by Bethany-Kris
Maybe.
“I’m not crazy, Roman,” she whimpered, the words muffled as she dug her face into his chest. She didn’t want him to see how hard she cried, or that she couldn’t control the flood of tears. “I’m not.”
He held her tighter.
“I know you’re not crazy. You’re just a little unwell, babe, and I’m the only one trying to help right now. You have to let me help you, Karine. Please, let me help you.”
FIVE
Karine needed help. That was the whole truth, plain and simple. Technically, it didn’t matter what the other facts were about her current situation, and Roman wasn’t even sure if it was up to him to dig into the past and uncover all the secrets the Yazovs were keeping as to why this had happened to her. What he needed to focus on right now was keeping Karine safe ... and stable.
At least until someone could help her.
This meltdown had not been like the first. If anything, it was worse. He thought he was prepared for another one, but he wasn’t. The calm Roman kept throughout explaining facts—as he knew them to be—to Karine about Katee and Katina was nothing short of a miracle. Self-control he didn’t know he possessed, until he realized she wouldn’t give him a choice.
The woman was a hurricane.
She didn’t need more chaos.
Roman hadn’t asked Karine what exactly was going on inside her head—he wasn’t sure he should, or if she would even tell him. Not yet. But he noticed every single one of her tics, like how she glanced to the side like she was hearing something there, though he chose not to point them out. But he’d seen the look of realization in her eyes, too.
When he said things she couldn’t deny—when she knew things he said to be true. Two and two together always made four, even if at first, it didn’t seem right.
He didn’t know where to start when it came to helping Karine, though. It was so fucking obvious he was in way over his head. Was he expected to be an expert on how to handle all of this?
Hell, he didn’t even know an expert to deal with this. But he sure as shit was going to try. Who else would do it for Karine?
That was the sad thing he had already realized. If not him, then she had no one.
He’d spent some time consoling Karine, only to get her back sitting on the bed where he found a cut on her heel had reopened to bleed through the fresh bandage. It was then that Masha heard the loud sobs, and returned to suggest that Karine might like to have a bath.
If he agreed, that was.
Masha’s words.
Not his.
Even though they weren’t in Chicago—or under the demanding, watchful eye of Maxim Yazov—it seemed that Masha had already placed herself on a lower rung of an imaginary hierarchy. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, to be honest, but there were bigger issues on his plate. In fact, he wasn’t even technically attached to Karine in any way that gave him control over her, but Masha was willing to treat him like he was.
Without question.
The burdens of his responsibilities were never more apparent to Roman. And he couldn’t say that he had been ready for it.
He took the opportunity to step away when Karine was led out of his bedroom by Masha. She kept glancing at him over her shoulder, and she wasn’t crying anymore, but she looked completely broken—one step at a time, he supposed. Roman nodded at her, and stayed where she could see him in the hallway until Masha directed her into the bathroom down the hall.
She still threw him one last, fleeting look that made his chest ache.
How was he supposed to do this?
How did she?
That was the better question.
By the time Roman finally was able to step back into the living room, he found his father by the bar, pouring a glass of vodka.
The broken glass on the floor had magically been cleaned away. Not a shattered shard in sight. Even the bloody tracks, droplets, and smears all over the marble floors had been cleaned, too. The bull was nowhere to be seen, either, and Masha had been busy with Roman and Karine.
The only person left who could have cleaned the mess was now sipping from a lowball glass of three-hundred-dollar a bottle vodka.
The very best Roman had.
Top shelf.
Demyan—his father.
He didn’t seem to want a thank you from his son, and didn’t appear to care if Roman mentioned it one way another as he approached. Hearing his steps, Demyan turned with a sigh and a quiet, “This deserved the good vodka, son. I hope you understand.”
Roman only shrugged.
What else could he do?
He had expected a lot of different reactions from his father after everything, but instead, Demyan remained calm. He eyed his son carefully, considering each one of Roman’s steps until he finally came to a stop in front of him.
“I don’t understand how you’ve found yourself in this position,” he began in a murmur around the rim of his glass.
Fair enough.
Roman raked a hand through his hair, then grabbed the bottle right off the bar altogether. Even a stiff drink wasn’t going to cut it this time. He might as well take the whole damn bottle at this point.
“The girl I just saw back there,” Demyan said, his gaze darting to the hallway that he had a decent view of from his position, “... she’s fragile. Cotton candy, Roman. Just the hint of contact is all that’s needed, and she’ll disintegrate into nothing. Yet, she’ll cling to you like a life raft.”
Yeah.
He didn’t need the reminder.
Roman drank straight from the bottle, gulp after gulp of vodka that burned, until he felt the warmth spreading in the pit of his stomach. Demyan didn’t even tell him to chill—the biggest surprise of all. When he looked at his father again, after dropping the bottle back to the bar, he shook his head.
“You’re right, she’s fragile,” Roman agreed, his tongue swiping nervously across his bottom lip. A tell he couldn’t bother to hide from his father. “She needs help. Like real fucking help. A medical professional, kind of help, Papa.”
Demyan’s face twisted—the very mention of a shrink never went down well in their world. He didn’t say a thing one way or another about the topic, instead replying to his son, “It doesn’t sound like you have any intention of explaining yourself or the girl to me.”
“What’s to explain, or haven’t you seen enough?”
Demyan stared hard at him.
Roman waved one hand, tired. He was over it. “Like I said before, it’s not like I have all of the answers to make everything make sense, either. I was dropped into this situation—I’m trying to figure it out as we go along.”
“We?”
“Me and her. Right now, I’m basically what she’s got. Fucking great, huh?”
Because she needed more.
Even he knew it.
Demyan’s jaw tightened at that statement. “And you want to stick to your previous answer, then? Saying what you just did, you feel nothing for her?”
Steely eyes studied Roman, and while it made him uncomfortable, he let his father do it. He didn’t have an answer, and when he didn’t reply, Demyan shook his head.
“Unbelievable. This is a strange hill you’ve decided to die on, let me say.”
Displeased, Demyan let out a harsh exhale before downing the rest of the vodka in his glass. He’d always wanted what was best for Roman, even if that meant letting him destroy his life with choices of his own making. They were his to make, or so his father liked to say. In the past, they’d clashed as Demyan learned the more he tried to fix and control Roman, the worse his behavior became. There were times he sincerely believed his father just wanted to be rid of him. Then, he became older—maybe wiser—and had an opportunity to observe his father from the lens of a grown man.
Albeit, still a troubled one.
That didn’t change the truth.
Nothing was more important to Demyan Avdonin than his family.
Roman took another swig of the v
odka.
“A very strange fucking hill,” Demyan added in a dark mutter.
Well ...
“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Roman replied.
“I plan to say more.”
He nodded.
“I figured that, too.”
Expected nothing less, really.
• • •
Eventually, Roman and Demyan made their way to the large, glass dining table. His father sat at one end, and he remained at the other. In the silence that stretched between their conversation, the occasional sound echoed from the large bathroom down the hall.
Roman couldn’t help but wonder if Karine was giving Masha a hard time—he doubted it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Otherwise, he would have known about it by now. For a second, he dared to relax.
“Has she settled here?” Demyan asked, drawing Roman away from his thoughts.
“We’ve been here a single night. She’s as settled as she can be, considering.”
“Who’s the other woman with her?”
“Masha, she’s ... Karine’s caretaker. As far as I can tell, she’s one of the Yazov slaves who had been assigned to her. I get the impression they’ve been together for a while—so they’re close. Masha is probably one of the few people who can actually handle her, no matter what condition she’s in. She’s not scared of her, and Karine usually responds well to her most of the time.”
“You handled her pretty well,” Demyan remarked.
Roman’s gaze darted away to hide the thrill racing through his veins. It was disturbing that he could like the way Karine clung to him and depended on him—but since he didn’t pretend to be a fucking saint, there it was.
Demyan still watched him closely, searching for all those signs that would give away the truth about Karine. All the things that Roman wasn’t telling him.
“You can’t stay here,” he said abruptly.
Roman’s head snapped back at that. “What? This is my—”
Demyan was shaking his head. “You can’t stay here, or in any of our properties in the state. Those are the first places they’ll look, Roman. And they will look.”
“Maxim made the deal. He wanted Karine gone, and she is. He never said anything about telling anyone else.”
“But he broke a more important agreement with Leonid and the man’s son. And we’re saying this while ignoring the fact one of those men were plotting against him. Who’s to say they didn’t still want her? What if Maxim was too late to get a handle on his problems? You are the one who has the bride. She was promised to him—why do I have to fucking explain this to you? They’re going to come for your head, and then drag her right back to where she rightfully belongs.”
Roman’s rage was instant.
Hot in his gut.
Like poison.
Demyan lifted a brow when Roman grinded his teeth before muttering, “Karine’s safety is most important, I know.”
“Then, you need to figure out a way to keep her in one piece. This is not the place for it.”
The frustration was building inside him. He knew his father was right, but habit and stupid pride meant he didn’t want to admit it. It was yet one more thing that he didn’t have under control.
Karine needed to be kept safe, and he didn’t know how—so, wasn’t this bigger than him, now?
“Asking for help isn’t a sign of weakness, son,” Demyan spoke up, reminding his son in an instant how easily he could read Roman. “Especially not when you ask it from someone who understands. Who doesn’t consider feeling something as a weakness. I don’t need to know the whys around what you’ve done to understand what you must do now. Those are different things. And regardless, I’ll get my answers eventually.”
He breathed in deeply, leaning back in the chair and pushed his hands into his pockets, eyeing Demyan from across the table.
“So, does that mean you’re going to help me?” he asked his father.
Demyan shrugged lazily, smirking. “I guess so.”
• • •
“How is she today?”
Roman hid the smile daring to creep across his lips as he slipped into the chair across from his father’s at the table. Four days ago, Demyan encountered Karine for the first time, and already, had developed a soft spot for her. Not that he would want his son to point it out, but the fact he asked about her before even saying hello to Roman said more than he needed to.
Maybe it was her helplessness, and her dependency on the people around her—those she trusted, her innocent aura. He had no idea how her own father could spend even a second degrading her, nevermind keeping her locked away from the world. He could also better understand why Masha was so devoted to her—he swore the woman didn’t know anything but watching over Karine. She was her first thought in the morning, and seemingly the last at night.
Even if Karine didn’t always like it.
“You hungover?” Demyan asked.
He glanced up to meet his son’s eyes, but Roman had them covered with a pair of dark aviators. He chuckled in response, and pulled them off his face.
“Not even close. In fact, I can’t remember the last time I was actually drunk. These bloodshot eyes are because I haven’t slept in four nights.”
Demyan grunted as he took a sip of his coffee.
They were seated across from each other in the private dining room of his father’s favorite hotel. Demyan called to ask him to meet for breakfast. For the first time in his life, Roman didn’t give a shit about an early morning meeting. He didn’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn because he hadn’t even fallen asleep.
“How is this hotel working out for you?” Demyan asked, piercing a sausage with his fork.
Roman heard the underlying question in his father’s words. He wanted to know how Karine was. If there had been any other incidents.
That first night when they moved out of Roman’s apartment and into a hotel across town—well, that had been eventful.
To say the least.
Demyan assigned two Avdonin bulls to watch over them. Karine had encountered one of them in her suite in the middle of the night which led to another altercation. She was quickly going to start developing a reputation amongst the men if she kept attacking the bulls one by one. The last thing they needed was that.
“We’re fine there. I’m keeping a close eye on her.”
And that was one of the most significant reasons why Roman hadn’t slept in several nights. Not since they left Chicago. He wasn’t sure when he would sleep again.
“I’m looking into a safehouse,” Demyan continued, lifting his coffee for another sip.
It reminded Roman to do the same with the cup that had already been poured and waiting for him at the table. A strong cup of black coffee ... or two—would hopefully do the trick of keeping him up.
If he was lucky.
Ever since he returned to New York with a car stuffed full of problems, Roman had increasingly felt the urge to indulge in his favorite vice. Cocaine. An easy way to stay up, he made a conscious effort to ignore the fact he knew it would help him get through the current shit storm.
He also couldn’t afford to fuck things up. This was a matter of life and death, for Karine and himself. He needed clarity. His mind had to be sharp, and while coke certainly made him believe he was on top of a mountain, unbeatable, that didn’t mean he actually was. At least, sobriety taught him that.
“What’s happening in Chicago?” Roman asked, taking the conversation where he really wanted it to be. “Do we still have time to make other shit happen, or what?”
Demyan didn’t look away from his plate, careful in his reply when he said, “I’m in talks with people. Things are moving, but it’ll take time as these things usually do. I’m going to figure it out.”
He didn’t add—for Karine’s sake—but Roman knew there was a part of his father that meant just that. Through his limited interaction with her, he had started to see that his son was right. She needed professiona
l help as much as she needed people to keep her safe.
It was a lot.
“For now, worry about not letting your mother see you while you’re ... like this,” Demyan reminded Roman, pointing the sharp prongs of the fork in his direction. “You hear me?”
Despite the warning, the two still shared a smile. His father wasn’t wrong—the last thing his mother needed was to get involved with Roman’s problems. She would only want to help, and there wasn’t a soul who loved her that could tell her no.
Roman, included.
• • •
Back at the new hotel suite, Roman tossed and turned in his bed again. He predicted another night of staying awake. It was the only way he felt completely positive that Karine was safe, and wouldn’t get herself into any trouble while everyone else slept. Other than the bulls ... and really, he was trying to keep them out of her line of sight, too.
This was not the way he’d pictured his return to New York. He would have liked to jump straight back into the chop shop scene—pick up where he left off, and pull in some easy money. He still had a few jobs up in the air when he left for Chicago which he could return to, as he had time, but for the moment, he needed to stay out of sight.
Which was bad for business.
Someone was always willing to pick up someone else’s slack on the streets. Time away from New York affected his client list and contacts—his business was going to take a serious hit. All things that pissed Roman off, and for good reason considering how well he’d been doing in a new city.
His list of wrongs was all too clear to him, and at night in bed when he was alone and awake, his mind liked to run through all of them on repeat.
He should have stayed out of the Yazov business when he had the chance. Most importantly, he shouldn’t have fucked Maxim Yazov’s daughter—no matter how gorgeous and curious she was. Then, he wouldn’t have found himself beaten black and blue with a baseball bat. He could still feel that pain every time he moved. It wasn’t healing fast enough, and had turned into a morbid, constant reminder of the agreement he made with Karine’s father.
Was he in a better situation now?