Chapter 33
NINA
Irun from that blood-soaked room, my own weak denial ringing in my ears.
“You can handle this life, Nenoka.”
I hate that Art sometimes knows me better than I know myself.
My hands ache with the reminder that I hurt Polina. I wrenched that knife from her grip without thinking, removing the danger, and that wasn’t enough. Something took over. I wasn’t satisfied until I’d had my revenge on her for surprising me, for trying to hurt me, for everything she’s done.
I’ve never thought of myself as a violent person.
I’ve studied for years to help people, to heal people.
Not to use my hands to inflict damage. My knuckles are throbbing and bloody.
I think I felt Polina’s nose break against my fist, the crack of her bone reverberating up my arm.
And I didn’t stop until she was unconscious.
Lying there, still breathing, but unmoving. She could be seriously injured.
What if she’d had a medical condition? What if her bones were weak? I could have killed her.
I’ve never been violent, without Art around. Without this high-stakes, dangerous environment that he’s dragged me into.
Art catches up to me just as I reach the living room, in the center of the Estate where all of the winding corridors meet in the middle.
In the low light, the intricate wallpaper and furniture cast shadows that look like people. I suppress a shiver. No one else is here.
Polina is out cold, Denis is dead.
It’s just me and the man I’m married to.
Just me and a murderer.
I should be shaken up. I should not be filled with this weird, restless energy. I feel like I’ve just had a shot of pure adrenaline into my veins.
“I had to do it, didn’t I? I had to hurt her?” My voice shakes as I come to a stop, knowing Art is just behind me.
“You did exactly what you needed to do.”
His deep, honey-like voice is a balm even when I know what I’ve seen should have me running for the hills.
I turn to face him.
A lamp in the corner is our only light. I look up at Art, his golden hair a rumpled mess, his arm soaked crimson, his black t-shirt clinging to his torso.
He’s covered in blood. I watched him kill a man.
And yet he’s never looked better. Pure dark energy and power, his lips curving into a smile as he steps closer.
“Nenoka.”
He slides his hands around my waist and it’s like a switch flips. I need more. Now. In the next second, if possible.
I don’t want him, I need him.
Art’s mouth crashes against mine and it feels electric. Like every nerve in my body is firing an extra signal.
Neither of us says a single thing. But our mouths, our hands, our bodies scream with urgency.
Touching Art feels as necessary as breathing right now.
Instinct takes over and demands that I feel him, all of him, as close to me as he can get.
I tear his shirt over his head, and he unbuttons his pants. He pulls me close to him, thrusts inside me with no foreplay, and I’m soaked enough that it somehow feels good.
I lean back against the wall, angling my hips so that I take him deeper, and he groans his approval. He pushes me back against the wall, lifting my legs so they’re looped around him.
Just Art and the wall holding me up. I can’t stop myself from sinking further onto his cock with each thrust.
He fists my hair, his teeth grazing against my lip. The blood that was coating his arm clings to me too. Some of it ends up in my mouth, smeared across my lips, the metallic taste coating my tongue.
We are wordless, breathless, craving and skin. He’s rough, but I don’t let him destroy me. I give as good as I get, raking my teeth over his racing pulse, digging my nails into his bicep as he stretches me with each thrust.
In the dark, it doesn’t matter.
Tomorrow, we’ll wake up with the stains of this night on us. The undeniable proof that we always crave each other at the wrong moment.
We can’t talk, I’m furious with this man, and I don’t understand where he’s coming from half the time. But as he wraps a hand around my throat and slams into me, I want nothing more than him.
I am breathlessly moaning against his mouth as he claims me with decisive strokes. The sensation builds deep inside me until I feel myself coming apart around him, my legs wrapped tight around his hips.
I cry out his name when I come, and he follows with a low grunt, sinking his teeth into my shoulder as he finishes.
I melt against him and he holds me tighter.
“I knew you’d come back to me,” he murmurs, placing a rough kiss against my jaw. His stubble rasps against me.
And it feels easy to nod, to lean into his messy kiss, even though I’m not sure I have come back to him.
I didn’t hate what I saw tonight, and that terrifies me.
Even as I melt in his arms. Even as he showers me and puts me in bed gently, smoothing my hair until I fall asleep, while he looks into the distance and stays wide awake.
Some part of me even wanted him.
I could barely see in the low light of Denis and Polina’s bedchamber, just Art’s silhouette and the glint of the blade as he slashed it across Denis’s throat.
So fast that he didn’t wake, that he didn’t have time to scream.
I wrap my arms around myself tighter. This is not normal.
Now I sleep in a murderer’s bed. My child sleeps under the same roof.
I can’t feel safe here, not anymore. Not if this is all human life is worth to these people.
I could try to explain this all to Art, but I don’t know if he’d understand.
Like that poor girl that I had to care for in their hospital. They’re forcing her into a wedding this weekend, even though she’s still in the middle of recovering from a life-threatening bout of hypothermia.
Even if, like Art says, I can withstand this kind of life.
I shouldn’t have to.
I wake in a cold sweat. Every night, the nightmares are getting worse.
I used to have stress dreams before exams at med school, but these are deeper and more intense.
My subconscious throws me a different kind of torture each night, but there’s always blood — so much blood — and a sense of inevitability.
I can’t change what happens or look away from the bloodshed, no matter how much I want to.
It’s like watching a horror movie with my eyes forced wide open the whole time.
One night, I’m an executioner, about to bring down the axe. I have no say in the matter, I don’t even feel myself moving, but I slice off the man’s head whether I want to or not, only waking up when I’ve seen the light fade from his eyes.
In another, I’m performing keyhole surgery, alone, trying to do five jobs at once. Everything goes wrong, until the cardiac monitor flat lines and alarms start to sound.
Tonight was different. Tonight I stood on the shore of a stormy lake and watched as Ava was swept out by a current. I couldn’t move, couldn’t throw a life ring, could only stand with my feet buried in the sand, unable to protect my daughter as she slipped under the surface of the water.
Art wraps his arms around me, stroking my back, and that’s when I realize I’m sobbing.
I shrug myself away from him, and immediately regret it.
Somehow, he’s both the problem and its only solution. I’m drawn back to him again and again, even when I know I should be pushed away. He’s the only anchor that keeps me steady in these rough waters.
His mouth skates over my shoulder and I shiver. The worst mix of craving and regret rushes through me when he touches me right now.
“What’s wrong?” His voice is a sleepy murmur.
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“Try me, Nenoka. We need to get this out.”
I can’t see how it will help, but I can’t stop myself from saying it.
“Maybe I’m glad you never found out about Ava.”
Art doesn’t say anything but his breathing quickens behind me.
“This is not the life I want for her, Art. I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You want to leave again.”
It’s not a question. I don’t respond.
“Just because your childhood wasn't perfect, doesn't mean hers can't be.”
Each words hits me like a physical blow. Right through my chest.
I whip around to face him.
His eyes are furious, blazing at me. But I know how to hit back.
“Right, so you want her to turn out like you? Unable to function without your family’s approval? At least I know my family were abusive, Art. At least I was able to recognize that and leave before they could turn me into them.”
“The difference is at least they could provide for me, Nina. That's what our family does. We provide. Regardless of what we’ve done, blood is thicker than water. And Ava is part of that now.”
I ignore the hot tears springing into my eyes, though they threaten to fall. My chest aches with the reminder of how easily my family rejected me, refusing me support in my moment of need.
The Petrovs weren’t the only ones who ruined my life when I got pregnant.
I will not let him win this one.
“They're looking at her like she's another way to get power, Art. The exact same way they look at you, and I hate it.”
He shakes his head, turning away from me. “That's how family works Nina.”
I let out a laugh. “Don't you think it's fucked up that we're going to be the ones who teach what family is? When neither of us has known normal in our entire lives?”
“We can give her better.” He grasps for my hand but I pull away.
“I have given her better, Art. For four years, she wasn't subject to this kind of bullshit. No one tried to use her as a pawn in a game.”
Art’s jaw tenses. “No one will hurt her Nina. Because she's my daughter, and they wouldn’t dare fuck with me.”
I wish I could believe that.