CHAPTER 12
Anastasia
After having scrubbed myself until my skin was red to get the feel of the grime off, I put on the dress Rodian placed on the counter.
I smooth my hands over the soft khaki-green fabric. It has a relaxed fit, three-quarter sleeves, and a flowing skirt that falls to my calves.
At least the wound on my leg looks much better.
Feeling a bit calmer after the breakdown, I glance around, taking in the bottle of cologne, beard trimmer, toothbrush and paste, and personal items that make me think this is Rodian’s bathroom.
Picking up the bottle, I sniff it, getting a strong hit of the earthy scent I’ve smelled on Rodian.
I set it down and pick up a hairbrush, then glance at the door, not sure if I’m allowed to use it.
A knock at the door has me jerking, and I drop the brush, which falls with a loud clatter on the tiles.
“Anastasia?” Rodian calls, his tone gruff. “Can I come in?”
“Y-yes.”
I quickly bend down, and as I grab the brush off the floor, the door opens and his sharp blue eyes lock on me. I set it down on the counter and wipe my palms over my sides before wrapping my arms around myself.
I notice he’s removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, giving me a view of the tattoos on his forearms.
Coming closer, he takes hold of the brush, and without saying a word, he moves in behind me and begins to untangle my damp hair.
“Do you feel any better?” he asks.
Hearing him right behind me makes goose bumps erupt on my skin.
My throat feels bone dry as I answer, “I do.” I swipe my tongue over my lips, then add, “Sorry about earlier.”
“Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong.” He gathers my hair at my nape, his fingers brushing against my skin, and another wave of goose bumps spreads over every inch of me.
I hear a drawer open, and glancing behind me, I see Rodian plugging in a hair dryer.
“I can do that,” I say, quickly starting to feel uncomfortable.
He shakes his head and proceeds to gently pull his fingers through my strands while drying them as if he’s done this a million times before.
Deep down, I know he’s trying to show me he’s still the attentive man I fell for, but that ship has sailed so hard and fast, it’s halfway around the world already.
There’s no going back to what we had. Those two people no longer exist.
Rodian isn’t the man who walked into my workshop anymore. He’s the pakhan. The man who took the seat of power by killing for it and now commands the worst of the worst.
And I’m… whatever this is. Whatever my family and his men beat me into.
When he’s done drying my hair, he comes to stand in front of me and asks, “Is the dress okay?”
I nod while glancing at the toothbrush, and being as perceptive as ever, he picks up on it and opens another drawer. Taking a brand new toothbrush out, he removes it from the packaging and sets it down. “The doctor is here. Come to the bedroom when you’re done.”
I nod again, and only once he’s left do I brush my teeth for a few minutes to make sure they’re clean.
After rinsing out, I inhale the fresh mint and feel a little more human.
My gaze touches on the mirror, and a gasp escapes me when I see my face.
The fullness in my cheeks has faded so much that my cheekbones stand out, and dark shadows beneath my eyes make them look too big for my face. My skin is pale and dull, making me look as exhausted as I feel.
But that’s not what shocks me.
My eyes seem… lifeless, as if I died in that pen along with the rest of my family.
Unable to look at myself a second longer, I rush away from the mirror.
I hear the women wail, and coming to a standstill, I cover my ears and squeeze my eyes shut.
I ran away to the kitchen. Every time. While they were being raped, I cooked, doing what I could to keep myself safe.
Not once did I try to help them.
Images of Ms. Fedorova being kicked to death bombard my mind, and I hunch down while a weird sound escapes me.
I did nothing. I just cowered in the pen and watched as they killed her.
Strong arms wrap around me, and as I slump against the solid chest, I realize Rodian is holding me again. I feel a prick and glance to my left, seeing the sharp needle being pulled out of my arm.
“It will help,” Rodian says before pressing a kiss to my hair.
Soon the horrific memories begin to blur, losing their potency, and my heartbeat slows until it’s normal again.
Exhausted to my core, I lean my cheek against his chest and close my eyes.
“Miss Donovan,” the doctor says while he wraps something around my upper arm. “I’m just going to check your vitals.”
Just as I begin to doze off, he asks, “Can you tell me how you feel?”
“Tired,” I mumble.
Rodian shifts, and picking me up, he climbs to his feet. A moment later I’m placed down on the bed, and his scent envelops me when he pulls the covers over me.
Waking up, it takes a few seconds for me to remember where I am.
I lift my head, glancing at a walk-in closet, and as I turn to my other side, I see Rodian sitting on a leather couch, a pillow and rumpled blanket beside him.
He’s only wearing black cotton pants, and because he’s leaning forward, typing on his phone, I can’t see much of his chest, but black ink swirls over his shoulders.
His hair is loose, though, reaching just past his shoulders in untamed waves. Somehow it suits him, especially with the thicker beard he seems to be growing.
Suddenly Rodian looks up, and the force of his intense blue eyes locks on me like a heat-seeking missile.
Setting his phone down on the couch, he gets up, and as he walks toward the bed, I’m struck speechless. Slowly, I sit up as I drink in every detail of the tattoo that covers his chest.
Positioned opposite each other across his pecs are two faces. One is smiling, its expression happy, while the other is contorted with anguish and grief.
So beautiful.
Cracked textures and heavy shading fill the space between the two faces.
My lips part when I make out fine strands of thread running through the entire tattoo. Some disappear behind the faces only to emerge again farther along, making it look as if the whole piece has been stitched together.
Oh my God.
Long sewing needles stick out at the bottom, and spools of thread sit near the hard edges of his abs, unraveling into the strands that connect everything.
Just as Rodian sits down on the side of the bed, I see hints of a theater with curtains, and a full-figure woman peeking from behind them.
That’s me.
Lifting my eyes to his, he must see the question in mine, because he taps his right side and says, “When I met you.” Moving his hand to the grief-stricken face on his left pec, he murmurs, “When I lost you.”
While I clung to my memories of him and escaped into dreams of him saving me, he inked his experience into his skin.
Every time he saw the tattoo, he had to think about me.
Up until now, the fear has been overriding everything, but as I stare at the only man who’s ever shown me affection, my heart skips a beat.
I become overly aware of just how much man he is. Rodian is even more muscular than I remember and with all the beautiful ink, he’s almost too much to look at.
Feeling shy, I lower my head, but then I end up staring at his abs and hard lines that curve down his hips. I clear my throat and glance at the couch instead.
Rodian lifts his hand and brushes some of my hair behind my ear, and as I meet his eyes again, he tilts his head and asks, “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve slept a year,” I answer honestly.
“It’s the medication you were given. Dr. Kravets said it would make you sleepy, which was a good thing. You needed the rest.” His hand moves to my cheek, and he brushes the backs of his fingers over my skin. “Your color is better.”
For a moment we stare at each other, and I begin to remember all the good things I experienced during our night together. But then the fact that he’s the pakhan overshadows it all, and I tear my eyes away from his to glance around the room.
“Is this your bedroom?”
He nods, taking a deep breath through his nose, and as he lets it out, he leans toward the bedside table to pick up three boxes.
“Dr. Kravets prescribed these for you to take in the morning. They should help with some of the anxiety and make it easier when everything becomes too much.” He shows me another box. “These are only if you need them, when the memories become so overwhelming you can’t pull yourself out of them.”
“Okay.”
Tapping on the third box, he explains, “This is the medication you take before bed.” Rodian locks eyes with me again. “The doctor also thinks you should see a therapist who specializes in PTSD.”
The thought of talking about the hell has me pulling back and shaking my head wildly. “No. Definitely not!”
Rodian grips me behind my neck and leans closer to me while capturing my gaze with his.
“All I ask is that you think about it, Anastasia. You had an entire life stolen from you. Five years you should’ve spent doing what you loved, being happy, building a future with me.
” A muscle begins to tick above his beard, and the blue of his eyes turns lighter with anger.
“Instead, you were treated like a servant, and then those fuckers took what little you had left and subjected you to things you should never have had to survive.”
In desperate need to have something… or someone who’s on my side and not hurting me, I lunge forward and wrap my arms around his neck.
“Please,” I rasp, my voice hoarse from all the overwhelming emotions.
Rodian’s strong arms engulf me, and when he holds me so tight it feels like he might never let go again, my breathing hitches.
“What do you need, moya krasavitsa? Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”
“I just want… everyone to stop… hurting me,” the words sputter from me as tears begin to fall.
Rodian leans back so he can see my face while his palm brushes over the side of my head.
I can see he means it when he says, “I promise you on everything I hold dear, I will protect you until my final breath. Whoever dares to insult you or raise a hand against you will die.”
A sob bursts from me, and giving him a pleading look, I say, “I don’t want to be a part of the Bratva. I just want a normal life.”
He stares at me for an unnervingly few seconds, then shakes his head. “I can’t let you go, Anastasia, but I can guarantee you will have a very normal life here on my estate. You’ll be free to do whatever you want.”
My shoulders slump, and my eyebrows draw together as I ask, “So I still have to marry you?”
“Yes. The wedding will take place in two weeks. Your grandfather’s associates won’t back down until my ring is on your finger.”
“Two weeks!” I exclaim, the blood draining from my face.
Rodian’s hands move fast, framing the sides of my head, and he leans in dangerously close.
“You are a Fedorov! The only safe place for you is with me.” When I flinch from his harsh tone, he visibly calms down before continuing, “You will have everything your heart desires.” Leaning in, he surprises the crap out of me when he presses a soft kiss to my mouth, and as our eyes lock again, he says, “You will be loved, Anastasia.”
I latch onto his last sentence like a drowning woman, his words the life vest I so desperately need.
God, I don’t know if I believe him, or if I can trust the man he’s become, but right now, I need someone to keep me from sinking.
And despite everything, that someone is Rodian.
He still scares me. Not because I think he’ll beat or starve me, but because he has the power to decide what happens to me, and I have none.
In two weeks, I’ll be his wife, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it because, at the end of the day, I don’t dare disrespect the pakhan by refusing to marry him.