10
I continue wandering around a game room until I find another one full of strange paintings and a giant organ in the middle.
There are a couple of family photos on the mantelpiece, but her mother is not there.
It’s just his father with him and another child.
The two are very similar, almost like twins, so I guess it must be his brother. I don’t remember him having a brother.
I walk to the door, trying to make my steps steady, even though deep down I feel like I’m lost in a place I shouldn’t be.
I want to see him and ask why he dislikes me.
I want him to tell me to fuck off so I can forget him.
I search for an exit to the garden, but the house becomes more confusing the longer I’m trapped.
“Do you know where Mr. Novikov’s room is?
My friend and I have a deal with him,” I ask, almost dragging out my words to be more seductive.
Then I wink at him, but he doesn’t see it because he’s too busy looking at my chest, which isn’t much.
The man must be seeing things that aren’t there right now.
“What kind of deal?”
“He contacted us himself to do a special job,” I say. “If you tell me where he is. You could join us later, who knows.” I caress his arm while making eyes at him.
What else can I do? It’s not like I could plant a bomb inside, anyway. I don’t even have my bag on me because of another stupid rule. I have to bite my lower lip to keep from laughing when I see his face.
“The longer you take, the longer it will take you to join us, don’t you think?” I murmur, controlling my impatience with a smile.
“It’s the only door on the third floor. The key.” I don’t have time to catch it, and it ends up on the floor. As I bend down to pick it up, the man is staring at my cleavage, but fuck him. “When you’re done with him, let me know.”
“I will,” I say without turning around.
Standing in front of the door, I have more trouble than usual inserting the key into the lock. I curse when the keys slip out of my hand and end up on the floor again, and I bend down.
“Shit,” I mutter, feeling dizzy from getting up so quickly.
Once inside, the disconcerting cold air move my hair in a slight tickle on my shoulders.
Seems someone forgot to turn off the air conditioning.
My eyes go upstairs in amazement. It’s the same size or even bigger than the first one.
Who the hell has two floors in their bedroom?
I sweep my surroundings first. Then I find a circular bed on top of a large platform with thin black curtains around it.
The thick legs of the bed resemble the columns with skulls that I saw at the entrance door.
The entire room is plunged into a darkness that battles with the light that somehow filters through the tinted glass of the windows.
It does little to dispel the strange vibes that would make more than one person’s hair stand on end, besides his characteristic scent.
A slight hint of tobacco and other masculine scents that most likely include pheromones.
Otherwise, I can’t explain the physiological changes in my body every time I lay eyes on his bed.
I stand mesmerized, absorbing his fragrance as if it were some kind of drug, while my feet move on their own to the huge dressing room upstairs.
I run my fingers through his collection of wallets and shoes, wrinkling my nose when the smell of leather mixed with a hint of iron is too strong.
It’s almost as if they had skinned the animal and treated it just five minutes ago.
When I tire of the second floor, I go down the stairs, tripping on the last step.
On top of the desk is a black notebook, open in the middle.
The letters are in another language. Is not Russian.
I leaf through the pages and find some black-and-white drawings of a girl with so many shadows that it’s impossible to tell who she is.
I frown when I find the photo that had disappeared from the frame stuck to one page.
How did it get here? And why does he have it?
I turn the pages with somewhat clumsy fingers, wanting to make sure there are no more photos.
I find no more, but there are more drawings.
I want to tear it out and take it with me, but that would arouse suspicion, and I’ve already taken enough risks.
I turn my head to one side to look at the framed photo, which is upside down.
Just as I’m thinking about turning it over, I hear footsteps on the other side of the door.
In less than a second, my senses are on high alert, making me fly up the stairs, stifling a curse when I trip over the same damn step again.
In the end, I hide in the shoe closet. It’s not like he’s going to try on shoes now.
My hands sweat when his footsteps approach the stairs to get closer to the wardrobe.
A couple of minutes later, I hear clothes sliding down his body until they hit the floor.
I do not know what he does with them. All I know is that he then goes into the bathroom and it doesn’t take long for the shower water to start running.
I have to make the greatest effort of my life to resist the temptation to peer at his naked body up close.
I tiptoe down the stairs and leave the bedroom as quietly as possible.
If he finds out that I’ve been in his bedroom and gone through his things, this time he’ll kill me for sure.
I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until I return to the garden.
The image of the notebook is still in my mind as I head for the bar.
The situation left an unpleasant taste in my mouth that I intend to get rid of.
“Damn it, Lena! I was about to look for you in the city’s sewers. Where the hell were you?” I almost drop the glass in my hands when I hear Jason’s reproachful voice behind me.
“Just walking around,” I say. He looks at me incredulously, with a hint of amusement, not believing a word I say.
“Around? And where is that?”
“I’m not feeling well, my head hurts,” I murmur in a somewhat pitiful tone, rubbing my head and changing the subject. Making the rest feel sorry for you always works like a distracting weapon.
“What were you expecting after eating all those brownies?” he asks before bursting out laughing.
The image of me devouring pieces of cake as if there were no tomorrow plays over and over again in my head. I should have realized it sooner, but my mind has been elsewhere the whole time. Or rather, on someone else. I’m already a distracted person, and his return doesn’t help.
“It won’t be long before they bring out more… authentic stuff,” Jason adds, raising his eyebrows.
Then, with a sly smile, he continues saying something I can’t hear. My attention is still focused on those drawings and foreign words in his notebook. Is he doing voodoo on me? I wouldn’t be surprised if that were the case. And what was written in that damn notebook?
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing, just my stuff.” I smile, showing my teeth.
I finish my drink and search for a free seat.
In the distance, I see some outdoor chairs next to a round table covered with glasses and cigarette butts.
There I find his father, Kristoff, again.
He’s chatting with his friends while caressing the back of a brunette sitting on his lap with her breasts exposed.
Another girl, a little younger, is behind him, massaging his shoulders with a stupid smile.
My stomach churns with disgust as he French-kisses the girl on his lap, squeezing her breasts.
Despite everyone knowing about his relationship with Lizzie, the blonde model, no one seems to care.
Plus, she’s probably aware of his other…
partners. It’s no secret how womanizers they are.
They hardly ever marry anyone, and if they do, it’s the daughter of someone important, to keep up appearances and have heirs to leave their empire to.
My father is the exception to all that. He married my mother out of love and doesn’t want me or Jas involved in his illicit activities, unless I secretly go along with him on deliveries.
He wouldn’t be able to marry me off for power, either.
The times someone has been brave enough to ask his permission to date me, the lucky guy left in blood and tears.
I wonder if his charming son is as much of a womanizer as he is.
Perhaps that blonde girl is his girlfriend, although as far as I remember he’s single.
Or was. My stomach churns with jealousy at the thought of him with someone else.
Because I want to have this house at my disposal and all that crap Jas said earlier, not because I care who he sleeps with.
Before I take another step, someone calls my name behind me.
When I turn around, I find none other than Liam.
A French guy with brown hair and shit-brown eyes who I dated for a few months in my early college years.
He now lives in France with his mother, but some summers he comes back to be with his father.
I return his greeting with a fake smile.
His clothing style is still as extravagant as when we first met.
“How’s everything? I haven’t seen you in a long time.” There is a reason for that.
“Very well, thank you. And you? When did you get back?”
“A few days ago. But this time I plan to stay a little longer,” I nod my head, cursing my luck. “I’d really like us to get back to how we were before.” His shyness makes me purse my lips in a pout.
“You cheated on me,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone, his cheeks now flushing.
“No! Fuck. I didn’t.”
“I saw it myself. I saw the photos.” Photos that circulated throughout the college, making those weeks a nightmare for me.