Shattered: Running with the Devil Book 7

by Jasmin Quinn

  Rusya laughed, so unexpected for him to do that. He didn’t do it. A loss of control. He became aware of how much trouble she was going to be for him as he pulled back into himself. Time to change the subject. He slipped past her to the carafe and refilled his cup.

  “Let’s sit and talk about the logistics.”

  She waited until he sat on the couch where he’d been the day before. Where he always sat when meeting with others or even when not, even when he was alone. She chose the chair Janice had occupied last night. Not the interview chair, which was across from him, but the chair next to the couch. They were close enough that he could smell her, clean, fresh, enticing, sweet like honey on fresh baked bread.

  He sat back and stared down at the coffee cup in his hand. It was never a good thing to fuck the help, he told himself. Certainly in his rule book and he’d never done it, never been tempted. But with this woman, he was wavering. He made the rules after all, so he could also make the exceptions.

  The quiet lingered between them almost until it was awkward. Rare for Rusya to feel awkward about lengthy stretches of silence. He was usually the instigator of them. Liked to think quietly. His men knew this, his staff knew this. No one interrupted. And Esma, sitting next to him, taking a sip of coffee, smelling like honey and wheat, seemed settled and not the least bit concerned about the lack of exchange.

  Rusya found himself not wanting to talk about work, not yet. He just wanted to talk. “Did you sleep well?”

  Esma nodded, then shook her head. A small throaty laugh. “I slept well for a while. I was tired. Then I woke up at about 3am and couldn’t get back to sleep.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged, looked a little dismayed. “I was wondering what the fuck I was doing under your roof. What the fuck I was thinking.”

  Rusya decided not to react to her swearing. Was she testing him, testing the waters or was that who she was? “What did you conclude?”

  She took sip of her coffee. “I need a paycheck and this place is as good as any.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  She flushed. “I’m grateful that you’re taking a chance on me. I’m very good at what I do.”

  He wanted to say something provocative, like, very good at everything you do? But decided to exercise restraint. Don’t fuck the help, he reminded himself.

  Chapter 6

  Day One was over and Esma thought it went pretty fucking good. She’d been nervous when she woke up. She’d slept well for most of the night, the first time in a long time even if her eyes popped open at 3am. What she’d said to Rusya in the interview was true. She wanted to feel safe. And she did. She knew it was a false sense of security. She knew that her days of safety were numbered but decided that she wouldn’t dwell on it. Each day she didn’t die was a successful day.

  She’d dressed carefully this morning, wanted to make a good first impression. Her fucking hair was everywhere. It always was and she couldn’t get it to settle so she stuffed it up on the top of her head and wrapped a hair band around it. She looked only slightly less ridiculous than with the mop unrestrained.

  She chose her favourite dress. Thought she should wait, but then knew she had a limited supply of options anyway and would be recycling them soon. This dress was perfect for her. Red, her colour, a white collar and white cuffs and big black buttons down the front, for decoration. It zipped up in the back. But it made her look so business like. Rusya dressed formal, Janice was wearing a dress yesterday. She would talk to them about casual Fridays she thought. She wouldn’t mind wearing her jeans once in a while.

  He’d been waiting for her when she walked into the office, holding a cup of coffee, looking perfect. How the fuck could someone like him, someone who lived off the proceeds of his crimes, be so fucking attractive? And not only physically, but everything about him. His way of handling himself, the way he looked at her. His rare smiles. Those were what got her the most. The smiles. When he smiled, she felt gratified, rewarded, like he’d patted her head and thrown her a treat.

  And he’d laughed this morning, deep, uncensored when she joked about being a romantic. And that made her fall in love. At least for a few minutes. Maybe most of the morning.

  She was glad when Rusya left for a meeting in Vancouver and was gone for the afternoon. The morning was orientation, sitting together, discussing hours, methods of work, what he needed from her. A trip to Moscow in the coming weeks when they were ready, when meeting details were finalized. Probably December. He asked her about her plans for Christmas.

  She was at a loss and stuttered her answer. “I don’t really celebrate Christmas… it’s… ah… not a thing for me.”

  “Because your Muslim?” he asked.

  She shook her head at the question. She didn’t want to go down the Muslim road, already regretted using it with Janice. “No. I’m not a practicing Muslim. I’ve just never had the opportunity I guess.”

  He rewarded her with a small smile. “We might be in Moscow over Christmas. If the meeting takes place close to Christmas, I’ll stay and celebrate it with my parents.”

  The reminder that he had parents threw Esma. Not that he shouldn’t or wouldn’t, but he seemed so solitary. “If that happens, I can come back, or stay in a hotel.”

  “Or join us. My family would welcome you.”

  It was funny, the line of discussion. Seemed so ordinary. She’d known a trip to Moscow would be in the cards, had to be. He knew she couldn’t go to Turkey. That was part of the arrangement when her credentials were discussed between the man who recommended her and Rusya.

  By noon she had everything she needed. They agreed work started at 8am through to 5pm give or take, an hour for lunch. It was important to Rusya that she start on time so they could discuss the plans for the day before it officially began. The end of the day was flexible.

  He had offices in the city but didn’t go in unless he needed to. He preferred to work at home. She would work in his office however she wished. He’d bring in a small desk for her that she could put her papers on, spread out. The library was also at her disposal and when he held meetings, unless she was included, she could work there. All materials and her laptop stayed in the office at night. She was not to leave anything unattended outside the office during the day. Very few people had access to his office during the off-hours.

  It was all very civilized and they broke for lunch at 12:30. Janice brought a tray for Rusya, refreshed the coffee and offered to walk Esma to the staff dining room. As they were leaving, Rusya said to Janice, “In future, Esma eats in here so if she wants to work through lunch she can.”

  “I’ll make sure you both have a tray,” Janice replied and even though she schooled her features, Esma knew Janice was not happy with the plan. She thought Rusya was aware of that too, although he’d already turned back to his work, dismissing them both. Janice was a pro though, not a word about his request. Not a comment or an opinion. She walked Esma to the kitchen and offered her soup and sandwiches. Good enough, and they ate together making small talk.

  In the afternoon, after Rusya left, she was able to relax. Alone in his office, and she wondered why he trusted her especially since it was apparent Janice did not. But she let it go as she became immersed in the pile of Turkish documents in front of her. Translating was part skill; part art and her job was to translate all Turkish documents into both Russian and English and some English documents into Russian. It would take several weeks to go through the pile. She had to do the translation then make sure it all made sense, make sure she hadn’t altered the meaning of even a single word. It all needed to be perfect, professional. It was painstaking, exacting, head’s down work.

  At the end of the day, she changed into a pair of jeans and a soft sweater, slipped on some canvas shoes, watched the news and at 7pm, made her way to the dining room. The food was good, the household staff who were there were inclusive and friendly enough, and at some point between dinner and dessert, she realized that she hadn’t thought about
taking a drink for hours. A thrill of accomplishment ran through her and she felt a natural high for the first time in a long time.

  After dinner, Esma worked out on weights, took a swim, then the sauna. A shower, back in her clothes feeling rejuvenated. She was still wearing the glow of the day when she passed by the billiards room. The double doors were open and the pool table was beckoning. How long had it been since she played pool? Six months maybe. Drunk, on the day she tracked down Anto and Marisol. On that fateful day when she engaged.

  She stepped across the threshold and looked around. Like everything about Rusya’s home, this room was lavish and warm with panelled wainscoting, a vintage billiards lamp over the pool table, a fully stocked bar that mocked her. Booze and pool. It was like pizza and beer, stag parties and vodka shots, Mexico and tequila. They went together and she’d always done one with the other.

  She took a deep breath. Today was a good day to test her will because she was feeling good, riding the high of her success. Today, she would shoot some pool. If the urge to drink became overwhelming, she would simply hang up the cue and walk away. She set up the balls, broke and was part-way through her second game when Janice stepped into the room.

  Esma was hovering over a difficult shot and looked up, but her ‘hello’ died on her lips. Janice’s eyes were shimmering and her face was red. Esma straightened up, turned the pool cue upward and set the tip of the handle on her shoe. “What’s wrong?”

  Janice stepped in, closed the door. “I told you not to swear in front of Rusya.”

  Esma tilted her head to one side, confused. “When did I swear?”

  “He said you swore a couple of times this morning, while the two of you were talking.” Her voice creaked. She was holding her emotions tightly.

  Esma’s eyes widened. Okay, yes, she did. Bad habit. “He didn’t say anything to me about it.”

  “Because he thought I had neglected to orient you properly.”

  Esma let out a little breath. “Uh, okay…”

  Janice shook her head. She was angry, her voice a little loud. “Not okay, Esma. I clearly told you not to swear in front of him. I clearly told you!”

  “What happened?” Esma was a little in shock. The cool collected woman she’d become used to was practically quaking.

  “I took one for you. That’s what happened. Because if he knew that you knew not to swear and did it anyway, he’d rip your head off.”

  “Jesus.” Esma leaned the pool cue up against the table and walked up to Janice.

  “Esma, stop swearing.”

  Esma crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at Janice, her own irritation growing. “You don’t have to take my lumps for me, Janice. I’m perfectly capable of owning my mistakes.”

  “You will after this. Rusya thought I was deliberately undermining you because I didn’t agree with him hiring you.”

  “What?” Esma was confused. What the fuck was going on?

  “I would not undermine you or anyone else. You understand that, right?”

  Esma rubbed at her forehead, feeling the absurdity of this conversation filter through her. “Of course. You’ve been nothing but gracious and helpful to me. Good advice, telling me everything I needed to know about Mr. Savisin. Your name didn’t even come up this morning.”

  Janice blew out a breath, blinked her eyes a couple of times to clear them of tears. “Don’t play games, Esma. Not with me, not with him. He’s smart, but deadly. He doesn’t give second chances.”

  “It was a fucking swear word!”

  “It’s more than that to him. Three things he could think. You deliberately ignored something I told you, I deliberately omitted telling you to undermine you, or I was negligent in my responsibilities. I chose the third option, because that was the safest for both of us.”

  Esma ran her hands to the back of her neck and gave it a squeeze, looked over at the pool table, then the bar. “What happened?”

  “We talked. He talked, I listened. Then he instructed me to talk to you to make sure you understood that he doesn’t want you using profanity.”

  “Why didn’t he say that to me this morning?”

  Janice shrugged. “I don’t question what Rusya does or says. And you shouldn’t either. Don’t swear again, Esma. Because you won’t have an excuse.”

  She left then. A little dramatically but maybe deservedly so. Esma drifted for a few seconds, looked back at the bar, hesitating before following Janice out and making her way upstairs to her room. As she passed the door to Rusya’s suite, she hovered, thought maybe she should knock on the door, explain the situation, but then lost her courage. Tomorrow would be soon enough.

  Chapter 7

  Janice said she would introduce Esma to Eduard Osipovich, but she didn’t have to. Eduard sought her out – he was waiting for her on the morning of day two in the hall outside Rusya’s office.

  “Good morning,” he said, not cheerfully, or warm, a heavy Russian accent filtering through in the words. A simple greeting, a convention. He was a tall man. Well, tall as Rusya, a bit over six feet, solidly built, with a hard set to his jaw. His arms were crossed in front of him, his legs were splayed and the scowl on his face told Esma everything she needed to know about him.

  He was obviously not a morning person.

  “Hello.” Esma stopped in front of him. She had no choice; he was blocking the entrance to Rusya’s office. She looked to the door behind him, wondered if Rusya was in the office. If he’d hear their voices and come out. She half-hoped that would be the case because the unsmiling man in front of her, towering over her, seemed like he was about to crush her.

  “I’m Eduard Osipovich.”

  “I’m Esma Akkaya.” She offered her hand and he gazed down at it, then back to her face. He waited until she dropped her arm, waited until she flushed. But it wasn’t in embarrassment or intimidation. The anger grew in her and she was trying desperately to keep it from spilling into her voice. “If you’ll excuse me, I am going to be late for work.” She tried to step around him but he blocked her.

  “Mr. Savisin isn’t in yet. I wanted to introduce myself, let you know my role.” His voice rumbled, hostility seeming to infuse his words.

  Esma took exception to his rudeness, decided nice wasn’t going to work. Forgot her promise to Janice not to swear. “I know your role. Houseman, whatever the fuck that is.”

  “My role is to keep problems out of this house. Make sure that everyone in this house, anyone who comes in from outside, behaves themselves.” His tone was cool, clipped and dangerous.

  “Thanks for clearing that up.” She made another move towards the office door and he blocked her again.

  “Get the fuck out of my way, Eduard Osipovich.”

  “It’s like that is it? You are more stupid than brave to take me on.”

  Her heart was beating a little hard, a thud that was ringing in her ears. The signal that she was about to lose her temper. She clenched her hands, took a few shallow breaths. She could try to take the asshole on. He wouldn’t go down easy, she didn’t think. He was hard, solid, but not on alert, not ready if she hammered her fist into his groin which is what she’d do first. He was underestimating her because she was a woman, because she was small, because she looked like a fucking gingerbread girl in her brown dress with white lace trim and leather boots.

  Or she could back off. Because she wasn’t supposed to be so brave, wasn’t supposed to take on the big guys and try to flatten them. But she couldn’t play the demure little woman, no matter what. That’s not who she was, drunk or sober. “I’m not taking you on, Eduard. I am trying to go to work and you seem to think that you need to intimidate me for some reason. Say your piece, whatever it is and then get out of my way.”

  He narrowed his eyes, flared his nostrils and Esma thought for a moment he was going to punch her. But he stayed still, his stance unwavering. “You are new to the house. I am here to tell you the rules.”

  “Get on with it then,” Esma softened her
voice to lessen the heavy tension between them. “I’m listening.”

  “Not now. You will meet me in my office at the end of the day. We can talk then.”

  Esma had a vision of what that looked like – in his office, a closed door. Her vulnerability swept through her. “No. I’m not comfortable with that.”

  Eduard sneered. “You think I would make advances toward you. You’re full of yourself, aren’t you?”

  Esma tried not to be hurt by that remark, tried not feel anything. Wished her heart would stop thudding so she could think. Wished he would just go the fuck away. Then Rusya walked up, stopped next to her, smelling perfect, so close his arm brushed her. The thud turned into a drumming as Esma felt the jolt straight through to her toes.

  “Eduard. Good morning. Esma.” So polite, so gracious. “Have you met each other?”

  Esma murmured her good morning as Eduard nodded. “I have asked to meet with her after work. To discuss the house rules.”

  Rusya shrugged, looked at his watch. “Why not now, since you’re both here? Esma, go with Eduard, get the orientation, then come back to the office. I have a couple of calls to make anyway.”

  “Sure.” Esma kept her gaze straight ahead, not at Rusya, not at the asshole who was smiling his victory.

  “This way.” He turned and walked towards a room off the front entrance. He didn’t look back, expected Esma to follow. And she did, stepping past Rusya who was politely waiting for her to cross in front of him. She heard the office door open behind her and then softly close as she traced Eduard’s path to his office. He was waiting at the entrance, the door open, his hand on the door knob, the other ushering her through in front of him.

  Esma stepped past him, then surveyed the room as she sat in a hard, wooden chair that was not meant for comfort. Eduard’s office was utilitarian, uninviting. A small desk, a computer, monitors and technical equipment. Cameras in the house, everywhere it seemed but the bedrooms, bathrooms and maybe Rusya’s office. Eduard closed the door behind him with a small emphatic slam and then rounded the desk, sitting in his chair, a curl to his lip. He liked to win, that much was clear.