23. Arkadiy
23
ARKADIY
R afael’s dark eyes lift to mine when I enter my office at the speed of a bullet being dislodged from a gun. He’s nursing a half-consumed glass of whiskey and sniffing a cigar like he doesn’t screw up his nose every time he’s offered one by a foreign dignitary.
He places down the gift from a Saudi prince when I say, “Call Darius and organize for him to transport Mara home. She’ll be out for a week in her condition.”
“Fuck her over that good?”
His question is a knife to the gut, and I snarl my disapproval.
Rafael grunts before slipping onto the chair across from the desk. “What the fuck did you do, Ark?”
“Nothing,” I snap back as I move to the bar, needing something to fill my hands before my nails add to the permanent nicks and scars covering half my body.
Rafael glances at me with his brows pulled, then asks, “What do you mean nothing?”
“How else can I explain it to you, Raf?” I pour a generous serving of whiskey, toss it back, then slam the glass down. “It’s pretty self-explanatory.”
“You carried her to your room, in your fucking arms. She may not have been clutching your biceps like Ann in King Kong , but she sure as fuck had portions of your body brushing against her fingertips.” The bewilderment on his face increases. “Yet you did nothing the instant you had her alone, in the very far corner of your apartment, away from the prying eyes of the woman who has your head in such a tail-fucking-spin that I’m struggling not to puke.” Since he isn’t asking questions, more summarizing events, he doesn’t wait for me to reply. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why wouldn’t you take advantage of that?”
“ Advantage? ” I choke on the whiskey lingering in the back of my throat. “Perhaps therein lies the problem. I don’t want to take advantage of her.”
“She hurt her ankle, dickwad. She’s not intoxicated or strung out on drugs. She knew what she was doing and would have been an extremely obliging participant.”
I can’t deny a single thing he says since it is true. Every inch of Mara’s body begged for me to touch her. Her nipples. Her lips. Those fucking eyes. They were all begging, and it took everything I had to walk away.
I did it for one reason and one reason only.
Tillie.
As if he read my silent thoughts, Raf says, “You’re an idiot.”
“I’m reasonably sure we established just how fucked in the head I am decades ago.” I down another three-finger serving of whiskey. It does little to ease the bristling of hesitation prickling my arm hairs. “The fact you’re surprised has me hopeful I can pull the wool over more than your eyes in the near future.”
Rafael scoffs but remains quiet, the fight not in him.
I slump into my chair and then run my fingers through my hair. The scent my quick rake wafts up worsens my mood. I can smell Mara on me, and it has nothing to do with the number of times I’ve stroked my cock to the scent of her shampoo.
When she whispered that she trusted me, I stood so close we almost became one.
At that moment, there was no one in the world but us.
Then the quickest whiff of a perfume I will never forget saw me throwing it all away as if our sparks are empty candy wrappers.
I’ve never felt more ashamed or conflicted.
“So,” Rafael starts, pulling my focus back to him, “how do you want to play this?”
I stare at him, lost.
“Mara.” He scoffs again. “ Obviously. ”
“She needs to take a few days to heal her ankle.” And to let me get my head screwed on straight before I do something that will monumentally alter her life. “Once it’s good, she can continue with her placement.”
He twists the knife in deeper. “You still want her to work for you?”
“Of course I want her to work with me. Why the fuck wouldn’t I want her to work with me?”
He snorts. “I don’t know… probably because you don’t want to torment yourself anymore.”
I debate my reply before delivering the weakest one. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Rafael’s eye roll is more mature than his tone. “All right. Whatever you say.” After hooking his left ankle onto his right knee, he repeats, “So how do you want to play this?” This time, he doesn’t wait for me to show my hand. He reveals his royal flush straight out the gate. “Do you want Darius to carry Mara to your town car and up five flights of stairs before showing himself into her apartment she’s never let any man in but you? Or are you happy for me to call a random Uber driver and hope he’s willing to accept a quick butt grab for additional services rendered?” I straighten, my glare hot enough to scald, but Rafael acts oblivious. “I’d offer, but…” Air whistles between his teeth. “Her maid’s outfit does crazy things to my?—”
“End that sentence and I will end you.”
He stiffens, the smile leaving his face. “Therein lies the real problem, Ark. You can’t play the game for both sides. That isn’t how it works.” He stands, straightens his jacket and tie, and heads for the door. “Reel her in or let her go.” He grips the doorframe, incapable of leaving without making sure I know I’ll never be without his support. “I’ll be around for a few more hours if you need to borrow a rod.”
My hum is low, but he must hear it, as he leaves without so much as a backward glance.
I wait for the stomps of his feet to stop sounding into my office before picking up my phone and calling a frequently called number.
Darius answers two rings later. “Sir...”
I should order him to collect Mara, to continue the avoidance tactic I’ve been using the past two weeks, but I can’t do that anymore. Avoidance isn’t the solution. The jolt that darted up my arm when I touched Mara’s elbow is proof of this. I want her more than ever, and I’ve spent the last two weeks being told I’m one wrong move from becoming the demon from my nightmares.
I take a breath before asking, “Were there any mentions of a doctor in Mara’s file?”
He’s hesitant to answer, aware my fuse is short when it comes to Mara’s privacy.
“It is important, Darius.” Focusing on finding the man who hurt Mara may be the only thing capable of pulling me out of the bottomless pit swallowing me whole. “I?—”
“Mara hasn’t seen a doctor since a complication in the third trimester of her pregnancy.” Again, my thoughts stray to Tillie when he discloses, “She went into early labor. A training doctor at a women’s clinic five clicks out from Myasnikov helped her. She?—”
“A woman helped her?”
I sigh in relief when he answers, “Yes.”
If he had said no, my reservations would have been worse. Predators come from all walks of life, but Mara’s fret only surfaced when she learned Dr. Morgasten is male.
“Was there anything else? Anyone male?”
He waits a beat before answering. “No. But I have no access to her other files.” By other files, he means the name she used before she hid her identity.
I denied Fyodor’s suggestion of running Mara’s DNA through a private security firm. She is hiding for a reason, and I have no right to remove her invisibility cloak until I am confident I can protect her from any downfall its removal could cause.
“Have you changed your mind on Fyodor’s suggestion?”
I consider Darius’s question for almost a minute before I shake my head like he can see me.
He can’t. My office and bedroom aren’t wired with surveillance.
They are the only two places where I can be myself, hence me inviting Mara to infiltrate them.
“Cross reference Mara’s cleaning schedule with doctors who reside at the Chrysler building. I want to know if there was a doctor she once cleaned for but abruptly stopped, or if she lodged any complaints about any of the residents. She may believe he’s a doctor, but he could have falsely presented as one to scare her into not saying anything. People with power think they can get away with anything.”
Darius’s voice is as rigid as my hands are balled. “I’ll have a report on your desk in an hour.”
Just before he disconnects our chat, I call his name.
“Yes.”
I wait a beat before asking, “Are there any cameras in the servant corridors?”
Suspicion is rife in his voice. “I think so. Why?”
Instead of answering his question, I boss him around like the scent wafting through the air vents of my room doesn’t have me on the verge of being sick, and that he is to blame for the churns of my stomach. “I need access to them.”
I can hear his brain ticking over, seeking answers to questions he isn’t game to ask, but he keeps his tone professional. “I will have them forwarded to you ASAP.”
“Thank you.”
A second after I end our call, a knock sounds at my office door. I doubt it is my mother. She’ll need more than an hour to lick her wounds after our last tussle, though she isn’t nicknamed Vicious for no reason.
She doesn’t back down even when she’s losing.
“Come in.”
My hope that Mara is stronger than my mother is making out wavers when I recognize the tuft of the mustache that enters my office two nanoseconds before the face of its owner.
Rafael’s exhaustion of a long week filters through his tone when he announces, “There’s someone downstairs asking to speak with you.”
I shift my eyes to the test results I was given earlier while saying, “I’m busy.”
“I told him that, but the concierge said he’s refusing to take no for an answer from anyone but you.” When I sit up straighter, he mutters, “It ain’t him. I don’t care how many years pass. I will never forget that fucker’s face.” He steps deeper into my office like he’s suddenly aware of the cause of the change in my scent. It’s more feminine than manly, and it makes my blood boil. “He said it is regarding Miskaela.”
“Who?” I ask, lost.
Rafael shrugs but remains quiet, leaving the ball on my side of the court.
With how worked up I am, I should take more time to consider my objections. But when a bull wants to charge, he wants to charge. So instead of telling the stranger the appropriate channels to approach me, I jerk up my chin, inviting him into a sanctum nowhere near as calm as it once was since it now smells like the perfume of my abuser.