13. Evgeny #2
I move aside one of the thicker novels and press a button, knowing she’ll be able to hear me through the speakers in the safe room.
It’s not the time for jokes, but I can’t resist saying, “Did you miss me, sweetheart? I’m home.”
Smiling, I look down at Watson. “I bet she’s cursing me to hell and back right now.”
Pressing the button again, I say, “I have Watson with me. I’m going to open the door. I’d appreciate it if you resist the urge to slit my throat with the mug you broke.”
I wait a few seconds, giving her time to make a better life choice, before unlocking the door.
As soon as it swings open, Watson darts in, giving a happy whine when he sees Harper.
She drops to her knees, hugging him fiercely while she buries her head in his neck.
I watch them, feeling more like shit with each passing second.
“I brought everything he might need and packed a few bags for you,” I tell her, breaking the silence. She ignores me, murmuring something into her dog’s fur while she continues to hug him. Everything inside me grows cold when she lifts her hand to pet him and I see blood covering her palm.
“What the hell happened?” I ask, closing the distance and grabbing onto her wrist before she can try and hide it from me.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” she says, trying to pull her hand back.
I grip her tighter, hating that this has become routine for us. Me refusing to let her go, her trying to pull away—it’s starting to really hurt my ego.
“You’re hurt,” I say, stating the obvious as I force her hand open, revealing a long slice down the palm of her hand. I look up to meet her eyes. “Did you really have to break a mug?”
“I couldn’t find any sharp knives,” she says by way of explanation.
“Looks like you also couldn’t find the first-aid kit.”
She looks so small when she shrugs her shoulders, one hand in mine, the other still reaching down so she can pet her dog. I’m not used to Harper looking fragile, and another wave of guilt hits me that I’m the reason she’s like this.
“Come on,” I tell her. “Come with me. We need to get this cleaned up and make sure there isn’t any glass in it.”
“You mean I get to leave the fancy dungeon?”
“You do,” I tell her. “As long as I’m here, you can roam free.”
“And when you’re not here?”
I look over my shoulder at her. “Fancy dungeon it is.”
“Ev,” she starts to say, but I cut her off.
“Harper, let me take care of your cut first, okay? We can talk after you’re no longer bleeding.”
“How’d you even know I broke the mug? You have cameras in there?
Do you have cameras everywhere?” She manages to stay quiet for a few seconds, but once we’re back upstairs and I lead her down the hall to the bathroom, she starts back up again.
“Since I already know you’re in the Bratva, you might as well just tell me everything. ”
I scoff as I guide her to the sink and then open a cabinet to get the first-aid kit I keep stored there. I also grab one of the many pairs of reading glasses I have strategically placed around the house so I can see the cut better.
“You know too much, yeah,” I agree as I slip the glasses on, “but you don’t know everything, and I think it’s safer that way.”
“Safer for me?” She asks. “I’m not stupid, Ev. I know how this ends for me. I don’t know why you’re bothering with a bandage when I’m sure I’ll be bleeding out in some dark alley soon enough.”
“You will not be,” I say, my tone a little more forceful than necessary.
She raises a brow at that, letting me guide her hand under the faucet so I can clean the cut. Water washes the blood away, revealing a long line that isn’t deep enough for stitches, but still bad enough to make me frown.
Pressing a bandage to it with one hand, I use the other to grab the antiseptic.
“You’re not to throw another goddamn thing, do you hear me?” Her eyes widen slightly at my tone, but she doesn’t say anything. “Enough of this shit. You’re going to end up getting hurt worse than you already are.”
“It’d be a real shame if you had to take me to the hospital for stitches,” she says.
“I wouldn’t take you to the hospital, smartass. I’d do it myself. My dad taught me how to do a lot of things. Wound care is one of them.”
“That was sweet of him. He taught you how to kill and heal. How very noble.”
“He is, actually,” I say, feeling my anger start to rise at hearing her insult my dad. “You don’t know the first thing about my family, Harper. Don’t assume you know the whole story. I thought you were a better journalist than that.”
My words cause a flash of hurt to show in her eyes. It doesn’t make me feel good to see it, but I don’t try and comfort her or try to convince her she’s wrong. That doesn’t mean I’m going to just sit here and let her insult my family, though.
“You said is, not was. Your parents aren’t dead, are they?”
“No, they’re both alive. I’m sorry I let you believe they weren’t.”
“One lie of many,” she mutters.
“I was being honest with you. I’ve always been as honest as I can be with you. I’ve been forced to live away from my family, forced to keep myself separate, but you’re right. They’re alive and I lied to you about it. I’m sorry.”
She’s quiet while I dab at the cut, trying her best to not hiss when the disinfectant hits her skin and starts to burn.
“I bet you’re enjoying the hell out of this,” she says through gritted teeth.
My fingers are wrapped around her, and when I feel her hand start to tremble, I drag my thumb along her inner wrist and blow softly on her skin, trying to soothe the sting.
“Not in the slightest,” I say when I’m done. “I take no pleasure from seeing you in pain.” I feel the rapid beat of her heart beneath my fingers and caress her skin again. “Quite the opposite.”
After drying her hand, I put on the antibiotic ointment, making sure to keep my touch gentle, because despite what she thinks, seeing her in pain makes me feel physically ill.
All my instincts are screaming at me to take care of her, to protect her from any and all danger.
Unfortunately, I’m the danger, and I’m not sure how to handle these two warring sides of myself.
Taking one of the Band-Aids, I stretch it across her hand, making sure it’s where I want it before adding three more so the whole thing is covered.
Before I let her hand go, I say, “It’ll be hard to keep this dry, so let me know when it needs to be changed, and I’ll take care of it.”
“I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple of Band-Aids,” she says, pulling back her hand and inspecting the job I’ve done.
“I didn’t ask you if you could manage. I asked you to tell me when it gets too wet and needs to be changed. Are you going to fight me on every single thing?”
Pulling her eyes back to mine, she asks, “Are you going to let me go?”
“Not right now, no.” Standing back up to my full height, I take off my glasses and swipe a hand through my hair. “If your plan is to drive me batshit crazy so that I kick you out to keep my sanity, it might be working.”
She has the gall to smile. “Perfect. I’ll try to kick it up a notch.”
“Is that possible?” I ask, genuinely curious if she can get under my skin more than she already has.
“Only one way to find out.”
“Can we just have a time-out for tonight?” I pack everything back up under the sink and make my way back to the kitchen where I immediately grab a bottle of vodka from the freezer.
When I reach for a glass, she says, “Get two.” And then she follows it up with a, “You know you have to feed me, right?”
I’m glad my back is turned to her so she can’t see the smile I’m fighting. While I pour us both a drink, I say, “I’m not going to let you starve. What are you in the mood for?”
She grabs the glass I hand her, taking a healthy drink before sitting in the stool with the kind of easy confidence that makes it feel like she lives here and says, “Well, let’s see.
I was recently manhandled and shoved into a posh safe room, survived a pretty traumatic injury, and now I’m so hungry my stomach is growling. ”
She thinks for a second while I take a drink and try not to think about how beautiful she looks and how badly I want to be inside her.
Her blue eyes look lit up when she says, “Pizza. Definitely pizza.” She snaps her fingers like I’m her waiter.
“And breadsticks. Ooh, and make sure you get extra marinara. They’re so cheap with that now.
If you don’t ask for extra, you’re not getting it, and then what are you supposed to do with all that crust? It’s ridiculous.”
“Anything else?”
She ignores my tone and says, “I could lie and say a salad, but the truth is I’m going straight for a greasy slice of pepperoni.”
“So not only am I supposed to feed you, but I’m also required to watch you get heart disease?”
“Oh please, Ev. One night of pure abandon is not going to kill me. Besides, we both know it’ll be a bullet to the head in a few days, right?”
She tries to make light of it, but I hear the underlying fear that she’s desperately trying to hide and keep control of.
“I told you I wouldn’t let that happen. You don’t need to worry about that, but we do need to figure this out.”
I place the order, adding in a salad just so I can watch her roll her eyes when she sees it. When I’m done, I set my phone down and refill our glasses.
“You can work from home, right?” I ask.
“I can, but I can’t really work at all if I don’t know what’s going on. Do you seriously expect me to write the news without being able to see and know the news?”
“How about this? I’ll make you a deal. Stay here and don’t fight me on it, and I’ll let you keep working. When my cousin is free, I’ll let you go.”
She huffs out a breath and gives me an incredulous look. “You’ll let me keep working, even though you haven’t explained how in the hell I’ll be able to do that, and when your cousin is miraculously freed after being arrested for brutally stabbing a woman to death, then you’ll let me go?”
“I will, yeah,” I tell her.
“This sounds like a real shit deal from where I’m sitting.”