Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  The day, with its few pale hours of daylight, passes agonizingly slowly. It’s cloudy, still windy even though it has abated a little. Kerry occupies herself with Cecilia, keeping her as a shield between us. I can virtually smell her fear every time I happen to catch her alone.

  They eat. Breakfast, lunch.

  I eat.

  Breakfast.

  Lunch.

  Kerry plays with our daughter, reads to her, then plays some more. I pretend to read but can’t keep my eyes off them. They’re beautiful. They’re life. A streak of pain ripples through my chest. I’ve never had it. Why is that? What makes me want it now? She certainly wouldn’t see it that way, but I wonder if it isn’t what I did to her two years ago that changed me. I’ve never felt such regret before. It has consumed me. It drove me deeper into my own darkness than ever before, made me reckless, ruthless. It made me feared and hated among the people I work with. It made me despise them all, my life and everything in it.

  I look up when Kerry rises heavily, limping toward the kitchen. It’s late afternoon and darkness fell completely an hour ago. If I close my eyes, I think I’ll fall asleep. I force myself to get up instead. I need to stay alert.

  “Ker.”

  “Hm?” she answers drowsily, her hand clutching Cecilia’s. I take a closer look at my captives. The little one looks perfectly fine, but Kerry looks terrible, and she reeks.

  “Go take a bath. Take her with you, let me do the cooking.”

  I see the doubt even before she opens her mouth.

  “Yes, I cook. Now get the hell into some hot water. You stink.”

  The brief glint of gratefulness on her face is immediately replaced by a sneer, but she turns toward the bathroom.

  “Ah, ah,” I say before she closes the door behind her. “Take off her clothes before you go inside and leave them outside. And your socks.”

  Her hand clutches the doorknob until her knuckles whiten. She most certainly doesn’t like me ordering her around. “Why?” she asks with poorly controlled anger.

  “I don’t think you’ll be so prone to make an attempt through the window if you don’t have enough clothes.”

  Her mouth opens and closes several times before she speaks. “Have you taken a look outside lately?” she hisses.

  Rage rises, almost uncontrollably, inside me. Like then… like two years ago. She’s so fucking good at getting to me. And I’m so fucking good at letting her. “I thought you’d be grateful for a bath and that I don’t make you take your clothes off in front of me!” I clench my teeth, fighting to subdue the pent-up anger from all our previous squabbles. “Just go back to your bedroom then, but leave her with me so I can get her some dinner.”

  Kerry stands as if frozen in the same position. “No… sorry,” she whispers. She pulls off first one sock and then the other. “Please, let me take a bath… with Cece. Please.”

  She has no fight left in her. Her huge dark eyes plead with me and her arms hang loosely by her sides, socks still clutched in her hand.

  I look at her little feet. Pale, thin. How far could she walk on those? Far enough probably. As far as she’d need to. She appears so fragile, so easily breakable, but she’s made of solid rock. She fooled me once. It won’t happen again.

  I feel just like she looks. I’m just as tired and my anger drains away almost as rapidly as it rose. “I’m so fed up with you fighting me every step of the way.” My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat before I continue, “I know you don’t like me being here. But why the fuck can’t you just accept a friendly gesture? Even if it comes from me?”

  She nods unhappily. “Sorry,” she says again. “Can I?”

  I dismiss her with a tired wave of my hand. “Leave her pants and your socks outside and then take the time you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  I’m already on my way to the kitchen and stop flat. I can’t believe my ears. ‘Thank you?’

  Chapter 27

  Kerry

  I lock the door with a shaky sigh of relief. It’s the first time I get some time alone in way too many hours. I fall into a trembling heap on the soft white rug, hugging Cecilia, groaning when I accidentally twist my ankle. It’s blue and swollen. It looks terrible. She squirms out of my grip and tries to reach the door handle while talking and talking, words only she knows the meaning of. And I don’t have the energy to listen.

  My eyes are dry and heated. I have cried too much. It’s useless. Now I need to think about how to get us out of here. I need to make some real plans. He keeps threatening me with wanting to ‘talk’. I really can’t think of anything he could talk about that would mean anything to me. There’s the one thing that burns in the vacuum between us whenever we get close. His hands around my throat. Death in his eyes. My heart shattering into a million pieces from his betrayal.

  I am not talking about that. It would be like reliving it. I don’t ever want him to understand how thoroughly he broke me, how pathetic I was to have fallen for him so quick, for this stranger who only toyed with me.

  Cece is fresh, I bathed her earlier today. I give her the yellow duck, the soap crayons and her collection of colorful rubber fishes. She plays on the carpet, humming some song she’s inventing as she sings it, while I run a steaming hot bath for me. Undressing slowly, discarding one dirty, smelly piece of clothing after another I feel like I literally peel off the last day and night. I shudder when I see the blood that has dried on both my sleeves and how bruised my wrists are. I realize it’s his blood, from when he tied me up with the bloodied sheet, and throw the shirt away with a shudder.

  Cece looks up as she hears my whimper and I force a smile toward her. When did I start lying to my daughter?

  I turn the knobs and the water stops running. He is twisting my mind. That’s what it is.

  The hot steam has already made the walls and the window dripping wet. I put first one foot and then the other into the tub. I hope it’s hot enough. And God is it hot! I push myself deeper, gasping, trembling, panting like when I gave birth; short, labored breaths, my cheeks already flushing from the lava-like heat. Did I put any cold water in the mix at all? Finally, I’m completely covered and my heart races from the effort. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes. I almost twitch when I realize I haven’t thought of Christian for several minutes. I open one eye and glance at the door.

  It’s closed.

  He’s out there.

  Christian Russo is a few feet away on the other side of a thin piece of wood.

  Cecilia is an angel. She’s playing quietly, painting the duck—and the white carpet—in all the colors of the rainbow.

  I close my eyes again and let the warmth soothe my aching limbs, soften stiff muscles and penetrate deep into my core. My hands slide along my slippery skin, barely touching nipples stiff from the pain of the heat, past my belly that’s more of an indentation than the soft roundness it used to be when I carried Cece. I stop when my hands cover the patch of hair, then I let my arms float weightlessly in the water.

  My mind swirls. With tiredness. From the heat. From his presence.

  I sit up on the edge of the tub and lather myself thoroughly. My wrists are not only discolored but actually chafed bloody from when I fought to get loose. I had no idea I struggled that hard. My left ankle is swollen, there are black and blue marks on the side of my rib cage and on my belly. I touch my neck. At least it’s unharmed this time around.

  For now.

  I look at Cece and tears well up in my eyes. Whatever it is he wants it can’t be good. My gaze wanders to the bathroom cabinet, remembering last night when he took the scissors. I wonder if he has taken more of what’s in there. When Cece was a baby she had colic and screamed and screamed and stayed up all night, so finally, when we still lived in Chicago, I got a prescription for her to make her sleep better along with something for her stomach. If I can make him sleep… or at least make him drowsy… My heart speeds up. A plan is slowly forming in my mind. It could work.

  I rin
se off the slick soap and groan when I realize I never brought clean clothes with me to the bathroom. I wipe myself dry, but I sweat profusely and the work is soon undone.

  Cece cocks her head and looks at me from top to toe. “Momma bath?”

  I laugh. It’s liberating. “Mommy’s finished the bath. I’m just really sweaty.”

  She frowns, confused. I smile and pat her head, stroking the silky dark hair. She looks so much like him.

  I don’t want to put on my old grisly clothes, my whole being protests at the thought, but I surely don’t want to walk through the main room with only a towel covering my naked body. I’m at a loss as to what to do, but finally I decide for the towel alternative, remembering he didn’t want me last night even when I offered myself. With a pounding heart, I open the door just a crack, peeking out. I don’t see anyone. When I push the door open a little more, it hits something soft. I widen my eyes when I find a pile of neatly folded clothes. Still not seeing him but unable to not smell the most fantastic scents of cooking emanating from the kitchen, I snatch the pile from the floor and bring it with me into the bathroom, hastily locking the door again. I shake my head and try to figure out the catch. What does he want from me? My skin has started to develop goosebumps and I quickly separate Cece’s clothes from mine, putting on jeans, a T-shirt, and a hooded sweater.

  I’ll think later.

  Christian

  My shirt dried up fast, hanging over the fireplace. I’m dressed again, warm and dry, and revel in the fresh scents that stem from the bathroom. Steaming, humid air enriched with soap. It smells flowery, clean, innocent. It smells of normalcy. I like it. I sincerely hope she enjoys her bath and is in a better mood when she comes back out. I’m not used to being treated like something the cat dragged in, and especially not used to trying to show some fuckin’ patience meanwhile. I’ve been nothing but understanding and friendly, and still, still, she keeps up all the yelling and the hate-show. How do I find her trust again? How did Nate do it? How did he woo Sydney, a woman with such an intense dislike for our business, and make her his?

  Of course he never tried to kill her.

  A little part of me can’t help picturing what she looks like right now; her pale skin naked in the tub, hot and soft…

  Christian! Get a grip.

  My stomach aches at the thought and I clench my hands into tight fists. I just wish—I wish I could rewind time.

  Fuck!

  Fighting the tearing regret in my chest, I bury myself in the art of cooking something great out of nothing. She lives on preserves, frozen meat and bread, and the only things that are fresh are a couple of apples and a half-rotten pineapple that I can salvage small amounts from. I cook rice and make a sweet and sour sauce to go with a piece of chicken that I chop and fry with the pineapple pieces.

  When she suddenly stands in the doorway, she takes my breath away with her naked, innocent beauty. Her face is clean, her hair still wet and combed back. A pair of thin jean-clad legs stick out beneath a much too large, hooded gray sweater. A pang of jealousy surges through my chest, wondering who that sweater once belonged to. She can’t possibly have bought it for herself. Some old lover? Someone she still cherishes the memory of?

  “Well, look who honors me with her presence. Bath feel all right?”

  She pulls shyly at the hem of the sweater. “It was… it felt great. Thanks for letting me.” She stutters slightly and I find myself thinking it’s cute. Cute? Russo, really?

  “Whose giant hoodie? Either you grossly overestimated your own size, or you’re being a tad over sentimental and keeping the clothes of your old boyfriends.” I say it casually, as if I couldn’t care less, but my heart pounds a little too hard in my chest.

  Her lips twist into a sneer. “It was my dad’s, Chris.”

  I lift an eyebrow and turn back to the pots, my cheeks burning. “Gimme a hand with the plates and we’re set to eat in a sec,” I mutter.

  I turn and hold up three plates for her. She is leaning against the door frame and seems to be studying me.

  “See something you like?”

  I can’t help the little smile when she scoffs and snatches the plates from my hands, disappearing out into the main room.

  Cecilia eats happily, sticky rice ending up on every surface within three feet of her, brownish-red sauce covering her cheeks and even a spot on her nose. I’m very pleased. Kerry sulks and refuses to eat. I try to ignore it, but it’s becoming increasingly annoying.

  “Kerry. Eat. It’s not poisoned and you look like a stick.”

  She shrugs and chases a grain of rice across her plate with her fork.

  “The Amazon who beat the shit out of me once… look at you now, you can barely stand on your own.”

  “What do you care?” she sneers.

  “You’re the mother of my child and you’re gonna fuckin’ do your job, Ker!”

  Her head perks up and I see a flash of interest in her eyes. “That’s why you’re here?”

  I regard her. No.

  “Eat. Or I’m gonna force it down your throat.”

  “Oh, how sweet,” she scowls. “You care.”

  I glare at her until she shrugs and starts to eat.

  Kerry

  I keep pissing him off. I realize I’m going to have to act softer, nicer, to try to set my plan in motion. My whole body tingles from our previous banter. I was afraid to tick him off too much, but at the same time it was thrilling in an unexpected way.

  The food’s good. Too good. I haven’t eaten anything this delicious in years. And he cooked. Why couldn’t he have been just a normal guy? Why did I have to fall for a monster? A pang of sadness rips through my chest. I’ll never again have that innocent first meeting we had. Certainly not with him, but I won’t have it with anyone. I won’t be able to trust anyone ever again.

  Ironically enough, by letting me take that bath, and forcing me to eat, he’s helped me to revitalize and regain some strength. Not starving anymore, clean, warm, and with fresh clothes on, I can think again. My ankle still pulses with pain and I could have used a couple of Advil, but I couldn’t find the bottle.

  I have a plan. It’s risky. But it can work. I have to make him trust me, just enough not to lock us in my bedroom again. I’ll have to perform better than ever in the deception that has been my life for so long.

  “Thanks. It tasted… it was really good.” My cheeks heat up at how false I sound and look down at my plate but I saw a brief glint of surprise in his eyes. The embarrassment is for real, but it suits me fine to show it.

  Cecilia has slithered out of her chair already and is running around, giddy, happy, blissfully unaware of the tension in the room, bouncing on the couch, crawling under the table, off into the bedroom for unknown adventures and then back out again. Good, drain that energy. It’ll make you sleep better.

  “Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He wipes his mouth, his eyes never leaving mine.

  My skin crawls under his scrutiny and I itch to flee the table. I collect the three plates and dart up. “I’ll do the dishes. It’s the least I can do.” I give him my best look of innocence, almost batting my eyelashes, fighting not to overdo it.

  Christian narrows his eyes and waits a tad too long to answer. My courage sinks like a stone. He’s too good. He’s gonna see right through me and I’ll never make it.

  “Sure.” He leans back and smiles.

  I almost drop the plates in surprise.

  He gets up and walks over to my armchair, pushing it across the floor until it sits opposite the kitchen entrance, giving him full view over me and what I’m doing. Picking up a book, he flips it open to the first page and pretends to start reading, his eyes not moving along the lines of text.

  My back tingles from knowing he’s watching me as I clean the table and the kitchen. My voice is the perfect blend of sugar and hesitation when I walk up to him after I’m done tucking away the remains. “Christian.”

  He looks up from his book, Of Mice and Men.
Good choice at least. For some reason I’d never have pictured him reading crap literature anyway. “Mm-hmm?”

  “What do we do now? What do you want from me?”

  If he’s surprised, he hides it well. He looks over at a still hyperactive Cece. “I think we’ll have all the time we need once she’s in bed, don’t you? Do what you normally do. I’m really getting into this.” He waves with the book and smirks.

  I’m still completely convinced he hasn’t read a word. “You said…” Unease flits through my chest. “You wanted to talk?”

  “Well… you’re not going anywhere, are you?”

  A stab of fear shoots through me. He knows! I have to force a smile. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

  I smile at him whenever I get a chance, but funny enough, now that I want to get close, he seems to distance himself. He keeps himself occupied with the book the whole evening, but it suits me just fine. Doing rounds randomly, pretending to clean up the place, I collect the sleeping potion and all the clothes I can find for Cece and myself, and gather all the items under my bed. My mouth is dry as sandpaper and my heart pounds. I know he’ll find out I’m up to something. He’s not stupid. I know I won’t make it. But I’m not worthy of being her mother if I don’t try.

  I read to Cece about the hedgehog and the rabbit, silent tears trickle down my cheeks as I tell the simple story I know so well. She falls asleep like she should with me right next to her. I’m so tired. Even though I’m sitting up I fall asleep over and over and jerk awake every time, my heart pounding wildly, afraid I’ll have missed the window of opportunity. Leaning over the edge of the bed, I reach for the pile of clothes. Yes, they’re still there. Time to act. Time for deception.

  He has moved to the couch and for a moment I think he’s fallen asleep. I hold my breath as I watch him. He’s so beautiful. I’ve tried to forget the pull he has on me, that low rumbling voice that makes my insides melt, the dark eyes that both frighten and entice. His chest rises and falls in a slow steady rhythm, but when I tiptoe closer he lifts his head from the pillow and looks at me, his eyelids heavy, his gaze lazy through a curtain of dark hair, sending a jolt through my belly. Even knowing what he is, what he does, I can still see the man behind the monster. What does that make me? Sick? Co-dependent? Brainwashed?