“For four years, you’ve kept this from me.” With a shake of his head, he strides over to his pants, where he’d dumped them on the floor last night, and begins to pull them on.
“Yeah, considering your reaction, I was wise to not tell you.”
“How the hell can I trust you, when you’ve hidden something like this? What else have you been concealing?”
With a sigh, I scrape a hand through my hair. “I didn’t mean to hide it. I haven’t told anyone about it. Not even Edwina or Simone know.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.”
My bluntness has his eyes finally connecting with mine. “So why do ‘some people’ want to kill you?” He lifts his hands in mocking air quotes that make me want to smack him.
“Because the place was too successful.”
“And that’s why you want to return home? Not because of us? Or what we could have had together?”
His use of the past tense has me flinching. “Well, no. But what do we have? Especially if you think so little of me? Morally, I feel justified by what I’ve done. I’ve encouraged each woman to be what she wants to be. I’ve encouraged them to believe they’re capable of more than just being a prostitute. Do you know any other madam who encouraged school? Who has women in her care with degrees? Something they only managed, because of me. I took them off the streets. I protected them.”
“And you did it out of the kindness of your own heart, I guess?”
That makes me flush. A mixture of shame and exasperation turns my tone toxic. “In comparison to my girls, I earned a fraction of what they did.”
“So, no, then?”
I turn away from him and walk toward the bathroom. On the back of the door, there’s a bathrobe and I pull it on. By the time I return, he’s fully dressed. Expecting him to have walked out, it’s a shock, when he says, “Who wants to kill you?”
“The Russian mafia.”
The stunned silence is worse than before.
Swallowing back my nerves, I stride over to the mini bar and pull out a small bottle of whisky. I don’t care it’s only mid-morning; I need the burn of alcohol to ignite some of the tension curdling in my belly. I try to open the tiny flask, but the lid won’t budge. Feeling like screaming, my sweaty palms twist and turn, grope and wrench at the tiny metal screw cap. To no avail.
When Nate appears in front of me and grabs the bottle, I try to snatch it back but he opens it easily and presents me with the potent liquor. In one swallow, I sink back the whole shot. It makes me cough, but the buzz of the booze settles pleasantly in my belly and I retreat to the bed. Falling backward on to the sheet, I stare up at the ceiling waiting for more condemnation.
It doesn’t take long.
“And you actually thought you could return to Blue Ridge with the Russian mob at your back?”
Fluttering my eyelids to a sliver, I wish this scene were over. I wish I’d never told him the truth. “Not many people know about my association with the ranch.”
“The fucking mafia is a whole different kettle of fish. You were willing to put everyone in danger, because of your own foolish actions. You go to Montana and they’ll just come after you. These guys don’t fuck around. If they want something, then they get it.”
I shake my head. My hair makes a whispery sound as it rubs against the cotton. “No. That’s why I’m telling you about what I’ve done. It’s the only reason. I wanted to make sure my presence at Blue Ridge wouldn’t cause the commune to be in any danger. That’s why I waited for you here and didn’t go there directly.” A laugh bursts free from me and it’s anything but amused. “I’ll have to go somewhere else then. I’ll have to go into hiding.”
The mess I’ve managed to make of my life is astonishing.
Go into hiding? I shake my head at the thought. Like a fucking fugitive.
Where did it all go wrong?
I just wanted to help some women. I wanted to get them off the streets. I say as much, mumbling my past intentions to the room at large, not particularly to Nathan. Just to the ceiling.
Maybe the plaster understands, where he can’t?
I’m not one for self-pity. Never have been. Losing Jimmy at a young age, I could have sunk into the doldrums. Faded away alongside him. But I didn’t. I took charge of my life and did what I wanted instead of the fate my parents had allotted me.
It seems thinking for myself is a dangerous thing to do.
Footsteps tap against the floor and they come close to me. I wonder if he’s edging toward the door, if he’s going to leave me, but then I sense his presence at my side and turn my head to look at him. His stare is somber. Sad almost.
“What did they want from you? Really?”
I shake my head again and frown. “They want the brothel. I wasn’t running some dive. It was a high-class place. The clientele were politicians and the like. People with money.”
“You say it like it’s closed now?”
My lower lip trembles. “It is. They’ve been approaching me for a few months now. Making their intentions known.
“They wanted to buy but I didn’t want to sell. Especially not to them.
“Every girl on my team is a friend of mine. If I just sold Papillon to the mafia, then they’d be a product to be distributed. To me, they’re women. Not a commodity. So I kept on saying no and then, they turned nasty.”
I’ve never had an epiphany before. But with Nate’s hatred of my deceit blasting me, the truth comes to me.
They burnt Mona’s building down, because I was there. Nate’s right. If I go to Blue Ridge, they’ll only follow and they’ll do the commune harm, because I’m there.
I’ve buried my head in the sand, thinking they’re targeting the people I love. They’re not. They’re just after me.
“In what way?”
“They tried to kill me.”
His hiss has me turning my head to look at him.
Ordinarily, if we gather at Mona’s place, dump that it is, we crash there. Too many drinks have Eddie and I snoozing on the couch and waking up to omelets and homemade muffins provided by Mona Homemaker. It was only a twist of fate that had someone contacting Mona for some out-of-hours cleaning. I was the target and the rest was all collateral damage.
A part of me wonders which person on my client list is worth all of this. Because like Anna said, my caliber of clientele has to be why the Russians have declared war on me.
His jaw is like iron. White with tension and his lips are flattened by his fury. “Why can’t you be normal, Marina? Why have you always got to be so damned complicated?”
Stung, I sit up and flinch as my head protests the swift movement. That whiskey might not have been the smartest decision I’ve made this morning.
“I resent that!”
“How can you after what you’ve just told me?” He shakes his head and moves away from the bed to stride back and forth along the breadth of the room. The carpet probably has a groove in it from all the pacing. It’s a path I’ve trodden many a time during my stay.
I sink down to an elbow and with lowered lashes, watch him. “Do you hate me, Nate?” I hate how important the answer is and wish I hadn’t asked the question, but it popped out.
Thank you, whiskey.
His head whips around to look at me and the swift frown and even faster sigh leave me in the dark. What he’s thinking eludes me and it’s annoying how much his opinion means to me.
To the room at large, I mutter, “You know, the last time I gave a damn about what a man thought of me; Jimmy was still in the hospital.”
“Jimmy?” Nate stops his pacing and stares at me.
My head feels way too heavy for my neck and the deadweight has it falling back so I’m looking at the ceiling again. “Yeah. My husband.”
“You’re married?”
His astonishment has me grinning. A light chuckle escapes me and I shake my head. “A few months ago, I’d have said, I wish.”
“But
not now?”
Even though my skull feels like it has taken on the weight of a ten-pound dumbbell, I lift it and look at him. “No. I don’t miss him anymore.”
“Why not?” He takes a step closer to me.
“Because I have you. Or, I had you.” My lower lip pops out. “You don’t like me anymore.”
“It isn’t about like, Marina.”
I shrug and the movement in my position has my upper body jostling. “Course it is. You can’t accept my past, so you don’t like my present.”
“Where’s Jimmy now?” He walks over to the side of the bed and stares down at me.
“Blue Ridge.”
“There’s no Jimmy there. I’d know him.”
“He’s on History Hill.”
Silence greets my words. “He’s dead?”
I smile at him, but even in my semi-drunk state, there’s no humor in it. “Yeah. He died a few weeks after we married.”
“How the hell did I not know about this?”
I shrug again. “The folks at the genius farm aren’t ones for gossiping.”
He grimaces at the truth of my statement and grits out, “Did you love him?”
“Very much. He was the first person to love me. To give a damn. And he left. They always leave me. Always.”
“I’m sure that’s not true, Marina.” It doesn’t escape my attention that he’s taken a seat beside me.
I don’t want his pity. I’ve never wanted anyone’s. And that’s why I moved away from Blue Ridge. That, and the memories.
“It is.” My nod is all-knowing. “My parents were never there, until my sculptures started to win awards. Jimmy left. He knew he’d leave me alone, but that didn’t stop him.”
“If he was in hospital, then he was ill?”
“Leukemia. Meant I couldn’t even have his baby. He was sterile. He’d had it as a kid and it kept on coming back.”
He ponders that for a few seconds and then, in soft voice, asks, “What sculptures?”
“They’re my specialty. If I wanted, I could live at the commune on my own right. I don’t need the Denison surname to be there.” I smile up at him. “You really don’t know me at all.” The smile disappears. “Nobody does. They all think they do. But they don’t. Not even Jimmy knew me. He loved me, though. I forgave him for not realizing what I really am.”
“And what’s that?”
“Alone.” I jerk my shoulder, pretending I don’t really care. When I really do. “I always will be.”
“That’s not true. You’ve got Mona and Eddie. And you’ve got me.”
I snort. “I have you on your terms. They’ll probably cast me out like you will, when they find out what I’ve been doing.” I shake my head. “So quick to judge, even though you don’t understand.”
“Explain it to me then.”
“I don’t want your pity,” I snap, coming out of my happy-drunk to glare at him. “Or guilt,” I amend. “I’ve already explained and you can’t accept me or my choices.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t deny it was a shock, Marina.”
“Don’t see why it matters. I don’t begrudge you your past.”
“I didn’t help women sell their bodies.”
A huff escapes me. “Still judging, I see.”
His jaw tenses. “Maybe. Four years, nearly five, we’ve been together, Marina and today, you tell me that you’re an artist, that you’re a widow, that you were a madam and that you’re basically on the run from the mob. How did you expect me to react?”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I grin at him. “Kiss it better.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Be grateful I am. That’s the only reason you’ve learnt half the stuff you have.” I eye him carefully and ask, “Is this the end?”
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t want it to be, but how can we come back from this? You’ve been lying to me for years. You’ve shared nothing with me.”
Shaking my head at him, I mutter, “And you’ve shared so much with me? Apart from bodily fluids, that is.”
Nate grimaces at my crudeness. Raising his left hand, he drags it through his tousled hair as he mutters, “You said a few months ago, you wished you were still married.”
The question shoots from the left field and I frown at him, but seeing no harm in answering, I nod.
“What’s changed?”
I grin at him, but it’s tinged with sadness. “You. Ironic, if you’re going to leave me too.” Tired, I sink back on to the sheets, letting myself relax into the mattress. “But it won’t matter if the Russians get me, I guess. A fitting end to a crappy life.” I tilt my head to pierce him with my glare. “Go on. Say it. Poor little rich girl.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“No? What were you going to say?”
He doesn’t reply, but he shocks me by climbing on to the bed and lying beside me. “If you don’t want me to leave you, I won’t.”
With a snort, I roll on my side away from him. “Don’t do me any favors, Nate. Stay if you want to; go if I’m suddenly repulsive to you. I was stupid to start to care for you. It’s always the beginning of the end.”
He doesn’t reply, but in a way, his body speaks for him. He turns on to his side, curls an arm over my waist and just lies there.
What that means I don’t really know.
In a way, I feel like Nate’s shown his true colors today. I can’t trust him with the real me. I wonder if that part of me will have to hide away forever. The idea that no one will ever know the true Marina shouldn’t hurt, but it does.
Mona and Eddie see one side of me, the girls saw another and then, Nate another. I feel almost schizophrenic with how many different facets there are to my nature. Yet none of them touch the real person. The person inside.
Like Nate said, tonight, he has learnt I’m a widow, a fugitive, an artist and a madam. Four titles, yet not one of them fits.
What does?
I guess if I knew that, I’d be able to share the real me.
As it is, she’ll have to hide away for a bit longer.
Until someone who can accept her comes along.
If my heart bleeds a little at the prospect, then that’s neither here nor there.
It’s pathetic, but I’m used to it.
Seven
“Vy dumali, chto prosto otpustit' tebya?”
The thick Russian accent breaks into my dreams the instant before my brain translates.
You thought we would just let you go?
My blood freezes, turns to ice and my heart aches in my chest at the sudden pressure there. I want to reach out, grab Nathan’s hand but the inner cold of my terror has frozen my limbs. I suck in a breath and it jumpstarts me into action. I start to sit up, but the sudden cold of metal presses flush to my throat and I feel the sharp blade slip into my flesh as though the soft skin were nothing more than butter on a warm summer’s day.
Blood, hot, gushing and free from ice, flows down the curve of my throat. It’s only a small nick, otherwise I’d have felt more than the sting I experienced, but it has me urging myself against my pillow.
“Don’t hurt us,” I whisper, repeating it in Russian.
“But you have seen fit to hurt us. To hurt our business. We do not accept this lightly.”
The snap of the light switch is louder than a gunshot and I flinch as though a revolver had just been fired. Lights blare into the room and stun me with their brightness. I blink and flutter my lashes, trying to get my eyes to focus and within seconds, even though it feels like a lifetime, I can see who’s in the room. And I’m shocked.
It’s the big man himself.
Petr Ivanov.
I’ve only ever dealt with his right-hand man in the past; Aleksandr Petrukhin. The only man I’ve seen in my life who could be a gorilla-human hybrid.
I only recognize this bastard, because Aleksandr made sure to point him out, when he took me out for a business meeting. I use the verb
took out, when really I mean forced. The only reason I didn’t shout the place down, was because he’d taken me to the Kensington Park hotel for a business lunch. I can just imagine Eddie’s face if she’d heard about that! Her boss owns that and God knows how many other boutique hotels in the city.
Christ knows why my thoughts have spun to Eddie and her boss, when I’ve a knife against my throat and a Planet of the Gorillas character is the one wielding it, but hey, it’s either that or pee myself.
Yeah, I’m so not going to do that.
“What do you want?” I ask. Arching my throat to shift out of the blade’s way, I try to look about the room, because the coldness of the sheets tell me Nate’s not there and I don’t know where he is.
The panic surging through my veins has a weird kind of paralysis overtaking my limbs. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose another man. When Jimmy died, it was like having my heart cut out.
If I lost Nate too?
I can’t even think about it.
When my eyes eventually catch sight of him, eventually see where he is, I’m forced to think about it. There’s a bloody gash on his forehead and his head is lolling to the side. The only reason he’s on his feet, is because some goons are holding him upright and he’s quite evidently unconscious.
“Don’t hurt him!”
“It’s too late. He’s already hurt,” Petr retorts, malicious pleasure in his voice.
I try and study Nate, but the angle of the knife at my throat makes it hard to see everything. I only notice the gun at his forehead, when Petr loosens the press of the blade against my skin.
“Please. Don’t do this.”
“You could have sold to us. You could have left the city without another glance and a nice few million in your bank account,” Petr spits at me, his upper lip curled into a sneer. “Instead, you sought to flee. No one escapes our attention, if we have our focus set on you. You have learnt a lesson and the class isn’t over yet.”
“What do you mean to do?” The question quivers out of my lips and I hate the weakness of my voice, but I’m feeling very, very weak. I want Nate; I want him to protect me. It’s a fucking terrible time to go all wimpy woman dependent on her strong Alpha male, but Christ, I do.
A Bitch In Time (Marina: Part One: Naughty Nookie Series) Page 8