Chapter 19
?
Luna
The house is quiet except for raindrops tapping against the window. I haven’t moved from this couch since Roman left, and weirdly, I can't shake this blanket of peace he wrapped around me.
' I like your perfume too ' - his words keep playing in my head, pulling this ridiculous smile from me. Obviously he's referring to what I mumbled while coming down from my panic attack, but watching that ice-cold facade melt around me sends butterflies through my stomach.
Someone needs to write a manual for this man - how can you be the same person who casually admits to making people vanish then rushes to open my car door?
Stop crushing on your boss, Luna!
The feeling of guilt hits me again. I had a panic attack in the elevator. At work. Because of a message.
I knew that if I allowed myself to fall into the trap of security it would somehow turn against me.
It's a message, Luna. A single message. Maybe he mentioned the blouse by chance . I already know what I'm thinking is stupid. Somehow he saw me. Somehow he was in my vicinity today and I didn't realize it.
I need to be more careful.
I really hoped that after Damien's threat he would understand to leave me alone.
I try to occupy my time with housework, but after polishing the bathroom tiles to exhaustion and getting drunk on the smell of freshly washed laundry with fabric softener, I collapse on the couch and put my headphones on to listen to the ending of my audiobook.
I listen with bated breath to see what happens because, of course, at the end the heroine is kidnapped by a cult leader who's obsessed with her. When it ends, I'm left with... an emptiness in my soul. Look what my existence has been reduced to.
I'm just a ball of anxiety desperately seeking distractions. I’ve learned to take the bad days with the good ones, but being alone - that's something time doesn't really fix.
I realize I haven't called Dad in forever and he'll probably start bombing my phone soon, so I dial him while puttering around the kitchen for food. He picks up on the third ring.
"What are you doing, my beautiful?" he asks in the same warm tone he's had since my childhood.
I love how whenever I call him or he calls me, he tells me I'm his beautiful one. He calls Mom the same thing, and it's something so small, but it brings me immediate comfort.
"Trying to make something to eat even though I don't have many options."
I make a note to go shopping, otherwise my fridge will go on strike.
"What are you guys doing?" I ask.
In the background, the TV is playing an NFL game, from what I gather, because although American football has nothing to do with European football, my father is a sports man and likes to stay current with everything moving in this field.
"Nothing new. Your mother is taking care of her old ladies. I got a few contracts for house renovations. We’re good." I don't need much to feel more at ease.
There were many moments when I felt guilty for not telling them what was happening with Aidan. I know they would have gone crazy knowing I was hours away and unable to do absolutely anything. They probably would have pressured me to move back home with them, and the last thing I wanted was to lose even this fragment of freedom.
"Is Mrs. Mitchell still trying to find a husband?" I ask, laughing, because mom works at a nursing home.
One of the residents, Mrs. Mitchell, is mom's favorite. At eighty-two you'd think she wants peace, but no. For five years now she's been looking for a wealthy elderly man to walk along the beach and enjoy coffee with.
"You know her," he laughs. "A few months ago she was about to propose to Mr. Carson, but fortunately your mother intervened in time."
Mr. Carson is the sweetest presence in the entire nursing home. At seventy-eight he's a widower who, after losing his wife, couldn't bear the loneliness in a house full of memories and chose to come to the nursing home voluntarily.
Every Sunday when mom was on duty, I would go there too, and Mr. Carson would play classical music on the gramophone and always invite me to dance. I felt like a real princess.
"Poor thing, although I have to admit there's something between them." I can't help but laugh when I think about Mrs. Mitchell, with her feather-adorned scarves, and Mr. Carson, who never parts with his pocket watch.
"We miss you, little Luna," Dad tells me in a soft tone, and suddenly guilt hits me right in the chest.
I miss them sometimes so much I can barely breathe, but the best thing I did was keep them away from all the chaos of the last year. I know if they saw me face-to-face they would realize something bad happened.
After I hang up the phone and finish devouring the tuna salad made from what was left in the fridge, I head to bed. All I have in my head are stormy eyes that care if I make it to my apartment door in one piece.
After today, sleep pulls me down almost instantly.
A knock at the door makes me jump out of my work chair. It's almost eleven at night and I'm not expecting anyone - my heart's already racing as I creep to the door.
Through the peephole I see a man with brown hair, wearing a leather jacket. I hold my breath for a few seconds, like maybe he won't sense me here, but the lamp by my window's probably already given me away. Another knock makes me jump, and I move to open up. Don't know why I'm so freaked out.
“Hello. Something wrong?” I ask, cracking the door just enough to peek my head through.
“Is Aidan here?”
God, that voice. His baritone's so deep it could rattle windows if he spoke any louder.
“No,” I say with a frown, wondering what Aidan has to do with my apartment.
Perfect. Now all his friends are hunting for him at my place. This guy just won't accept we're done. The rage must show on my face because suddenly he shoves the door open with one hand, pushing me aside like I'm some toy in his way.
“Hey! You can't just barge into my house!” I yell, heading for my phone - I'm not stupid enough to take on someone twice my size.
His eyes turn black when he sees where I'm going.
My little steps are no match for his - he grabs me around the waist and clamps his hand over my mouth while I try desperately to scream. God, I'm such an idiot for opening the door this late. My eyes squeeze shut as panic starts to take over. I need to breathe but can't with his hand covering my mouth and nose.
“Listen, doll, I don't want to hurt you more than necessary…”
A knife appears in front of me, trailing down to my stomach.
Still holding me with the blade pressed against my belly, he closes the door like this is totally normal.
"We're going to call your friend, and he better come quickly. My fingers have been itching for some blood for days." His voice gives me goosebumps because you can feel the violence pulsing in it.
From his leather jacket pocket he pulls out some rope, a sign he was prepared for this kind of situation, and slowly takes his hand from my mouth. I don't dare move even though I know I could run. In those few seconds I could escape, but my entire body is frozen in place. My brain screams to move, but my muscles are captive, paralyzed by everything happening to me.
Suddenly I'm pushed onto a chair and feel my wrists being tied to its seat. He even chose one without a backrest, so if I move I’ll fall with it without problem.
He rises from beside the chair and calls someone. Although I have tears in my eyes and can only see him blurrily, I realize I wouldn't have had any chance fighting him. He's surely six foot three and over two hundred pounds.
The moment someone takes the call, he gives me a categorical sign to be quiet. The person on the other end of the phone yells angrily, but when he puts it on speaker, I feel my soul tear hearing Aidan's voice.
"I told you you'll see the money in a week. Tell Damien you didn't find me. What the hell, Igor."
Then it hits me why these people are looking for him.
The idiot borrowed money again, and this time he took it from the wrong people.
"You guaranteed that money, Aidan, and Damien is tired of waiting. Fifty thousand isn't money you overlook. But you know, your little girlfriend could make that money quickly in one of the boss's clubs," the man tells him calmly.
I can't hold it back anymore - a strangled sob breaks free. They're going to make me pay off his mess. What did I do to deserve this?
Where am I supposed to find fifty grand? How do I make this stop? He's made me pay his debts before, but I'm cleaned out - financially and emotionally empty...
“One hour to get here with the money, or you won't like what you’ll find.” Igor hangs up.
“Please, I never promised anything for him,” I whisper, hoping he'll understand I'm done with Aidan, that I've been begging him to leave me alone since he started gambling like crazy.
“Save your breath, doll. If your friend's not here in fifty-nine minutes, you'll bleed for every dollar.”
He starts carving a block of wood with the same knife he used to threaten me.
Come on, Luna. Think. But that's the problem - my brain's been desperately searching for options since I let this animal through my door.
There's nothing. If I scream, maybe no one hears me through these thick walls, and my neighbors are probably asleep by now. Even if they heard, I'd be risking their lives along with mine. If I fight back, Igor's two steps away and twice my size. The worst part? Realizing Aidan's my only way out.
It hurts because I know he doesn't have the money. It hurts because at one point this man meant something to me. It hurts because I feel that, after tonight, I'll lose even the last bit of mental health I had left and that I was clinging to to get back to normal after a toxic relationship.
The minutes stretch infinitely and I feel my body absorbing more stress through every pore, and I start to sweat. My body temperature rises with every minute Aidan doesn't knock on the door, and when there are two minutes left of the allotted time, I close my eyes and prepare for the worst.
"He won't come," I tell him, but with my eyes closed, resigned, because I know what kind of person my life has been entrusted to.
"He'll come," his voice resonates in the room, and the certainty with which he speaks makes me open my eyes to see him looking at me.
His gaze measures me from head to toe, and I've never been more grateful for long pajamas that cover my entire body.
When time has officially run out, I see him rise and move toward me. Suddenly, he pulls up my shirt, leaving my back exposed. His calloused fingers explore my skin, and I desperately try to move away, but the restraints only allow me an inch of movement.
"I could carve into your skin all day. You'd become a work of art in the true sense of the word." His words temporarily cut off my breathing from how sick they sound.
I don't have time to think too much because then I feel a stinging pain coming from my back.
"If I were you, I'd stay still. If you ruin my pattern I'll have to start over."
I can't. That's the problem. I can't not cry and not flinch at every line his knife traces in my skin.
I feel warm blood sliding down my back and staining my pants, and when I look down, I already see a small scarlet puddle. I'm sure he cut deep enough to leave a scar, and I try not to move. That's when the last shred of rationality abandons me, and I retreat to a corner of my mind, to a safe place where I'm not at the mercy of a madman satisfying his artistic cravings on my skin.
Eventually my back goes numb and the stabbing pain fades to a dull throb. It's still there, radiating through me, but he's not carving new patterns anymore. I think he's finished his masterpiece.
"If he doesn't come in forty-five minutes, we'll start another pattern. Okay?" he asks and sits down, continuing to carve his wood with the same knife that's now covered in blood. My blood.
I surely have a splinter in one of the scratches. And that's my only thought.
Another knock at the door. I fight to keep my eyes open, exhausted from holding back screams and the searing pain that covers my back.
Igor heads for the door and opens it. I can’t see who it is with my back turned, but I catch that scent - that ocean breeze that now makes me want to throw up.
"Igor, what the—," Aidan's voice stops suddenly.
And I know he's seen my back. I don't have the strength to scream, to insult him, because everything bad that's happened to me in the last months is his fault. Because of his sick obsession with me.
"God, sweetie, are you okay?" Aidan asks while moving in front of me, his hands touching my face.
My hair is stuck to my temples from sweat and I'm sure I look like hell, but I still find the strength in me to headbutt his nose.
Aidan grabs my hair, and I feel stinging in my scalp as his mouth approaches mine.
"I ran all the way here to make sure nothing happens to you, and this is how you repay me?" he yells.
I can't believe how much nerve he has.
"It's your fault I'm here." My voice is barely audible.
For a second, something that looks like guilt appears in his gaze, but it passes quickly when Igor sits on the couch where he's been carving for the last hour.
"The money, Aidan," is all he says.
"I want to talk to Damien. He'll understand I need a little more time," he answers.
He positions himself between us like a shield - though if Igor really wanted to hurt me more, Aidan couldn't stop him. Aidan's not small, but next to Igor he looks like a kid who wandered onto a pro football field.
"Ohhh. That's what you'd like, right?"
His gaze is still set on that piece of wood that now looks like a little soldier.
"Call him, Igor. I have the right to negotiate with him," Aidan tells him hurriedly.
I can't help but think that maybe someone up there is on my side and will take Aidan to this Damien so I can be alone.
"The doll comes with us," is all Igor says while getting up and putting the piece of wood in his pocket.
"No, she stays here," Aidan answers in a sure tone, as if he holds the advantage in this discussion.
In that moment, Igor digs his fingers into Aidan's throat and slams him against the wall, cutting off his breathing.
"I don't know when you started thinking you give the orders here, but I'm not going to risk you disappearing again and ignoring our calls. Your princess comes with us. Clear?"
Any hope disappears.
?
Something wakes me from sleep, and when my heartbeats calm down, I listen and realize that it’s my front door.
Not again.
The sound of the click breaks the house's silence and sleep disappears instantly. All the nights of fear and paranoia hit me at once, and I feel a burden settling on my chest that cuts off my breathing. I need to shake off this paralysis.
Drawer, Luna.
The voice in my head sets me in motion as I open the nightstand drawer as quietly as possible and take out the knife I've had there for months.
I push the blanket aside, and with bare feet, try to step lightly on the hardwood floor that, thank heaven, doesn't creak. A sound comes from beyond my door, and I close my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart. I move toward the phone and say a prayer that I have time to send Roxy a message, begging her to call the police for me.
I can't risk speaking now, not even in a whisper, so I quickly send the text and put the phone on silent.
Please, Roxy, make them come quickly.
A shadow slips under the door, and I'm not crazy enough to go out and face whoever's out there, but I don't get to finish my thought because I see the handle starting to slowly lower.
I move to the side behind the door, trying to somehow have a small advantage over the intruder, and when the door opens, I see an enormous hulk of a man. He's wearing a black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, and although I can't see his face, I can feel his surprise when he doesn't see me in bed.
In that moment, I decide this is my chance. God, I hate those three seconds of hesitation I have because they're enough for the man to realize I'm behind him. He starts to turn around, and my knife lands somewhere in his side ribs.
He lets out a cry while stepping back a few steps. When I try to slip toward the exit through the space between him and the door, his fingers clench in my hair and violently slam me into the chest of drawers at the bedroom entrance. On impact, everything topples off the top, and my entire perfume collection shatters on the floor.
My whole body screams from pain, but the adrenaline running through my veins is too high, so I manage not to make a sound. I feel some shards of glass in my palm, the pajamas blocking the rest of my body from other cuts.
"You fucking whore, I'm going to have fun with you before I take you to Devin." A sinister laugh echoes in the room.
I force myself away from the chest of drawers, every muscle screaming from the impact.
When I see him pull out the knife, I bolt for the living room. But I'm too slow - he grabs me by the waist and slams me onto the couch, pinning me down with his weight. Something warm and wet seeps onto my chest - his blood from where I managed to hurt him.
Oh God. I'm going to be sick.
Then my front door explodes inward, and for a split second, I feel relief, thinking it's the police. The next sound proves these aren't the saviors I was hoping for. All I see is my attacker jerking backward, a bullet in his left shoulder.
I'm in shock, or at least I think I am, because I can't move from the couch. A couch that's now permanently stained with the blood of a man who I'm sure would have killed me.
"Miss, are you okay?" a voice sounds, and when I turn my head, I see a blond man with the clearest blue eyes I've ever seen.
Fucking THOR broke down my door and saved me. I'm going to need a Xanax tonight.
I try to form words to explain that I'm okay, that he didn't manage to hurt me, not directly at least, but no sound comes out of my mouth. I spent so much time preparing, knowing something like this could happen, and now that it finally did, I'm not capable of forming a few words.
I hear a phone ringing, and I know it's not mine. I get up from the couch just as Thor answers.
"Yes, I'm here. Neutralized."
He hangs up, and I finally turn to him.
“Sorry, but who exactly are you and why are you in my house?”
Because this guy's definitely not a cop, and from his look, he knows I know it.
“Anton, miss. My boss asked me to watch the building.”
He doesn't finish before I realize exactly which boss.
I close my eyes, shiver running through me. Not from fear - from relief. After so long of having no one in my corner, no one protecting me, it feels incredible to have someone on my side.
Even if that someone has gun-toting employees.
“Anton, you want some coffee?” I ask, heading for the kitchen.
The intruder's still sprawled on the floor - if my knife didn't do the job, Anton's bullet definitely hit something vital, judging by all the blood.
He looks at me like I've lost it, probably wondering how I jumped from shock to casual conversation. Guess trauma shows up differently in everyone - in my case, it's wild mood swings, apparently.
“Police will be here soon,” I say, suddenly remembering my phone's on silent in the bedroom. I rush to grab it - sure enough, about a million missed calls from Roxy. I’d better call her back fast.
"Lunaaa, I'm almost there. You don't have to say anything. God, I hope you're well hidden. I told you we should put a secret door in the closet. I'm a couple of miles away." Her voice, crazed with panic, brings tears to my eyes because I feel how much she cares about me.
I know she would fight all my battles just so I wouldn't have to.
"I'm fine. Someone came. I don't have time to explain now, but I'm okay and I'll probably spend all night at the police station giving explanations."
I do everything possible to reassure her I'm fine and don't end the call until I solemnly promise to send her updates every hour.
When I leave the room, Anton is checking my attacker, and I see him putting a kitchen cloth on his shoulder.
"Is he dead?" My voice seems so devoid of emotion.
Although I hesitated to hurt him, I know he deserves what happened to him. I know what intentions he had toward me, and they weren't good. The fact that someone else hurt him is a relief.
"No, and we don't want him to be. We need answers."
I nod and go to the kitchen to get some coffee because I know I won't close an eye all night. The nearest police station is about twelve minutes by car, and by my calculations they should be here any minute, taking statements.
God, how am I going to explain this madness?
After I've removed the few shards of glass from my hand and poured myself some coffee with lots of milk, I return to the living room and feel an exhaustion like I've never felt before. My adrenaline has clearly gone to sleep, and now the full impact of the evening has hit me in the head.
There's blood splattered on the floor, the couch is good for burning, and I'm staring at an individual with a bullet lodged in his left shoulder. Anton quickly sends some messages, and in thirty seconds, the door opens. Four men enter, dressed as if for an epidemic - with protective gowns, masks, and each carrying a medical kit.
Two of them lift the attacker and carry him out the door, at which point I find myself almost shouting at them.
"Heeey, wait, where are you taking him? The police will come here and take him." As the words leave my mouth, I look at Anton and realization dawns.
"The police aren't coming," I whisper, more to myself.
The two continue carrying the attacker, and I don't know why, but I feel the need to tell Anton, "There are cameras in the stairwell."
A smile appears on his lips as he answers me.
"For the next hour they're deactivated. Stay calm, miss."
Ha, calm. What a joke. I haven't been calm for two years. The other two men have started cleaning the floor, and my anxiety level is at an all-time high. What if the neighbors heard something, what if Roxy's call was recorded anyway, what if someone reports the attacker missing?
CLEARLY, LUNA!
I return to the kitchen, trying to calm my breathing. How did I end up in this situation?
The front door opens again, but I assume it's the two men returning. Suddenly I hear his voice, and I never knew a sound could bring me so much comfort.
"Luna," Roman's voice sounds from the living room.
Coming out of the kitchen, I catch sight of him in completely relaxed attire - jeans, gray sweater, boots, and hair tousled as if from sleep - and I feel my heart do a little leap of joy in my chest.
Okay, it's a big leap.
I don't analyze my actions because my feet instinctively carry me toward him until I'm in front of him. His gaze examines me from head to toe, assessing the severity of my injuries, but I don't give him more time and throw myself at him to hug him. It's not quite a complete hug because his arms remain blocked at his sides, and I feel a sting of rejection when he doesn't respond to my gesture, but I desperately need physical contact with him and don't care about consequences.
I don't want to constantly feel fear anymore, and when he's in the room, I know that whatever happens, I'll be safe. I keep my eyes closed and try to calm my pulse, which I'm sure he feels with how tightly I'm pressed against him, when I feel his lips lightly touch the top of my head and his palm settle protectively at the base of my neck.
I feel a slight trembling in his hand, and for a moment I could swear his heartbeats synchronize with mine.
"Roman, his name is Nolan and he's Devin's cousin," Anton's voice sounds.
Suddenly I tear myself from Roman's arms and step back several paces, feeling my face burning with embarrassment.
How the hell did you manage to jump on him within seconds of him entering the house?
Roman looks at me and once again I feel his gaze taking in the marks on my body. I probably have some bruises on my arms from being shoved into the chest of drawers. Without taking his eyes off me, he answers.
“Luna needs to change, then she's coming with me. Take him to the warehouse.”
He motions toward the bedroom for me to follow.
“Get into something comfortable and pack for a few days,” he says, closing the door behind us.
“Roman, I can't stay at your place. I appreciate it, but I have too many questions to just walk away. Why was Anton guarding outside? Where are the police? And how did you even know to come here?” I let out a breath.
Sure, I'm relieved he's here, and deep down I always knew he wasn't just a CEO, but I need straight answers. Black and white facts, not maybes.
“Change first. We'll talk at my place. I promise you.” Something in his voice melts my resistance.
One night . I just need one night to get my head straight.
At least, that's the lie I keep telling myself. I turn away from him to peel off my Metallica shirt - now looking like a prop from a slasher film - and barely manage to get it off and reach for another before his voice fills the room.
"Who left those marks on your back?"
Fuck. I completely forgot about the scars.
"It doesn't matter now."
I try to seem resigned about it, although suddenly all my insecurities are activated.
"Yes it does, Luna. Because depending on your answer, the unfortunate person who caused those scars will go through a thousand knives while praying to all the deities he’d never touched your skin," he tells me with such certainty.
And my heart can't take anymore.
Because it's too much.
He's too caring, too sweet, too much at the same time, and I’m far too likely to fall in love with this man. I know I have problems. He just threatened someone who hurt me with death, and all I feel is a pleasant warmth in my chest.
And that's exactly what scares me - I'm perfectly aware how emotionally vulnerable I am, and I know that if I experience more such moments and words, I won't resist anymore. And this time, I'm not sure I'll find the strength to pick myself up from the floor.
"I had an ex-boyfriend who got into debt with some people who didn't accept late payments. One of them, to convince him to hurry with the money, broke into my apartment, tied me to a chair and gave him an hour to come. He was twenty-three minutes late, so I received his artwork on my back for the twenty-three minutes Aidan wasted." The words come out whispered because if I say them louder, I'm afraid of bringing him back into my life.
The traces of the dream with that scene are still fresh in my mind. It took me so long to break away from Aidan and everything the relationship with him meant that I don't even want to mention him for fear the universe might think I'm invoking him somehow.
I put on a sports bra and a sweater, along with a pair of high-waisted jeans, and turn to grab some clothes to put in a backpack.
Roman's gaze is one that would freeze hell over. At other times maybe I would have been more conscious of changing in front of my boss, but my mind moves as though through molasses. I don't care that he sees me in underwear. I just know he's here. I know I need to recover.
I'm not planning to stay several days at his house, but after the tone of his voice when he told me to change, he doesn't seem to be in negotiation mode, so I pretend to pack for a few nights’ stay.
When I finish and raise my eyes to him, I see how any trace of gentleness has evaporated, and I can literally feel fury seeping through all his pores. In the diffused bedroom light, his eyes appear a dark gray, almost black, and one of his fists is clenched so tightly it’s trembling.
"Come on, a doctor is waiting at my place to examine you when we arrive," is all he tells me while turning and leaving the bedroom.
Roman's gaze meets Anton's, and it seems a telepathic discussion takes place between them because Roman only answers him with, "Two hours."
He holds the door, waiting for me to step through with my bag.
The ride to Roman's place is painfully quiet - too many questions swirling in my head to relax. I've played the 'don't ask, don't tell' game before, and it only dragged me deeper into trouble. This time I need to know what I'm walking into.
When we pull up, I barely register the mansion's massive size or the armed guards patrolling the grounds. I just follow numbly until we reach a bright hallway - sand-colored walls, black marble floors, and a console table on the left covered in flowers.
The scent of lilies starts working its magic, my shoulders finally beginning to drop, when I hear a woman's voice.
"God, Ro, poor thing, what happened to her?"
When I turn toward the sound of the voice, I see a lady about sixty years old, dressed in a robe with her hair in a bun. She has the kind of hair that you can tell how silky it is just by looking at it, and eyes that seem to have endured much but in which empathy still shines. And God, how they shine with empathy now.
I surely look like hell.
"Luna, this is Anuska, and she'll make you a cup of tea," I hear Roman say.
The woman looks suspiciously at him, as if she doesn't know whether to obey or protest, but nods and heads toward a room I assume is the kitchen. I manage to murmur a "Pleased to meet you," but I don't think she hears me.
"Come on, the doctor is in the living room." He signals toward a room on the right of the hallway.
Here I stare shamelessly because it looks exactly like what I would have put on a Pinterest board for my ideal house. Shades of brown and green greet me as I step into the room. The couch is gigantic, covered in what seems to be very soft material. On one wall stands a beautiful brick fireplace, and near another wall is a black grand piano. My gaze falls on the man who looks at me, frowning, and I can't keep the confusion out of my voice.
"Kai?"
My brain, which was already mush, tries to make the correlation between my boss and the doctor I've met in recent months at the hospital.
He shakes his head and approaches me.
"I suppose coincidences do exist," is all he offers and throws Roman a serious look.
I'm pretty good at interpreting what that look wants to say. It's an accusation and I feel the need to defend Roman, although I'm sure he doesn't need my protection.
"It's not Roman's fault."
I know I probably don't look my best, and I don't want anyone to think Roman did me any harm. Kai nods, and when I look at Roman, there's something in his gaze. Something I can't recognize. Gratitude? Hmm...
"I'll need you to tell me where you feel pain," he tells me while signaling me to sit on the couch.
"I have pain in the lumbar area and right shoulder. I think it’s from when he slammed me into the chest of drawers," I tell him softly, turning to indicate exactly where it hurts.
I look at Roman for comfort and see his gaze again emanating agitation and fury. I lift my sweater to show Kai.
When he touches my lumbar area, I actually jump with an "Ahhh," because the pain is short but intense. Roman is now next to me on the couch and looking at Kai as if he'd like to remove his head, but the latter doesn't seem affected. Interesting .
"Let's see the shoulder too," Kai tells me in a calm tone while I turn to show him my shoulder, which now that all the adrenaline is gone, throbs painfully under the sweater.
"It doesn't seem dislocated, but you'll have some painful bruises in the next few days."
I deeply appreciate that he didn't make any remark about the scars on my back that Roman saw when I changed.
"I'll leave you some anti-inflammatory medication, but I think what you need now is a warm bath and sleep," he tells me, and I notice fatigue in his tone too.
He leaves me a bottle of pills with instructions on how often to take them.
"Thank you," I tell him and extend my hand because, although I'm exhausted, Kai has always been good to me, and the fact that he didn't question me seems like a blessing.
Still, I wonder how he ended up next to someone like Roman, who apparently has people with guns at hand.
After a short discussion by the door, which I can't hear, Anuska comes into the living room with a cup of tea and a blanket, for which I want to hug her. Only when I wrap myself up do I realize my whole body is shaking.
"After you drink your tea, I'll show you where you'll sleep, Luna," Roman tells me from the doorway, keeping a distance, which for some reason bothers me.
"I need some answers," I tell him while not taking my eyes off him.
I know it's not the best moment, I know it would be much better for me to go to bed and sleep, but I can't fall asleep in this house until I hear the truth from his mouth. Because I'm not naive. I know all the signs point to one thing, but I don't want to make my verdict until I hear him out. In the end, I owe him my life and I know that.
A few seconds pass in which I try to understand what's happening in his head, just based on the tension he emanates, before he finally speaks.
"I'm the head of the Russian mafia in Chicago."
Never have a few words hit me so deeply. Did I suspect? Obviously. But it's one thing to hear the truth and another to accept it.
"Thank you," I whisper while creating a thousand ideas and plans in my head of how the hell I'll escape from here.
I'm visually locked on the teacup when I suddenly hear him closer to me.
"Don't even think about running, and I mean it, Luna."
The way he says my name, like honey dripping from his tongue, sends shivers down my spine. No matter how drawn I am to this man, I can't stay here, not with him.
As if sensing my doubts, he continues.
"You're not being held here by force, but you need to understand that the man who came after you isn't from some street-level drug dealer. He's Irish mafia, and trust me, as much as you might fear…me, Devin is the one you should really be running from."
I don't miss the pause he takes after the word "fear."
The truth is I'm not afraid of Roman - quite the opposite. I feel protected in his presence. What I can't stomach is his world and what he does. I've dealt with this environment before and solemnly swore never to return.
"It's not fear, Roman, but try to understand. The mafia? I could have handled learning you launder money through your companies, not that you order people's deaths and disappearances. Because I know that's what happens." I try to meet his eyes, willing him to see what's in my soul.
I realize he understands - it's evident in the way he speaks to me as if hearing the thoughts I dare not voice.
"You're the only woman I've ever told the truth about what I do, and don't ask me why because I don't know myself. I have no idea what spell you've cast that makes you occupy my every thought and breath, but one thing is certain - if you walk out that door now, Luna, by this time tomorrow you'll be dead, and no one will suspect a thing." Fury bleeds through every syllable.
I don't know if it's the certainty in his words, my ragged breathing since he mentioned I haunt him, or his declaration that I'll be dead within twenty-four hours if I leave, but it's all too much.
The panic attack lodges in my throat, and God, how I hate this sensation of a knot I can't swallow away.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to follow my therapist's advice to anchor myself in the present: I'm in Roman's house... breathe ...wearing my ugliest jeans... breathe ...feeling the warmth of the teacup... breathe ...feeling a hand over mine... My breath catches when I open my eyes to find Roman watching me.
There's pain in his gaze as he restrains himself from coming closer, and maybe it's exhaustion or the desire to stop thinking so much, but I squeeze his hand and release the breath I've been holding.
"I have to go. I'll be back in a few hours. Luna...just...don't run from me, please. I know this is all hard to accept. I know I haven't answered all your questions yet. For your own sake, for your life, please stay in this house until I return."
All I can do is nod as his hand withdraws from mine and he leaves.
And I want to call him back because the thoughts have returned like a tornado in my head and won't leave.