Chapter 28 #2
I smiled. “There she go again.”
“Barely.”
“That’s all right,” I told her softly.
I carried her back to the bedroom, but I didn’t put her in the bed. The sheets were fucked up, and I wasn’t having her sleep in the mess we made. I set her in the chair near the window, wrapped the towel tighter around her, then stripped the bed.
She watched me through heavy-lidded eyes. “You know how to change sheets?” she asked.
I looked at her over my shoulder. “You think I survived Siberia but fitted sheets gon’ take me out?”
“The corners fuck everybody up.”
“I wish the corners would.”
She smiled, then leaned her cheek against the chair. I changed the sheets while she drifted, not fully asleep, not fully awake. She said a couple of random, drowsy things to me. I just nodded. When the bed was straight, I went to a drawer and pulled out the cream I used on my scars.
The little jar looked plain, nothing special.
But it had been made by an old woman in Moscow who regularly treated men who came back from places people pretended not to know existed.
She had rubbed it on my face the first time while telling me, in Russian, that men always thought scars made them look interesting until they started itching and aching. She wasn’t lying.
I warmed a little between my fingers and knelt in front of Theory. Her eyes opened as soon as I touched her thigh.
“It’s me,” I said.
“Like you would let anyone else in here,” she snarked.
Like I would let anyone else touch you, I thought, but all I said was, “I’m putting the cream on.”
Her gaze dropped to the jar. “The one you use?”
“Yeah.”
“It works.”
“Yeah, it helps.”
She watched me for a second. The moment was silent, heavy. Theory had kept these scars because of her shame and guilt, because she’d convinced herself she deserved them. I wanted her mind changed. “Then okay,” she finally said.
Those two words were quiet, but they said a lot. I smoothed the cream over the scars on her thigh first, using light pressure. Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. I moved slower.
“Tell me if it hurts.”
“It doesn’t.”
I nodded and kept going. The marks there were older now but still raised in places. I hated touching evidence of his hands on her, but I loved that mine were the ones soothing her after.
When I reached her abdomen, she stiffened. I stopped immediately.
“Too much?”
She swallowed and shook her head. “No. It’s just…”
“I can stop.”
“No.” Her hand covered mine. “Don’t stop.”
So, I didn’t. I spread the cream over her skin slowly, watching her face more than my hand. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, then her eyes came back to me.
“You use this on your face every night?”
“Most nights.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
“When?”
“When I’m cold or stressed. If I don’t sleep.”
“So pretty much always,” she popped.
I bit back a smile. “You got a smart mouth.”
“You like it.”
“Yeah. I do,” I admitted.
She touched the scars that ran along my cheek with the backs of her fingers. Her touch was soft, like she had to be careful with me. No one except Joia Jones had ever been careful with me.
“You don’t let me do this for you,” she said.
I held her gaze. “You want to?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I’m naked in a towel while you touching me. I’d probably agree to do anything to you. Don’t pressure me.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. She smiled like she liked hearing that.
I finished with the cream, then helped her into one of my shirts because I liked her in my clothes.
She didn’t argue when I chose it. That alone told me she must be still floating somewhere.
When I finally got her into bed, she curled toward me as soon as I climbed in beside her.
I pulled her into my chest and kissed the top of her head.
“Sleep,” I said.
“You staying?”
My arms tightened around her. “I have one thing to take care of, but I promise to be back before you wake up.”
She sighed. Pouted a little.
“I promise,” I repeated.
She buried her face against my chest. “Okay.”
I held my wife tightly and waited until her breathing evened out. Then, I rose. I had a situation to take care of.
Ekaterina Volkov was not as untouchable as she had been raised to believe.
When I walked into her dining room, she sat in one of those high-backed chairs rich people liked to buy. Her wrists were zip-tied behind it. Her ankles were bound to the legs. Her blonde hair fell in pretty, messy waves around her face, and the silk robe she wore had slipped off one shoulder.
I hated that she was beautiful, not that her beauty mattered to me.
It didn’t. I was used to beauty; how could I not be with the wife I had?
Theory was beautiful to me whether she was in diamonds, in my shirt, mad as hell, all mouthy in a kitchen, or half-asleep in the tub.
So, I didn’t care about Ekaterina’s beauty.
It was that Ekaterina cared about Ekaterina’s beauty. But we’d see about that.
Her eyes widened when she saw me. “Targen.”
Mikhail closed the door behind me. Grigor, Timur, and a special guest stood near the hall silently. I didn’t look at them. I didn’t have to. They knew their role and their place.
“You had a busy night,” I said, the open floor plan allowing me to be heard even as I crossed to the kitchen and peeked in her refrigerator. I smiled at the bottle of apple juice as I extracted it. Ekaterina hated to drink her calories, but apple juice was one of her guilty pleasures.
Her chin lifted, but it shook a little. “If this is about your wife—”
“Be careful when you speak on her.”
The words were quiet but held a warning. She stopped. I walked back into the room, slow enough to let her think about all the bad decisions she made last night. She looked toward the shadows behind me, then back to my face. Fear bloomed in her eyes. Smart woman.
“I only congratulated her.”
“Funny thing is, that’s not how she remember it. You approached her. You insulted her. You implied she was just some obligation I accepted when I really wanted you.”
Her mouth opened. I raised a hand. She closed it.
“You wanted her to feel little, make her doubt her place beside me.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Ekaterina swallowed again. “I was angry.”
“I know.”
“She came out of nowhere, Targen.”
“No,” I corrected. “I brought her.”
Her eyes heated. “You were supposed to—”
“I was supposed to what?”
She looked away. I stepped closer, then lowered myself into the chair across from her. Opening the juice bottle, I took a big swallow. “Finish it.”
Her answer was silence.
I leaned back and studied her face. “I’ve known you for what? About a decade now. We ran in some of the same Russian circles. We went to a few dinners. We fucked. It was never more than that, but you wanted to make my wife think it was.”
Her eyes were bright with angry tears, but she knew to keep quiet. I smiled a little, took another swallow.
“You thought being near me long enough would make you eventually matter.”
“That is mean,” she whispered.
“No. Mean was what you did to my wife because you couldn’t do it to me.”
She shook her head. “Targen, I made a mistake.”
I nodded. “Yeah. You did.”
“I’ll apologize.”
“You won’t speak to her again.”
“I’ll leave. I’ll go wherever you want.”
“I know.”
Her breathing changed. She finally understood. I touched the scars on my face with two fingers, dragging them slowly over the jagged lines.
“You know what I learned when I got these?”
She stared at my cheek.
“A sharp knife slices clean. it makes a clean wound that heals better.”
“Targen—”
“A dull knife is different,” I continued. “A dull knife drags. It disrupts the skin.” I tilted my head. “It doesn’t heal as pretty. You’ll always know it was there.”
“Please,” she breathed.
“Please, what? You know I don’t hurt women, Ekaterina.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. I smiled.
“But I don’t mind giving the order.”
A shadow behind her moved. Ekaterina’s head jerked toward it.
Mara stepped into the light. She was small, brown-skinned, quiet, and dressed like she had come from a regular job.
She wore black slacks and a black blouse and had braids pulled into a smooth knot.
Her face gave away nothing. That was why Maxim liked her for certain jobs.
Tonight, she wore gloves. Tonight, she carried a dull knife.
Ekaterina started fighting the chair then. Not that it helped. She was panicking, wasting her energy and my time. She shook her head, blonde hair flying, breathing heavy.
“No. No, please. Targen, please.”
I stood. Her eyes snapped back to me, frantic now.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you cared about her like that.”
“You didn’t know? Then you really had no business pulling that bullshit, huh?” I asked softly.
Mara moved behind her. Ekaterina sobbed. I leaned down, making sure our eyes met.
“You tried to cut my wife, scar her where no one could see it.” I paused, smiled. “But everyone will see yours.”
Mara’s hand came around, catching Ekaterina’s chin.
I turned toward the door before the blade touched her face. I heard the first sound rip out of her. Then another. Then I heard Mara’s calm voice telling her to breathe unless she wanted the damage worse.
I didn’t look back.
One of my men opened the front door. Warm air moved over my face. I stepped outside as Ekaterina’s screams followed me down the steps.
Juvie stood by the rear door of the car. He didn’t ask anything.
The kid was smart, too.
The ride back was quiet. I watched the city slide by the window and felt nothing about what had just happened.
Ekaterina would live. She would still be rich, still be protected by whatever name her family had left.
But when she looked in a mirror, as she used to love to do, she’d remember my wife every day.
The vibration of my phone surprised me. I thought Theory must’ve woken up and wanted me, but it was Real. I answered.
“Fuck you want?”
“Tryna see how married life treating you, but you up and grouchy. That says a lot,” he teased.
I snorted. “Whatever, nigga. You up, too.”
“You forget I got a lil one?”
“Nah, yo’ ass must be scared about them impending nuptials.”
“Never. Hard as I chased this girl? I been tryna get her to sneak to the Justice of the Peace,” he joked… I guess.
“What’s up?”
“It’s about work.”
I was instantly more alert. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. But I can’t tell you in a car. I’ll explain when you get still.”
“You got that.”
“A’ight. Y’all still coming a couple days before? We gon’ need a smoke break or something before this production.”
“I’m one of the Best Men. I’ll be there with bells on.”
“Bring ya ass. Leave the bells.”
He hung up, and I laughed.
By the time we reached the house, the sky was still dark, but not as deep dark as before. Morning was coming. I went in through the side entrance, showered in the guest bath, then dressed in clean sleep pants.
When I eased back into our bedroom, Theory was exactly where I’d left her, knocked out, curled up in my shirt. Looking at her, I felt myself relax. I climbed into bed carefully, but she stirred anyway.
“You back?” she mumbled.
I slid behind her and pulled her into my arms.
“I promised, didn’t I?”
“Mm-hmm.” She settled against me, already falling back asleep. “You cold. I told you turn that thing up.”
“I’ll warm up.”
She caught my hand and dragged it over her stomach and held it there. I closed my eyes and pressed my mouth to the back of her neck. My wife slept like she knew I would keep watch.
So, I did.