The Assassin's Wife

by Nikita Slater

  “I won’t go back to the way things were.” She stated ignoring his warning tone. She moaned as another wave of nausea threatened. She wrapped her arms around her stomach and tried to push the discomfort aside.

  “You don’t have a choice,” he said. “You were happy then if you recall, you can be happy again. Travelling with me when I have jobs.”

  She laughed bitterly. “I was naïve and young then. I’m happy now, David, on this mountain.” With you, she wanted to add, but stopped herself. She couldn’t bring herself to restart their argument from the evening before. She was in no fit state for that kind of fight. Besides, she was vulnerable enough without opening herself up further.

  David said nothing more. He didn’t need to. There was nothing further to argue. They both knew the outcome was inevitable. He would leave the mountain and she would go with him. She turned away from him, resting her back against the bathtub. She brought her knees up, rested her arms on top of them and dropped her head.

  “Can you please go?” she whispered.

  She could feel David tense beside her and thought he might refuse. Perhaps it was the defeat in her voice and the slump to her shoulders, or maybe it was that she had nowhere to run. He stood, touched her head for a brief moment and then left her alone in the washroom, closing the door quietly behind him. As soon as he was gone she allowed the tears to flow. She sobbed into her braced arms, trying to muffle the sound, afraid he might come back and attempt to hold her while she let loose her misery. She knew it would be a cruelty worse than any he’d committed thus far if he tried to comfort her. He was the cause of her agony and there was nothing he could do to relieve her.

  Eventually she must have slumped onto the bathmat and fallen asleep because she woke up in their bed, disoriented. She wasn’t wearing her heavy coat anymore and the blanket was wrapped snuggly around her body. She pushed it aside and sat up. She felt nasty and a little hung over from her crying jag on the washroom floor. Sliding off the end of the bed, she stood and made her way out of the bedroom, finger combing her hair.

  She decided she didn’t feel much better. Her body felt leaden and a little like it didn’t belong to her. Though she knew it was mostly due to the shock of David’s phone call, she partly blamed the disembodied feeling on the myriad of bruises David left littering her pale skin after the way he had taken her the night before. He’d been anything but gentle in his ruthless domination of her body while proving to her that he could force not only her compliance, but her pleasure as well. She glared at him from beneath her lashes as she made her way to the fridge where she poured herself a large glass of milk and picked up an apple. She slid into a chair opposite him and ate her snack while he concentrated on the laptop.

  As she finished eating, he closed the laptop and stood. “I’m going into town,” he said gruffly. “Will you join me?”

  Her breath caught and for a split second she considered asking him if he were actually giving her a choice since he seemed intent on taking so many of her choices away. Then she thought better of antagonizing him. If they only had a few days left at the cabin, perhaps she should make the best of her time. She shook her head and stood to turn away from the table, tossing her apple core in the garbage.

  He pulled a heavy jacket over his broad shoulders and adjusted the collar. She sucked in a quick breath and changed her answer. “Actually… I’d like to go. There are a few things I want to pick up.”

  His sharp gaze clashed with hers for a second and then swept her from head to foot, taking in her still pale features. He nodded and waited patiently while she rushed into the washroom and brushed her teeth. She pulled her dark hair back into a low ponytail and crammed a wool hat over her head, pulling it low over her ears. Though the days were beginning to warm up compared to the deep chill of a Canadian or Russian winter, snow and ice still clung to the forested mountains. She pulled on her mittens and met him at the door, stiffening only a little when he took her elbow and helped her into the cab of the truck. She tried not to resent the solicitude. Where once, she had found his small kindnesses charming, now she saw them as more sinister. A way to control and dominate his young wife.

  She glared at him from beneath her lashes as he made he his way around the truck and climbed into the driver’s seat. Tasha hadn’t driven the entire time they had been on the mountain. In fact, she rarely drove. Though she technically knew how to, she could count on both hands the amount of times she’d been behind the wheel of a car. Now, the idea made her nervous. It was yet another way she saw herself as being controlled. She turned in her seat, facing the passenger door so David couldn’t read the resentment on her face. Maybe it was her mind playing tricks, but at the moment, it felt as though he couldn’t do a single thing right. And she was just too upset to let him try.

  She trailed after David in the grocery store, her heart sinking when she saw he purchased only enough groceries for a few days. They truly were leaving. Her nerves grew taut as she saw their time in town coming to an end.

  Finally, she gathered enough courage to ask, “May I please have some money for the pharmacy? I’m running out of my f-favourite lip gloss.”

  David stilled for a moment, studying her features as though looking for something, his own face impassive. He seemed to come to some kind of conclusion and reached for his wallet. He gave her far more cash than she would need. She tried to protest, but he just wrapped her fingers around the money and gave her a slight push. “You should have your own money.” His dark eyes were on her face, searching, before he continued. “When I can trust that you won’t run, I will ensure you have an account and access to your own funds.”

  Her mouth opened and she stood speechless as he strode away from her after telling her to meet him at the truck in fifteen minutes. She was torn between wanting to go after him and see what he was up to. He never left her alone in town. Why would he suddenly trust her not to run away? Not that she could get far with a hundred dollars and no transportation, but it was still strange. Instead, she thanked god for the small boon of privacy and went into the pharmacy. She’d had no idea how she was supposed to hide a pregnancy test from him and she wasn’t ready to divulge her suspicions just yet.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It made perfect sense.

  She’d been battling nausea off and on for days, though she’d blamed her upset stomach on the storm brewing between her and David. A ridiculous lie she’d told herself to put off an inevitable truth. She’d grown up on babushka’s traditional cooking and then, later, forced herself to throw up nearly half of everything she ate to compete with the other principals for prime parts. Natasha had a cast iron stomach. Except, apparently, when she was pregnant.

  After she’d made her purchases at the pharmacy, she’d shoved the test deep into her pocket, gripped the change and lip gloss in her hand and went out to the truck to meet David. He hadn’t questioned her and, in fact, insisted she keep the leftover money. She glanced at the console between them and saw their travel documents. He had gone to the bank and retrieved their passports from the safety deposit box. Her heart sank at the reminder of their imminent travel plans and she had to force herself to breathe so nausea wouldn’t overtake her again.

  Unable to think of anything beyond the test burning a hole in her pocket, Tasha made a beeline for the washroom after they arrived home, closing and locking the door. She turned the tap on, running water so David wouldn’t hear the rustling of the package as she opened it and read the instructions. Nausea swelled as her panic grew, but she battled it back. She needed to just calm down and deal with this so she could get through the next few minutes.

  She was shaking so hard, she was amazed that she was even able to pee on the stick. She washed her hands and collapsed onto to the toilet lid, holding the little stick in front of her. She held it away so she couldn’t see the results until the time was up. Her brain flew off in all directions.

  One. Two Three. What if she was pregnant? Did she use the knowledge to deman
d David quit working? Ten. Eleven Twelve. What if she wasn’t pregnant? Don’t be stupid. Of course, you’re pregnant. Why else are you throwing up for no reason? Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. Will David be happy? Will he be angry? He didn’t exactly try to stop her from conceiving. Thirty-nine. Forty. Forty-one. Or was that his plan all along? Get his wife pregnant so she would be even less capable of running away from him. He was pretty diabolical. But, still… an innocent child? Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five. I don’t know what to do if I’m pregnant! She screamed silently.

  She turned the stick over and looked down. Two lines; it was positive. She was pregnant.

  And then the voices in her mind fled and only one thought remained. Detka. A baby. My baby. She smiled a little, despite the chaos of her situation. Her hand came up to cover her flat stomach as emotions flooded through her. Foremost was happiness, followed swiftly by a flood of protectiveness. She knew it was too soon, knew she should be more cautious in her joy. Women lost babies in their first trimester and she would only be in her fifth or sixth week. She shouldn’t allow herself to be so pleased by this news lest she become devastated by a miscarriage. Yet, somehow, she felt that the nausea, mood swings and increased hunger meant the baby was entrenched. It was here to stay.

  “Oh, my baby,” she breathed, wrapping her arms around herself. She closed her eyes and allowed the knowledge of the tiny bundle of cells growing within her to fill her up, chasing away the loneliness that had stalked her through a lifetime of stage performances in front of a faceless audience, a husband that kept her as a possession and years of running from such an existence. A child to love!

  “David,” she said suddenly.

  What was she to tell her husband? She had to tell him. Would he be as happy? How could he not be? The knowledge of this baby was precious. She sighed heavily and stood up, but she stood too quickly. Dizziness overwhelmed her and as she took a step toward the door, she began to fall. She clutched the counter, but her feet slipped on the mat and she crashed against the door, falling to the tiles with a cry. She managed to mostly catch herself, landing on her hands and knees, with the test still clutched tightly in her hand.

  “Natasha!” David shouted, crashing through the locked door. It opened so swiftly she had to scramble quickly backwards before it smacked her. She dropped the test in her rush. David crouched over her, his frantic eyes roving over her pale features. “Blyad, woman, what the fuck happened?”

  She’d never seen his look so… concerned. Angry, annoyed and irritated, yes. But this was something new. As though her well-being mattered to him. She knew he was obsessed with her and she suspected he would hurt if something happened to her. But there was always a secret part of her that wondered if maybe, just a little, David would feel relief if she were to disappear from his life. Not run away as she’d done before. But leave in a more permanent way. Now, seeing the look of concern on his face as he scanned her for injuries, she felt the tug of happiness once more that she was pregnant. Maybe things would be okay.

  Then his eyes fell on the test where it lay on the floor between them. His features snapped back to their usual stoic indifference as he realized the significance of the little plastic stick. The significance of her trip to the pharmacy alone and her rush to the washroom when they’d gotten home. His dark, unreadable eyes met hers and though their black depths said not a single word, she knew the thoughts behind them were dwelling on her recent illness, her crankiness and her increased appetite.

  She tried to reach for the test, wanting to be the one to reveal the news to him, but he was faster. He picked it up and flicked his eyes down. She didn’t know if he knew how to read them, so she said quietly, “It’s positive.”

  He nodded once, his only reaction to her words. They sat that way for a minute. She was reminded sharply of their time on the same floor only the day before. God, the drama that floor was seeing, she thought with grim humour. She was about to say something to ease the tension that was beginning to thicken in the air around them when David reached past her and tossed the pregnancy test in the metal garbage can next to the vanity sink. Her lips opened at the careless cruelty of his action, like he’d just tossed away the tiny glimmer of hope the baby had represented. Her brow furrowed and she looked at him in question.

  His dark eyes pierced hers, his face still an expressionless mask. “Is it mine?”

  “What?” she gasped, appalled. She had gone from tentative hope and happiness to stunning rejection within moments. “Of course, it’s yours. I haven’t been with anyone else!”

  He grunted and stood. “Come,” he said and left the washroom.

  She trailed after him into the main part of the cabin and watched with growing agitation as he opened the flue in the fireplace, set the kindling up and deftly lit the fire. The cabin had grown dark and she could see snow falling once more. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and watched David warily as he stood next to the fire as the flames steadily caught and roared to life.

  She decided to speak first, rather than wait for him to start the conversation. She was sick of him commanding every situation. “A baby will change things, David. It must! You can’t drag a pregnant wife around the world. Perhaps you should give more thought to quitting.”

  She thought she saw a flash of pity in his eyes before the ice returned to mask his thoughts. He shook his head. His voice was low, but firm when he spoke. “I won’t have to worry about dragging a pregnant wife around with me.”

  Relief swept through her, along with a tiny spark of disappointment, if she were to admit the truth. He intended to leave her behind then. He must have read her thoughts on her face because he was quick to correct her.

  “Nyet, Natasha,” he said gruffly. “You will still come with me.”

  She frowned, her hand smoothing down the front of her shirt and stopping on her stomach. “I don’t understand.”

  He just watched her. Waiting patiently for her to understand. Her breathing picked up and she began to pace along the back of the couch, twisting her fingers. He couldn’t possibly… no… even he couldn’t be so cruel. She shook her head, the tips of her hair swishing along her shoulder blades as she twirled absently on her toes, turning to pace in the other direction. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He stood still as a statue with his arms crossed over his powerful chest. His biceps bulged, straining against his shirt and she was reminded sharply of how few choices she had. He could easily enforce his will and there was nothing she could do… except beg him.

  She stopped moving and turned to face him, gripping the back of the couch. “David,” she said softly, letting him hear the pain, hear the tears gathering. “Please don’t take this away from me… from us. This is a life that we’ve created together. It can be hope for us, for our future.”

  She thought she saw something in his eyes, some sort of movement in their dark depths. How could he not feel something at her appeal? After all, she was begging for the life of their unborn child. But then she found out how wrong she was when he said, “I will ensure that the procedure is completely painless. You shall receive the best care I can find. You will feel nothing, Natasha.”

  Tasha didn’t realize that she had screamed her horror until the echo ripped back through the cabin, startling her. She brought her hands up to her head and gripped her ears, shaking her head. Tears rushed to the surface and burst forth, coursing down her cheeks. How she hated tears! And how he’d given her cause to cry so many of them in the past month! Even when she’d run away from the man she loved she hadn’t cried. But this! This was too much.

  He leapt over the couch and gripped her arms as if afraid she would collapse or hurt herself. She shoved him away with such violence that she actually managed to make him stumble back. “Don’t you dare touch me!” she screamed at him.

  She felt a brief moment of satisfaction when a flash of surprise ripped across his face before he arranged his features back to normal. She suddenly hated him for being suc
h an ice cold bastard. How could he discuss murdering their child in one breath, pretend concern for the mother in another and barely flinch when she hit him? She decided in that moment that if she could get her hands on one of his guns she would most definitely shoot him. With that thought, she launched herself at him screaming, fists raised, determined to wipe away his cool expression of indifference. He could not be allowed to look so untouched while she was dying inside.

  “You bastard!” she screamed, punching every part of him she could get her hands on. Her anger soared even higher when he didn’t even flinch as her small fists hit the hard, unyielding flesh of his sides, stomach and chest. “If you touch me or my baby I’ll kill you! I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you!”

  After allowing her to tantrum for a moment, he caught her easily, held her fists in one hand, spun her around so she was facing away from him, wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her off the ground. “Natasha, stop this right now. You will injure yourself,” he growled.

  “What do you care!” she screeched. “Murderer! Killer! Why don’t you just finish me right now and get rid of your problem if you don’t want a pregnant wife, you cold-blooded evil, disgusting mu’dak!”

  She could feel his anger begin to rise as she pulled out the Russian insults. His hands clamped down hard on her arms and he dragged her into the bedroom kicking and screaming. She kicked the door so hard it slammed against the wall and nearly hit her when it rebounded. He twisted with her in his arms so it hit his shoulder instead. He took the hit with a grunt, but she could feel the heat of his temper. He wrestled her onto the bed.

  “I hate you!” she spat as he straddled her hips and wrenched her wrists over her head. “You make me sick.”

  “I will show you exactly how much I don’t make you sick,” he snarled back at her and leaned down to kiss her.