Chapter 16 Lachlan
LACHLAN
Natasha blurted out the past, like she might lose her nerve. Arms clasped around her chest, she trembled slightly. “W-when he finished, he spoke in a different language, kissing me once more … like we were …” Natasha melted into shame.
Questions threatened to leap from me, but I tried to focus on her needs first. “What did he say?”
“He said,” she murmured, “I’d made my mark on him. Now he’d make his mark on me. A mark so I’d never forget him.”
How could she forget? “What language?”
“I still hear his voice. Russian.”
“Did you recognize anything about him? Was he one of your father’s enemies?”
Her head shook. “Nope. He … didn’t carry himself like any Russian I know, and even my father’s enemies are on speaking terms with him. Anyone else? Too afraid to try something like this.”
Even my father’s enemies are on speaking terms with him? What the hell did that mean? Despite wanting just to stay present with her, I asked, “Make his mark …? How’d you mark him?”
“I don’t know.”
Was it that simple? I wanted to call Jake. Ask my baby brother questions. Primarily, how did I console the woman I loved? A woman who’d already endured more than most in one lifetime.
Cancer. Now rape?
“Lach …”
My priorities repurposed themselves when I nearly drowned in her wet hazel eyes. First, I’d support Natasha. Remain in the here and now. After that, I’d identify her attacker.
“You never reported it?” I softened my approach, shoving my fingers through my hair and biting back a cuss word. “Man, I’m ready to organize a mob.”
As I paced around, she offered a hollow smile that wouldn’t reach her eyes in a hundred years. “I couldn’t report it.”
Why? Rather than asking more questions, I sat at the bed’s edge, pulling her onto my lap, and her cheek rested against my chest. A sigh brushed through her lips. I must’ve made the right move. Finally.
“Lachlan,” Natasha murmured, hand at my jaw, “you’re ready to commit murder.”
Had never considered it, but I imagined killing the man who touched her.
“You wouldn’t,” she groaned, reading my mind.
You don’t know, Cutie Pie.
“Pop would. And remember, he spared no one in the Chelomey Bratva. Adrian’s father―”
“Was just as guilty. His dad had Jordyn.”
“And other women too,” Natasha added. “Yep. Pop also retaliated against the goons. Some taking orders just as vicious as Adrian. Others? Needed a paycheck.” The weight of her decision seemed to press on her.
I climbed behind her and massaged her shoulders while she continued.
“My family—no, my dad’s side of the family.
The Resnovs left no one alive. One attempt to touch me resurrected my grandfather Anatoly’s old credo: ‘Touch what’s mine and the funeral home becomes rich.
’ My pop hated that man’s guts, and what Adrian tried to do? It made Pop turn into his father.”
As I kneaded deeply, I pressed my mouth to her nape. “Your father could’ve gone to the cops.” Says the man whose thoughts had grown dark and murderous.
Instead of calling me out for sounding like a numpty, she said something under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing … uh …I hired a hacker to check the surveillance footage at the Thai place where I parked. Turns out, the cheap company never installed surveillance. I figured, what would the cops do? Dust my car for prints? He wore gloves.”
“The doctors have … kits for this. I would’ve stood by your side.” I scrubbed the heels of my palms into my eyes. Too late to offer that, Lach.
“Relieve my shame while some rando poked and prodded me?”
“I would’ve—”
“I’ll vomit if you claim you would have been there.” She shook her head, sighed as if trying to ground herself.
“Natasha, you carry the shame of what someone else did to you.”
“I wonder if he’s done this before. Will he do this again? I questioned who his parents were. The chances that they were bratva or a criminal syndicate—” She cut herself off.
“You’re saying it was a low chance his parents led a deep life of crime.” Squeezing her tighter, I glanced down at her, needing to know why. Why had no one paid for what they’d done?
“Yeah, I figured the guy wasn’t related to the mob. Like us.” Natasha’s breathy sigh fanned the heated skin at my chest. “He could’ve had a momma or abuelita always on their knees, praying for him. I couldn’t take that chance.”
“Tash, you’ve taken on too many roles.”
Natasha stood. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for ruining our vaca—”
“Na—”
“I’m going to bed.” She started for the adjoining door.
“Natasha?”
“What?” Slowly, she turned around and sighed. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Got it.” She nodded, turning away again.
“Don’t go.”
“It’s probably for the best, Lach.”
“I’ll go.” I casually rose, like her sleeping alone was no big deal. Tonight of all nights.
Then she glanced around and seemed to realize we were in her room. Self-conscious embarrassment bloomed up her chest and into her cheeks.
I strolled toward her, wanting to single-handedly fight her discomfort, her rapist, her high school bullies. Wanting to gie it laldy—give it my all—to make her content.
People wanted to be happy. Satiate issues. Like scratching the itch you get deep down inside when you crave sex and indulge. Or sating yourself after a hard workout. I wanted Natasha Resnova more than happy.
Content.
However, she seemed ashamed, in addition to sharing her most horrific experiences.
Please don’t make me leave tonight, sweetheart. I scratched the back of my neck. “These rooms are identical.” I bent my head low to kiss what she offered, the slight curve of her mouth into a sheepish grin. “So is this good night, Tash?”
She sighed. “If I ask you to make me forget my past, would you?”
Aye. Damn, right. But she’d made a vow to herself. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re waiting until you get married.”
Natasha cackled. “Don’t quote me.”
“You texted me that when I sent the address to the Waldorf Astoria.”
“How was I to know you’d created me, my very own gallery? Your video was on my mind. Shoot me.”
“So you saw my video?”
“No.”
“Every minute of it?”
“Lach, keep at it. I will deck you!”
I reached down and grabbed the back of her knees, lifting her over my shoulders. Too easy.
I planned on torturing her all night.
Myself included. Just a different method from the first couple of nights we slept together.
I’d try to tickle her crazy so my thoughts didn’t pulverize my heart for failing her that night.
Should’ve stayed instead of leaving to take my agent’s call.
Wasn’t thinking with my head that night.
I’d thought some grand gesture, like rose petals on the floor, at my apartment would get her undressed for me.
I was so stupid. I should’ve been there.