Chapter 6 #2
I push off the counter before I do exactly that and turn to leave.
“And Milana?” I say without looking back. “Don’t speak to me again unless it’s important.”
I walk out of the kitchen, jaw clenched so tight it hurts, trying to ignore the way my body is screaming at me to go back and take what I suddenly want more than anything.
This woman is going to destroy my control.
Milana
Sunlight spills across the bedroom, pulling me awake.
For a moment, I forget where I am. Everything feels wrong, the bed, the silence. Sarah would usually be singing off-key right now as she gets ready for class.
Letting out a sigh, I sit up rubbing my eyes. I’m back in the U.S., but not with my family. How am I supposed to fill my day? Back in Manchester, my days had structure. Classes, time with friends, volunteering at the center.
Now, my classes have been shifted online, and with the time difference, there’s nothing I can do yet. I need something to fill the gap before the day really starts.
A run might help. Fresh air. Sunlight. Movement. I swing my legs off the bed and decide that’s exactly what I’ll do.
I quickly change into my running gear, black leggings, a fitted sports bra, and a loose tank top, my hair into a high ponytail. I lace up my sneakers. A good run is exactly what I need to clear my head and burn off some of this restless energy.
I’m halfway to the front door when Ilya’s bedroom door swings open. “Going somewhere?”
He steps out wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his hips.
My steps falter.
Water droplets still cling to his broad, muscled chest and shoulders, trailing down the hard ridges of his abdomen. His arms are corded with tattoos, ink wrapping over muscle like dark veins.
My gaze locks onto the large, bold cross inked across his chest, dark, intricate, and strangely compelling on a man who radiates pure danger. Heat floods my face as I force my eyes upward to meet his.
The air between us instantly grows thick and charged, it crackles so intensely it feels electric. I can’t seem to breathe normally.
“Where are you going?” he asks again.
I clear my throat, trying to get my voice back. “I’m going running.”
“Outside?”
I give him a puzzled look. “Yes. Where else would I run?”
His expression hardens. “Hell no.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I thought I already made myself clear. No leaving the building.” He folds his arms across that impressive chest. The movement makes the towel dip dangerously lower on his hips.
“I didn’t bring you back to safety just so you could run around the city like an easy target.
Until the threat is resolved, you’re under house arrest.”
I stare at him for a beat, trying to decide whether he's joking. Apparently, he isn't. “You can’t be serious. I need to go outside. I can’t just stay trapped in here.” I let out a slow breath.
“I understand there's a threat,” I say, keeping my voice calm.
“I'm not pretending there isn't. But staying locked inside twenty-four hours a day isn't exactly healthy either.”
“It keeps you alive.”
“It also keeps me trapped.”
“You're alive to complain about it.”
I fold my arms. “I've lived on my own for the last two years. I know how to be aware of my surroundings. I'm not suggesting I spend hours sightseeing. I'm talking about a thirty-minute run around the block.”
“No.”
“You could come with me.”
“No.”
“You're armed.”
“No.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This isn't about me wanting to rebel. I need fresh air. I need sunlight. I need to feel like my life hasn't completely stopped.”
For the briefest second, something flickers across his face. Then it's gone.
“Run in the gym downstairs,” he says. “I already told you. The second elevator goes straight there. Use it.”
I study him, hoping to find even the slightest crack in that infuriatingly stoic expression. Nothing.
I exhale through my nose. “Fine,” I snap, spinning on my heel and storming back toward my room.
After a while of seething over Ilya’s ridiculous “house arrest” rule, I decide I’m not going to let him ruin my entire day. I head to the upstairs rooftop area instead, where the pool is, and put myself through a solid workout.
Bodyweight exercises, squats, planks, and some kickboxing combinations I learned back home with my sister. The morning sun feels good on my skin, and the physical exertion helps burn off some of the frustration.
By the time I’m done with my workout, I’m sweaty and buzzing with energy. I head back inside to change into my bikini, then return to the pool.
After showering off, I ease myself in with a contented sigh, letting the heat from my workout melt away as I swim a few slow laps. By the time I climb out, water streaming down my body, I reach for the towel I could've sworn I'd brought with me.
Great.
I pad back through the glass doors into the apartment, hair damp and sticking to my neck. As I step into the hallway, I hear Ilya’s low voice coming from his bedroom. He’s on the phone, speaking quietly, but there’s something off about his voice, it’s almost tense.
I slow down, curiosity getting the better of me. I creep a little closer to the doorway, trying to catch what he’s saying.
“…still contained. No, he isn’t going to be a problem. They don’t suspect a thing—”
He goes silent for a moment, like he’s listening to whoever is on the other line. I press closer, hoping to catch something, and then the door suddenly swings open.
I lose my balance in my attempt to step back quickly and stumble forward, nearly falling right into the room. I catch myself on the doorframe at the last second.
Ilya stands there, phone still in his hand, staring down at me with those sharp steel-gray eyes. Did he know I was eavesdropping?
“I— uh—” My cheeks burn as I straighten up, painfully aware that I’m standing in front of him in nothing but a bikini, skin glistening with sweat, and I’ve just been caught eavesdropping.
“I was just… coming in to get a towel! I took a swim…”
The excuse sounds ridiculous even to my own ears.
His gaze drops slowly over my body, taking in every inch of exposed skin before returning to my face. The intensity in his stare makes heat pool low in my belly.
Before he can say anything or question me further, I spin around and practically flee back toward the rooftop, my bare feet slapping against the floor.