
“He’s just a guy who goes to my school. We talk sometimes, mostly about homework.”
Malice grunts, still watching me intently.
He doesn’t say anything else, and I can feel the question I want to ask hovering on my tongue, fueled by the burning need for answers. I lick my lips and take a deep breath, gathering my courage.
“Why did you do that? Pay my tuition? Put money in my bank account? I know it was you guys.”
Dark gray eyes smolder with irritation as Malice snorts under his breath in response. “If you don’t get why, then you’re dumber than you look.”
I swallow hard, allowing myself to hate him in this moment. He’s harsh and cruel, and he clearly doesn’t give a shit about me.
“Do you expect me to thank you?” I ask, even though it’s probably about as stupid to taunt him as it would be to kick a hive full of bees.
Malice leans in, seeming to take up more space than any one man should be able to as he presses harder against the knife at his throat.
I glance down to see blood welling where the sharp blade cuts shallowly into his skin, and my gaze follows the single bright red droplet that trails down his throat.
He’s got tattoos creeping up his neck from beneath his shirt, and there’s a rough, raised scar on one side, just below his ear.
Yanking my focus away from all of that, I look back up at his face again as he murmurs, “I expect you to keep your mouth shut.”
“I have,” I snap, but the words stick in my throat.
Whatever bravery I was feeling when I pulled the knife is starting to fade as fear rises up again. I know he wasn’t kidding about being willing to kill me. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t even hesitate if it came down to it.
The way he’s looming over me fills my mind with a sudden flash of the dream I had the night I ran home from the brothel.
It’s almost the same, except for the difference in location, and the fact that I’m wearing more clothes now than I was in the dream.
Malice is probably armed—he seems like the kind of guy who goes armed everywhere—and it makes me think of what he did to me with his gun in the dream.
Oh god. No, Willow. Don’t think about that. Don’t let him know you’re thinking about that.
My body responds to the memory of the dream, my pulse picking up and my breath catching. A simmering heat pools in my belly, mixing with the fear and anxiety that were already there to create a strange cocktail.
I do my best to keep any of that from showing on my face, but it’s almost like Malice can smell it on me. He cocks his head like a dog picking up a scent, his eyes narrowing.
He looks at me like he can see right through me, and something about his unwavering gaze just makes my skin flush even hotter. I feel like I can’t breathe, and my tongue darts out, licking my suddenly dry lips.
“I’ve kept my mouth shut,” I repeat. “I would’ve done that anyway, even without the money.”
“Good.” Malice nods slightly, sending one more droplet of blood cascading down his throat. “Keep it that way.”
He steps away from me suddenly, putting space between us.
“You won’t see me or my brothers again,” he says. “As long as you stick to the deal and don’t say shit to anyone.”
I hold very still, not sure what else to do or say, and for a long moment, Malice doesn’t move either. He just watches me with those sharp, intense eyes, making me feel like I’m prey and he’s a predator with his sights on me, just waiting for me to run so he can chase me down.
Then he flicks his gaze toward the knife, which is still clutched in my hand.
“Learn how to use that or get rid of it,” he says before turning and walking away, leaving me staring after him.
He follows the path between the buildings and then turns left, disappearing from sight. Once I can’t see him anymore, I let out a shaky breath, sagging against the side of the building I’m pressed against. A wave of delayed adrenaline floods my veins, making me feel sick in a rush.
My breath comes faster, and my body hums with a weird energy. I feel completely disoriented, like two worlds that were never meant to touch have collided, leaving me shaky and unsure what to do in the aftermath.
My phone rings in my pocket, and I jump at the sudden sound, dragging it out and hitting the button to answer it without even checking to see who’s calling.
“Hello?”
“Willow. Hi, baby.”
The voice on the other end makes me jerk back to reality with a sickening lurch.
It’s my mom. Fuck.
We don’t speak very often anymore. Usually, I screen her calls better, not answering when I’m not in the mood to deal with her, but I wasn’t thinking this time.
My fingers tighten around the phone, and I keep the knife clutched in my other hand, as if holding it will somehow keep me grounded during this conversation.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?” I ask, trying to sound neutral until I know what she wants.
“Nothing, baby. I’m just calling to check up on you,” she replies. “I know you’ve been busy with school, and that things have to be rough with tuition and all. Those places really overcharge, considering they can’t even guarantee you a job when you graduate.”
I roll my eyes but relax just a little. She’s clearly in one of her ‘be a good mom’ phases, where she showers me with love and affection, pretending like all the times she’s stolen from me and manipulated me haven’t happened.
Those phases never seem to last very long, but I can’t seem to bring myself to tell her to fuck off when they do happen. Because it feels nice, having someone care. Even if it’s just temporary.
“I’m working it out,” I tell her. “Picking up extra shifts when I can. I think it’s going to be okay.”
There’s no way in hell I can tell her that the money has been taken care of, or how.
“Are you sure? I can try to help you with your school costs if you need me to.”
“That’s okay, Mom. I’ve got it covered.”
She makes a soft noise, but she doesn’t sound annoyed. Yet. “You always say that. We’re family, Willow. Family helps each other.”
Hearing those words makes me grind my teeth a little.
That’s what she always says. Family helps each other.
She used to say it when I caught her going through my purse, or when she asked me not to say anything to the people from school who came sniffing around when I was younger, wondering why I was never in class.
It always seemed to be me helping her, though, never the other way around. But whenever I got upset about it, she’d remind me that she was all I had in the world. That she gave me a roof over my head and food to eat, so I owed her for that.
“I know,” I hear myself say, the words falling from my lips on autopilot. “If I need you, I’ll call. Bye, Mom.”
I end the call and then take a deep breath, shoving my phone back into my pocket and the knife back into my bag before heading across campus to the bus stop.
As I go, I keep glancing side to side, half expecting the third Voronin brother to jump out of a bush somewhere. Victor is the only one I haven’t had an encounter with yet, so it feels almost inevitable.
Malice promised I wasn’t going to see any of them again…
But somehow, I don’t think that’s true.