Chapter 5
MATTIE
Dimitri intercepted Mattie when she was coming down the stairs.
"I made you something." He pulled a small glass jar from his lab coat pocket.
"What is it?"
"A salve. For your legs." He worked the lid off with his thumb. "It will help with the cramps and maybe smooth out some of the scarring."
She leaned over to smell it. "When did you have time to make this?"
It didn't smell good, but it didn't smell bad either.
"In the margins."
"You don't have margins. You have the lab and the Eight and the proposal for Losham and the escape plan."
"You come first, and I've been working on this for weeks."
Mattie kept her face neutral because if she didn't, she was going to do something embarrassing, like let her eyes tear up and her chin quiver.
She hated showing weakness. She hadn't been broken by the house fire that had taken away her parents and had left her legs deformed, or the trafficking, or the attack and her crushed hand, but a boyfriend who had made a balm for her when it should have been the last thing on his mind might make her fall apart.
"Thank you." She took the jar from him and put it in her apron pocket. "I'm sure the balm will feel lovely on my legs, but I've been doing better lately. I don't cramp up as much because I'm barely walking. That's why I go up and down the stairs several times a day, even if I don't need to."
"None of us is moving enough," he said. "We stay inside all day, and I worry for Petrov's circulation, especially given his drinking.
Mine is only good because I'm immortal now, and yours is good as well because you worked as a waitress before and were on your feet all day.
But even you are losing muscle in your calves. "
"Really?" She looked down at her legs. "I don't think they've grown smaller." It was hard to tell through the leggings she had on.
Petrov cleared his throat. "I hate to interrupt a consultation, Doctor Volkov, but Mattie is not your patient."
"She's my specialty."
"Your specialty is neurotransmitter chemistry."
"And everything that has to do with Mattie."
She laughed. "All right. Both of you. I'll try the salve tonight."
"Promise?"
"Yes. I promise to use the salve on my cramp-free legs."
"Good." Dimitri turned around. "I need to prepare the shots for Dave."
Petrov stayed next to her. "In Russia, we have a saying. When a young man brings a woman a gift, he is ready to propose."
Mattie rolled her eyes. "I think it only works when the gift is a ring. Salve doesn't count."
The thing about Petrov was that he might be irritating, but there was something to what he'd said.
Dimitri didn't have a ring to give her, but he wrapped her injured hand in plastic wrap before each shower so the bandages wouldn't get wet, and now he'd made something for her to ease her pain.
Not to mention that he'd prepared syringes filled with neurotoxins so he could defend her from predatory immortals, and he had nearly died because they hadn't worked as well as he'd expected.
He'd proven to her in a thousand different ways how much he cared for her, and she wished she could do as much for him, but she wasn't as talented or as capable.
It was a little frustrating to have a genius boyfriend, who was now also an immortal and looked like an Adonis. She would never measure up.
Stop it. He loves you, and you love him, and that's all that matters.
She looked down at her hand. The splint went from the middle of her palm to past her knuckles, and the fingers inside it were still swollen and ugly, but they were healing.
The doctor had come yesterday to check on her hand and replace the bandages. Come to think of it, it was odd that the busy doctor was doing house visits, or rather lab visits, instead of telling her to come to the clinic.
Was it Dave's doing?
Had he compelled the doctor to give her special treatment?
Probably.
Mattie completed two more rounds of up and down the stairs, then stretched, grimacing at the tightness in her right calf that was not quite a cramp but close.
The lab was bright with the late morning sun coming through the glass facade. Dimitri had his syringes laid out on the counter in a neat row. Petrov had just finished washing their coffee mugs at the sink and was drying his hands on a dirty rag.
"Don't comment," Petrov said without turning.
"You are doing my job. I'm the one who's supposed to wash the dishes."
He shrugged. "I wanted fresh coffee, and I didn't know when you'd be done with your exercise routine."
"Fair enough. Sorry for not rinsing them earlier."
He waved a dismissive hand. "Do you want coffee or not?"
"I would love a cup."
She took her usual seat on the stool next to the front window, where she could observe what was happening on the street.
Dimitri glanced up at her, his eyes traveling over her body and coming back to her face, as if he'd been taking inventory to make sure nothing had gone missing in the seven minutes since he'd seen her on the stairs.
Was he checking to see whether her exercise routine was working?
He'd just said that she was losing muscle, so that probably wasn't it. Her body wouldn't be changing that fast. His was, though, and it was wonderful and annoying because he didn't have to do anything to look like a magazine cover model. It was the immortal genes that were making all the changes.
"Your body is getting better by the day, you know," she said.
Dimitri's hand stilled.
Petrov laughed.
"What do you mean?" Dimitri asked.
"I mean, you don't lift anything that's heavier than a beaker, and your muscles are growing as if you were pumping iron for hours a day. It's not fair."
He arched a brow, and a small smirk twisted his lips. "Who says that I'm not lifting anything. I think I lift plenty."
She opened her mouth to ask what he'd meant, saw his expression, and felt the heat climb up her neck.
"Dimitri."
"What?"
"You did not just…"
"I did not just what?"
Petrov made a sound that wasn't quite a cough.
"Konstantin. If you laugh, I will put salt in your vodka."
"I am not laughing."
"Yes, you are. I can see your belly heaving."
"You are imagining things."
Dimitri was still looking at her with that innocent expression that was loaded with meaning, and she could feel her face getting hotter as she imagined exactly what he'd meant by that comment.
He lifted her plenty because she had to be on top to keep her injured hand out of the way, and since she could only brace with the other, he had to do all the work of lifting and lowering her on top of him.
Once, he had caught her about to plant her splinted hand flat on his chest and stopped her, rolling her gently over and taking it from the top instead, carefully enough that the splint hadn't been jolted, but that had happened only that one time.
"New rule." She lifted her good hand and pointed at him. "No innuendo before lunch."
"What about after lunch?"
"Negotiable."
"After dinner?"
"Shut up."
Dimitri grinned.
Petrov came over with a mug of coffee and set it on the table next to her. "Careful. It's hot."
She took the mug and brought it to her lips, when the intercom sounded, jostling her and making a few hot drops land on her apron.
"Jeez, how do they always do that? I'm sitting here and watching the street, and they still manage to sneak up on me."
Petrov muttered something in Russian and buzzed them in.
The door to the lab opened, and the Eight came in.
"Good morning," Number One said.
"Good morning," Dimitri said back. "I'm almost ready with the shots."
"Thank you."
The other seven did not say anything. They never did. Number One spoke, and the rest of them turned their heads to track Dimitri while he finished prepping.
"Are you calling the brothel today?" Petrov asked. "It's been four days since we agreed that you need to do that, and you've been dragging your feet about it."
Number One looked at Mattie. "We need coaching."
She nodded. "We'll practice after your shots."
Mattie had always wanted to make movies.
It would probably never happen, but she still had the daydream anyway.
And here she was, making her directorial debut with an eight-person hive-minded super-soldier, teaching them how to act when calling the brothel and requesting a woman to be delivered to their hotel room.
"When I pictured my first directing job, this was not the kind of project I envisioned, but that only makes it more challenging."
"What did you imagine directing?" Number One asked.
"Something with a wedding and a heist."
Dimitri chuckled. "That actually sounds like a fun movie.
The opening scene will be a lavish wedding between an older, rich guy and a hot young woman, and the guests gossiping about her being a gold digger and marrying him for the money.
In reality, though, it's a heist, and she has no intention of going through with the wedding.
She and her bridesmaids are thieves, and the minister is an actor who's part of their team. "
"Not bad." Mattie smiled at him. "Perhaps we should write the script together."
"We should." He approached Number One with the syringe. "After we break free."
Free.
What a concept. She'd always taken her freedom for granted until it had been taken away from her. If she really got free, Mattie was never going to take it for granted again. She would cherish and protect her freedom at all costs.
Once all the shots were delivered, Petrov waved his bottle of vodka in her direction. "Let's get on with it, devochka. Do your worst."
Mattie got off her stool. "All right. Konstantin, you are going to be the brothel woman who answers the phone and takes the booking. You're going to be her so Number One can practice on you."
"I am a Russian scientist of some standing."
"Right now, you are an actor. Embrace it for the next five minutes."
"I have no training."
"Neither does Number One."
Petrov pointed at Dimitri. "Why can't he be the woman who takes the bookings?"