Chapter 9
NALA
I refuse to think about Roman.
I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling. It doesn’t bother me anymore to do so. Maybe it’s because I’m not staring out of boredom or depression. I’m simply contemplating things. Mainly, I’m thinking about how I shouldn’t be thinking about the man keeping me locked inside this apartment.
I don’t want to, but I can’t stop myself. The worst part is, I don’t see him as my captor or the criminal I know he is.
He’s just…Roman. I’m sure plenty of people hate him for the things he does but I don’t, and I don’t think it’s because I’m not smart or whatever. I think he can be nice when he wants to, even when he doesn’t mean to be. Even when he doesn’t realize he’s being nice.
I shove the blanket off, climbing out of bed. I shower, wash my hair then wrap myself in a towel. I eye my usual sweatpants and hoodie. They’re a thousand times softer than the scratchy pajama pants Madam Belova used to throw at me to wear, but something about them is starting to bother me.
I wish I could wear the things I remember other girls wearing.
Jeans, leggings, sweaters, clothes that make me look like a woman and not a child.
I don’t want to look like a child around Roman.
I also don’t want him sending me off to bed again like one.
I don’t care why he did it, I don’t want it to happen again.
For now, I pull on a pair of sweatpants, a thin spaghetti strap shirt and a hoodie, hoping I can convince him to get me a pair of leggings and a different sweater.
I give my hair a quick squeeze with the towel then head into the living room.
Roman’s already there, sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone.
His brows are drawn tight like whatever he’s reading is pissing him off.
"Morning,” he greets me without looking up.
“Morning.” I sit across from him.
He ignores me, muttering something in Russian while his fingers move fast over the screen.
"Could I get some different clothes?" I blurt out the question.
He finally looks up, his gaze sweeping over what I’m wearing, lifting back to my face. “Those don’t fit?”
"They do." I bite my lip. "I don’t want a lot, maybe a pair of leggings and a different shirt.”
“Fine. I’ll get you more clothes."
Relief rushes through me. I let out a breath, adding, “I know it can’t happen right now, but later, in the future… Am I ever going to go into a store myself? Or will I always have to ask you?”
He doesn't look at me, and I get the feeling he’s doing so on purpose.
“You will. But not alone.”
I push my chair in, a bit harder than necessary, the sound causing him to lift his head.
"I won't forget you said that.”
He holds my gaze, his expression unreadable as he goes back to his phone, dismissing me.
"I'm going to do my hair."
He doesn't respond. I don’t know what I did wrong or why he’s acting like this after we got along so well last night. I’m not even mad at him for sending me away. It feels like he’s angry about something, and I don’t know what.
I go back to the bedroom and close the door. I pull the hoodie over my head, dropping it on the bed. It’s too damp from my hair, which I still need to braid. Sitting down, I start sectioning my hair and trying not to analyze Roman’s behavior
Maybe it has to do with whatever he’s planning, the stress of it. I'm halfway through the first braid when he knocks.
“Come in.”
I tense for a half a second, remembering I hadn’t put a bra under my top.
The door opens and my fingers on the end of my braid still as Roman steps inside the room and stops. This is bad, I tell myself.
Is it though?
I don’t know what to think. Seeing him in the doorway with one hand on the frame, I’m bombarded with feelings I can’t identify or understand.
His eyes find mine and it’s obvious there’s a shift in the room, everything feels smaller.
I see his gaze drop, down to my almost bare shoulders, then lower to the thin piece of fabric stretched over my breasts.
My nipples tighten. They’re hard and sensitive, reacting instantly, not to the cool air, but to him.
The shirt that felt fine seconds ago suddenly feels strange, the fabric brushing across my nipple in a way that makes my breath hitch.
Heat blooms under my skin, spreading fast, through my chest and down my stomach to settle between my legs.
I press my thighs together, instinctively as something tightens and pulsates inside me.
Something’s happening.
I’m terrified Roman can tell yet I can’t look away, because I know. It’s him. He’s the reason, it’s my body reacting to his attention, the way my pussy clenches and aches, responding to nothing more than his eyes on me.
I’ve never felt this before. I should probably grab the hoodie and cover myself, break whatever this is. I won’t. I like it too much, the way his gaze feels on my skin. I want him to keep looking and never look away.
He clears his throat, and snaps his gaze to the wall, shattering the most amazing thing I’ve experienced. He releases a low breath, pressing his fingers to his temple as if he’s trying to regain control. When he looks at me again and speaks, his voice is rougher than usual.
"Colors. What colors do you like for the new clothes?”
My head is still foggy and my body throbbing. It takes a few seconds to understand what he’s asking.
"Oh." My voice comes out softer than I intend. "Um…any color. Anything other than gray or black.”
He nods but doesn’t leave. If anything, he steps farther into the room, leaning against the dresser across from me, arms crossed over his chest.
"There's a meeting tonight.”
The heat drains from my body. "About what?"
"Everything"
"Me?"
“He’ll definitely mention you."
My stomach clenches. "Do you think he knows where we’re staying?”
"No. He'll throw out theories to see who reacts."
I'm quiet, imagining Roman in a room with his father accusing him of betrayal. "Aren’t you worried? How can you look so calm?"
"Worrying doesn’t help."
“If you don’t worry then what do you feel?”
"Nothing.” His features harden. “I shut off my thoughts and focus on the best approach when he questions me. It’s a game to him. How far he can push me before I crack and lose control.”
“Do you ever lose control?”
“No. I can’t. The moment I lose control, is an excuse for my father to say I was a threat to the Bratva.”
“But what if he says he has evidence you took me? What then?”
“Then I have to think fast.” His eyes flick to mine. “Or we’re both screwed.”
“I know what he’ll do to me. I just don’t know what will happen…” I let my voice trail, trying to block out the images of the ways I know Grigori has had people killed.
"Are you worried about me?" Roman asks, sounding surprised.
I toy with the end of my braid. "I’m not. You say you know what you’re doing."
He raises a dark eyebrow, as if he doesn’t believe me.
I let go of my hair. “Yes,” I whisper, admitting the truth. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Silence fills the room. I understand now what my parents meant when they told me, I should learn to keep some thoughts inside my head.
"I'll be fine," he says, after a few seconds. "He has to accuse me tonight. I’d worry if he didn’t.”
I hope he’s right because if Grigori has proof of his involvement… I can’t bear to think what he’d do.
Roman doesn’t seem ready to leave my room. After last night and his strange behavior this morning, I also don’t want him to leave now that things are okay between us. I want to keep talking to him without reminding him of his psycho father.
"I thought about something.”
“What?”
“Last night when I watched you cook. It made me realize how much I don’t know.”
“Like what?”
“Basic things that people pick up as they get older.” I braid my hair, my fingers working automatically. “How to take care of a home, apartment. How to use a cell phone. I never had one.” I sigh. “There’s a lot I don’t know and I want to learn.”
He's quiet, so quiet I think he’s ignoring me, until I hear him say, “I’ll teach you.”
I can’t believe I heard him correctly. I blink. "You will?"
"Yeah.” His tone is matter of fact. “It takes time, though. You can’t make up for seven years in a week or two.”
“I know,” I rush to tell him, my excitement bubbling. “I don’t care how long it takes. I want to catch up.”
"Alright. We'll start with the basics and figure out the rest from there.”
We.
It’s basic grammar but the way he says it, makes it feel like we’re a team instead of captor and captive. Since he’s not in a bad mood, I push my luck. "I also want to learn Russian.”
He raises a brow. "You plan on being around other people?"
His words sting, reminding me of what I am and why I’m here.
"For myself," I say, slightly embarrassed. "So I can understand what's happening around me."
He considers this, tilting his head to the side. "Alright. What do you know so far?"
"Only a few words. I can’t say them that well, though."
“Let me hear them.”
I think back to the basement, Grigori’s voice, sharp, cruel and always angry. “Blyad. He said that a lot."
Roman folds his arms. “Yeah. I bet he did.”
"Hmm. Let’s see. Oh, he said suka. That’s another word he liked to use. He’d say it to Madam Belova whenever he was mad."
I hesitate, lowering my gaze. "He yelled it at me too. Sometimes right before he slapped me.”
Something dark flashes across Roman's face. It’s there and gone so fast, I wonder if I imagined it. He closes his eyes, rubs his temple, exhaling deep. “What else?”
I search my memory, recalling Grigori standing over Madam Belova, red-faced with spit flying from his lips.
"Zat…zatk…" I stumble over the syllables.
"Zatknis.”
"Yes. That’s the word.” I nod. “He said it and then she’d immediately stop talking.”
He gives a slow nod. "You’re already ahead. You learned the important ones.”
"Will you teach me more?"
"Yes."
"When?"