by LP Lovell
I want to protect her, simply because I can, and because she deserves to have someone in this whole damn world give a shit. But I can’t offer her that. I can’t promise that—because of Nero. Just business, I remind myself, for what feels like the hundredth fucking time since I met her, I can’t offer her much, except maybe one thing…
“Twenty-two,” I say.
“What?”
“That’s how old you are. Twenty-two.”
I stand up, leaving the beer on the low wall next to her. I have to force myself to walk away from Anna, to distance myself from her, because already I’m not rational where she is concerned. The girl is an adrenaline laced dart aimed right at my cold, dead heart. I can’t afford to feel alive – to feel- because caring about someone is nothing but a weakness. One that has cost me dearly many times over. Consider the lesson learned. I stride through the gap in the hedge like my ass is on fire.
“Rafael.” I pause when I should keep fucking walking. “Thank you,” she says quietly, the purity in her voice reaching inside me like the goddamn hand of death. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and then leave.
When I walk into the kitchen in the morning, Maria is standing in front of the stove, frying bacon. I kiss her cheek and she side-eyes me before swatting at me with a dishcloth. I’m trying to swipe a piece of bacon when I sense someone behind me. I turn around, hot bacon burning me as I come face to face with Anna. Shoving the food in my mouth, I lick grease from my fingers.
“Raised in a barn…” Maria is grumbling, shunting me out of the way. “Sit, both of you.”
I yank my gun from the waist of my pants and place it on the breakfast island. Maria huffs. “No guns at the table!”
“Do I not own this fucking house?”
“Language!” She jerks her head towards Anna, and I take the gun, putting it in the kitchen drawer. Anna ducks her head, covering her amusement.
Samuel strolls into the kitchen typing on his phone. “Morning.” His suit jacket is open—hair damp from the shower. He’d look like a respectable young businessman if it weren’t for the tattoos crawling up his neck and covering his hands and fingers. “Anna,” he jerks his chin as he takes a seat.
“You’ve met Samuel. He works for me.” She says nothing. Maria places a plate in front of Anna and then me, making one for Samuel.
“So, Anna, where are you from?” He already knows where she’s from, but I smirk at his effort to draw the little Russian into conversation.
She looks at him blankly, and I almost want to laugh.
“Think you might have finally found a girl you can’t charm, Sam.”
He smiles. “Ah, come on. I don’t bite.”
She glances at me and something passes between us, something unspoken. It’s like she’s looking for permission. “Moscow,” she finally says.
In my periphery, I catch him looking at me before he clears his throat and starts talking about a couple of bars I own. To Anna, it would all sound legitimate, but we really just use the bars to clean money. I find myself looking at her every so often, watching the way she slowly eats her food, savoring every bite. She’s filled out in the last couple of weeks, and as her health has returned, it’s impossible not to see how beautiful she is.
“Rafe,” Samuel says impatiently. I look at him. “A little distracted?” I glare, and he laughs as he bites off a piece of the bacon in his hand. Anna gets up and as quiet as a mouse, just leaves the room. I let out a breath. “She’s pretty,” Samuel says.
“Fuck off.”
“Don’t pretend fucking whores is beneath you.” He laughs.
“She isn’t a whore!” My muscles tighten with rage and the urge to grab him by his throat rides me hard. A whore chooses to have sex for money. Anna was a slave, taken against her will and raped. I tighten my fist on the table in front of me. “I have work to do.” I push away from the table, grab my gun from the drawer and leave the room.
I know nothing about the little Russian should rile me. Samuel calling her a whore, should not bother me in the slightest. It’s just a word. And yet I want to tear him limb from limb for disrespecting her. Shit, this is a problem.
14
Anna
I sit at the edge of the pond, tearing little pieces of bread apart and tossing them into the water. The orange and pearlescent fish rise to the surface, spots of luminous color in the darkness of the water. The pond is like a bubble, closed off from the outside world. The solitude brings a sense of serenity that soothes my fraught soul. I hear a noise behind me and whip my head around to find a shadowy figure lingering near the hedge line. Cigar smoke wafts on the air, and then a tiny cherry red glow illuminates the hard features of Rafael’s face. Only a few weeks ago, I hated him and everything he stands for, but I’ve come to trust him. Every night for the last week I’ve come out here to the gardens, and every night I see him. Sometimes we talk, sometimes he says nothing at all, but each time he leaves, he seems angry or maybe upset. I always think he won’t come back, but here he is. Maybe I’m a fool. Engrained instinct tells me to shut him out—interested only in the most basic survival, and Rafael is a threat to that, to the resistance I’ve taken so long to build. But then there’s this other part of me that’s getting louder. I think she was unleashed the day Rafael put a gun in my hand and helped me to shoot a man who had wronged me. That girl is angry and wounded, but she craves something more than just existence and survival. My body has become this war zone between the two parts—the accepting and the fighter—
two halves of the whole. Rafael gave me that, and for the first time in a long time, I allow myself to feel something I have always blocked out: hope. Dangerous and intoxicating, and it smells like cigar smoke mixed with expensive cologne and just a hint of beer.
Dark eyes watch me, twinkling in the darkness like a predator stalking its prey. I turn back to the fish and hear him move closer until he’s standing behind me. My skin prickles with awareness and my heartbeat quickens, as every instinct demands I turn around and face the threat that I know he is. And yet, I know he won’t hurt me.
“Hey,” I finally say.
“Hello, avecita.”
He sits on the edge of the wall next to me, keeping his back to the pond. He braces his elbows on his spread knees, the cigar clasped between his fingers. In the daytime, he’s always dressed in suits, but tonight he has on jeans and a t-shirt. I’m not sure which makes him more dangerous. His muscles strain against the material of his black shirt, and I know he could hurt me so easily. Tattoos cover his arms and hands, making him look dark and deadly. His head tips forward as he lifts the cigar to his lips. A strand of hair falls forward over his forehead, and I have the strange urge to brush it away.
We say nothing, and this is often all he does. He just sits, absorbing the silence that never feels strained. He’s a walking contradiction, the cartel boss that comes and sits with the whore for no reason. The man who wears a suit, yet can’t hide the gang tattoos that crawl over his skin. A man who will sell drugs to teenagers, but refuses to sell women.
“Why do you come out here?” I finally ask.
He twists his face towards me, a small smile curling the corner of his lips. “The same reason you do.”
“Because you hate people?”
“You don’t hate them. You just don’t trust anyone.” He lifts the cigar to his lips and inhales one last time before tossing it to the ground. “You’ve experienced too much, seen too much, and it’s altered your perception. You know you can survive the worst humanity has to offer.” He reaches out and pinches a strand of my hair between his fingers. I hold my breath as those dark eyes collide with mine. “It makes you detached, fearless even.”
“What if surviving is what I fear?”
A small smile touches his lips, and his fingers brush over my jaw. My skin tingles under his soft caress as he brings his lips to my ear. I close my eyes, my heartbeat rising as his breath stirs the strands of my hair. “Then live, avecita.” And then he’s
gone, and the air around me suddenly feels cold. When I open my eyes, he’s walking away, his form slipping into the shadows until he disappears from view.
And for the first time, I miss him.
I pull against the chains binding my wrists above me. My skin is rubbed raw, my arms coated in old, dried blood. Ava is across from me, chained to the opposite wall. Her head rolls to the side—dark, tangled hair spilling over her bruised and battered face. She’s been unconscious for too long.
“Ava,” I whisper. “Ava.”
There’s a loud bang as the bolt on the door slides back before it swings open. And then the master walks in, two more men behind him. A sick smile twists his lips as he drags his eyes over my naked body.
“You see what you made me do, Amado.” He gestures towards Ava, and I focus on her face. Both of her eyes are swollen shut, her nose is broken, and her lip is split wide open. Blood coats her thighs, and bruises cover her naked body. I bite my lip as tears prickle at my eyes.
He strolls over to me and trails a hand from my bloodied wrists, down my arms, and over my naked breasts. “All of this belongs to me. Everything you are, everything you will ever be,” he hisses against my neck. “You are mine!” I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the blows I know will come. “And you would deny me?” He strokes over my face. “I thought you loved me, Amado? But no matter. You will learn.” He snaps his fingers. “Uncuff her.”
One of his men releases my cuffs, and I sag, struggling to remain standing. My ribs are broken, my skin covered in open bleeding welts that pull and split with every movement, sending fresh waves of blood over my body. He walks over to me and takes out a knife, placing it in my hand. I stare at it, completely confused.
“You brought this on yourself.” His hot breath touches my neck, and I fight the bile rising in my throat. “All you had to do was scream for me. So learn this lesson and learn it well. If you don’t do what I want, then another will, and after I am done with her, I will make you kill her.” His hand wraps around my throat. “Over and over, until I break you.”
My hand starts to shake and cold sweat prickles over the back of my neck. “No. Please.” I never beg him, but I can’t kill her.
He grins, and he knows he has me. “You will kill her, or I will fuck you with your favorite objects right here in front of everyone.” Icy fear grips me. The master has toys that will stretch and tear until the pain is unbearable. “She will die either way.”
I approach my friend. Tears streak down my face and my heart pounds frantically in my chest. She’s going to die anyway. They’ll make it so much worse for her. My hand trembles as I lift the knife, pressing it to the skin of her throat. I don’t even know how to make this quick for her.
“One,” the master calls. “Two.” If he gets to three… With a ragged cry, I drag the blade over the side of her throat, watching as her neck opens like a tap. Blood rushes down her throat, coating her naked body. Ava’s body jerks for a few seconds before she slumps forward in her chains. I scream.
I’m torn from sleep by a loud bang as the bedroom door flies open. I squint against the bright light and find Lucas standing in the doorway looking at me. My chest heaves, and I swipe at the tears streaming down my face. The nightmare clings to me like a blanket of despair, one of the worst memories I have. I press my hand over my mouth to try and quiet the sobs leaving my lips.
“Anna,” he stammers awkwardly. “Are you okay?” All I can hear is my own ragged breaths as tension cuts through me. “That sounded worse than normal.”
Heavy footsteps come down the hall, and then all the air seems to get sucked from the room. “Leave!” Rafael.
The door clicks shut as Lucas leaves, and then Rafael is striding over to the bed. The mattress dips under his weight before he’s cupping my face, both thumbs wiping away my tears. “Anna.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke. I’m trying to pull myself together, but his soft touch makes me all the more vulnerable.
“I thought someone was trying to kill you.” He huffs a small laugh.
“I’m sorry I woke you.” God, I don’t want him to see this, and yet I crave the unyielding sense of security that I have when he’s near, as if nothing can touch me, not even my own memories.
“No one apologizes for having a nightmare, Anna.”
“Probably because no one you know has nightmares,” I mumble, absentmindedly twisting a piece of hair around my finger.
“I’d say that requires a conscience.”
“I’d say that you have one.” Does he? I’ve repeatedly told myself that he’s bad, but the more I learn about him, the harder it is to believe. Especially when he’s looking at me like he’d slay every demon I have if he could.
He snorts. “You’d be wrong.”
“And yet here you are. Coming to the aid of a sobbing whore.” My words are almost mocking because the irony is a bitter one.
His jaw clenches and his eyes flash with something volatile. “You are not a whore,” he growls.
I watch him for a moment as the muscle in his jaw ticks. “Why does it upset you?” I whisper, confusion riding me. He’s like a puzzle I cannot figure out.
“You are not a whore,” he repeats. I say nothing, waiting until the tension in his muscles dissipates. “You should sleep.”
“I was trying.”
“Are you getting smart with me?” He smirks.
“No.”
“Do you want some sleeping pills?”
I shake my head. “I stopped taking them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to be helpless and caught unaware if anything happens.”
His warm palm cups my cheek. “No one can get in my house. No one will touch you.” But they did once. The last thing I want to be is helpless. “Lucas is right outside the door.” Lucas doesn’t make me feel safe though, not truly. “You don’t feel safe?”
I chew my bottom lip, staring into those dark, dangerous eyes that should not soothe me in any way. “I do now,” I whisper, like a shameful confession.
With a heavy sigh, he moves, getting on the bed next to me and leaning back against the pillows.
“What are—“
“Sleep, Anna. I’ll keep the monsters away.”
15
Rafael
I should leave, but I couldn’t if I tried. I’m angry. I’m angry at the fact that someone has put those nightmares in her head and that she feels the need to apologize for them. I’m pissed that those fuckers took her from my house and now she doesn’t feel safe here. I hate that she looks at me like I’m both the monster under the bed and her salvation. But most of all I’m angry that I’m here, that I can’t seem to stop myself from caring, that her pain cracks me wide open. She makes me want to bleed for her.
I glance down at her tucked against my side, her fingers clutching at my shirt as if I’ll disappear at any moment. Golden blonde hair sprawls over the pillow, and she looks so small, so damn breakable. The scent of her surrounds me—raspberry shampoo and a trace of night Jasmine.
I have no fucking idea what I’m doing anymore. She’s this perfect balance of pure innocence and the most depraved darkness, drawing me in. I want to both cure her of the taint on her soul and corrupt it so entirely that she’s just as blackened as I am. Yes, little Anna Vasiliev is unrivaled beauty marred by the scars of brutal war. She’s learned to survive in the dark, caged, her wings clipped. Now, I want to set her free.
I lean over and open the drawer of the bedside table, taking out a remote. I press a button, and a TV glides out from the footboard of the bed. She lifts her head, watching it.
“What is that?”
“A TV. You didn’t know that was there?”
She shakes her head. I have a feeling that even if she had, she wouldn’t have used it. I scroll through the channels until I find a film.
I don’t see or hear the film. I’m acutely aware of Anna against me, every tiny movement, each staggered breath.
“Why are you do
ing this?” she asks so quietly that I barely hear her.
“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. I can’t explain this to myself, let alone her. I can’t tell her that a growing part of me wants her, because I know I shouldn’t. It’s fucked up.
“Well, thank you.” She kisses my cheek, soft lips lingering on my skin for only the briefest of seconds before she quickly ducks her head and lies down again. I have to bite back a groan. How does she make such a tiny, innocent act feel like she offered me everything?
At some point I must have fallen asleep because when I wake up, the room is dark, illuminated only by the blue glow of the television. My neck aches from sleeping at a strange angle, and I roll over.
“Hey,” Anna says. She’s lying on her side, a small smile on her lips as she watches me. Her hand comes to rest against my chest, and my skin heats under her touch.
She gnaws on her bottom lip and I reach out, pulling it from her teeth. “You’ll make yourself bleed.”
She drops her eyes away from mine, focusing on her hand on my chest.
“What’s wrong?”
She remains silent, and I sigh, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. I need to leave. Sleeping in her bed is such a bad idea because if I’m honest, I’m not totally sure I trust myself with her. It makes me a predator of the worst kind, and Anna will never be ready for that.
“Wait,” she says. I glance over my shoulder at her small form buried in the pillows of the enormous bed. The blue screen of the television lights her face. “Could…could you teach me how to shoot a gun?” She asks in a rush, and I cock a brow at her. Even under the blue light, I can see her cheeks tinge pink. “Properly, I mean. On my own.”