mamihlapinatapai
(n.) a look between two people that suggests an unspoken, shared desire
MILA
“Where is he?” I demanded.
Yulia sat in a rocking chair sewing a black doll dress. The shrewd glance she bestowed upon me behind antique spectacles made me feel like she knew all of the sinful happenings of the house—including last night’s. Beneath her stare, I shifted and bumped into a framed portrait of her that sat on the nightstand.
“Leave my room before you break things,” Yulia grumbled.
I righted the frame. “This isn’t a room. It’s a morgue.” Everything was so drab and black, I doubted anyone would notice the difference if an embalming table took the twin bed’s place. The only decorations that livened up the space were multiple dolls’ sightless stares.
“Where is Ivan?” I repeated.
I’d slept the night through, not waking until the sun caressed my skin. I thought I’d had a bizarre sex dream until I saw my torn dress. I wished I could tell Ms. Marta I was living the life of one of her bodice rippers—with more murder and much less declarations of love at least—but my old tutor was probably dead. Ronan’s pessimism was rubbing off on me. As well as other things.
I wasn’t going to analyze what happened between us because it was simply too much to process. And I had other matters to worry about—such as Ivan rotting away in the dungeon. Though when I went down there this morning with some food I stole from the kitchen, his cell was empty.
“I do not know,” Yulia said simply. Then an annoying, knowing lilt touched her voice. “Why do you not ask the master?”
Heat washed up the back of my neck. “First of all, stop calling him that. It’s beyond weird. Second of all, I’m not going to ask him because—well . . .” I trailed off, growing more flustered as a satisfied smirk played on Yulia’s thin lips, her eyes focused on the swoops of her sewing needle.
I had a good reason for why I wasn’t going to ask Ronan, and it had everything to do with being nervous as hell. There wasn’t a chance I’d admit it though. I didn’t know where he and I stood now or how to act around him. It was past the time for breakfast, but he hadn’t sent for me. He was probably being served a bowl of Fruit Loops by Kylie’s sex-hungry twin without a care in the world right now, the night forgotten as soon as he showered my virgin blood off him.
I pushed the uneasy feeling away and continued, “Third of all, I know you know where Ivan is, so why don’t you reach into your good Catholic heart and tell me?”
“I am not Catholic,” she groused, her gaze sharp. “I am Orthodox.”
“Same difference.”
“That does not make sense,” she mumbled, pulling her attention back to the small lace hem she was sewing. I couldn’t help but notice the design matched Yulia’s dress.
I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath before opening them. “Listen, if you tell me where he is, I’ll leave. If not . . .” With a demure expression, I moved to the shelf of dolls, ignoring Yulia’s “Do not dare!” and picked one up. “Aw, isn’t she cute?” I pouted in thought, looking her over. “I don’t think the black dress matches her personality though. I’m going to find her something yellow to wear.” I took a step toward the door.
“They let him go,” she growled.
Pausing, I turned around. “What?”
“Can you not hear? They freed the traitor.”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears. “Why?”
“Put Lada down,” she insisted, her eyes on the doll as if it was her child and I was about to drop her from a bridge.
“Tell me why, and I will.”
She scowled and waved a dismissive hand. “He is just lackey. Not the one Master wants.”
My eyes narrowed. “The real reason.”
She returned the glare for a beat, but seeing I wasn’t leaving without getting what I wanted, she said like she was pulling teeth, “They will not kill him even though he is worthless traitor. They shared time in prison.” Then she frowned thoughtfully. “They probably tortured him some though.”
I swallowed, hoping Ivan still had all his fingers and toes, but a weight lifted off my shoulders at the fact he was alive. I didn’t understand why they captured him if they were just going to let him go. Not to mention, when I spoke to Ivan, he believed Ronan would kill him. I had the feeling something had changed between yesterday and this morning, and my mind could only settle on what happened in the drawing room after sunset.
Questions—so many questions—stirred. I could demand answers, though I thought I had already pushed Yulia too far by the look she gave me while stabbing her needle in the pincushion like it was a voodoo doll.
Gingerly, I set Lada back on the shelf and turned to the door. “Thank you, Yulia.”
“Come to my room again, you will have bad luck for seven years!”
“Grouch,” I muttered on my way out, only to hear a significant insult in return.
“Harlot.”
Ugh.
I was relieved to see the dining room sat empty except for a single filled plate in my spot at the table. After grabbing the dish, I slipped on my boots and coat and stepped outside. The men no longer went silent in my presence, now used to me traipsing around in the snow. Pavel even came over to greet me, following my steps to the kennel while trying out some of the English he was attempting to learn. It was awful, but I’d never tell him.
Albert barked something at Pavel, who gave me an apologetic smile. “I leave now. Boss teach me how . . .” As he scratched his head in thought, a weird sense of anticipation ballooned in my stomach at just the mention of Ronan, knowing he was the only one referred to as “boss” around here. Unable to come up with the word, Pavel moved his hands like they were on a steering wheel.
“Drive?” I supplied.
“Yes. He tell me I suck ass.”
A laugh escaped me. Pavel should probably stick to letting Ronan teach him to drive and not English.
“Well, you’d better go learn then.”
He blushed, dipped his head, and started toward the car.
When I reached the kennel, I smiled at Misha, who excitedly paced the fence. A giant of a German shepherd with solid black fur, he looked menacing, but he always greeted me, tail wagging.
Albert had told me all of the dogs’ names as well as to not feed them human food because it would make them fat and lazy. I’d forgiven the giant for his part in my abduction, but I also thought he could toss his demands in the trash along with his cigarette butts.
Kneeling in the snow in my fur coat, I passed out the breakfast on my plate and joked, “You’re all going to be vegans in no time.”
Xander dropped a strawberry with a well-timed look of disgust.
“Okay, maybe not,” I laughed.
Eighteen days had passed since my vacation in Moscow took a twisted turn. Only two and a half weeks, but it felt like forever. It was a little sad to say I’d miss some of the dogs here more than the superficial friendships I’d gained from over twenty years in Miami.
Khaos wasn’t lazing in the corner like a lion this morning, which told me he was inside the kennel, most likely making an effort to avoid me. I saved the best piece of food for him even though he always turned down my offerings as if they were peasant fare.
The snow started to soak through my coat, but the chill was better than tiptoeing around the house to avoid Ronan. Though, just as the thought hit, so did an electric tingle that slid down my back, wilting my heartbeat to slow little thumps.
I turned my head to see Ronan step out the front door wearing Brioni sans jacket, with a handgun in his waistband. My throat grew thick. I wondered if the pistol was the one he would use to shoot my papa in the head. I had nothing else to barter to save my father; nothing I hadn’t already offered only to be turned down.
Ronan’s dark gaze met mine, warm like the sun and as cold as an icy whip of wind. The look reminded me of discarded Bibles, restrained wrists, and naked skin. My breath slowed, each frozen puff of air more difficult to push out. The eye contact began to sear; to search the dark corners in my chest, slip through the cracks, and spread outward. Unable to find my breath or control the fire running rampant, I was the first to look away.
I gripped the cold chain-link fence, vaguely noticing Misha’s nose nudging my fingers as Ronan’s presence prickled my back. It was a frustrating development that my body lit up like a firework display when the man was near, pushing aside all qualms he would murder my papa in cold blood. I needed therapy. Or church. Anything to exorcise the demons that raged in eagerness at the sound of his voice. He wasn’t even speaking to me, but the Russian brought back the rough words he said to me last night with his head between my thighs.
I closed my eyes as a flush rose beneath my skin, stinging on contact with the icy air. Of course a “fuck” came out of his mouth, reminding me of when he said it while deep inside me. The rasp of his voice stamped me like a brand, the burn licking at the soreness in my core and leaving an empty ache behind.
One taste of sin, and now I was dying for another.
Car doors slammed shut, then the sound of tires moved down the drive. I released a ragged breath. I didn’t know what I expected after losing my virginity, but if this insanity was what everyone felt, how did anything else get done besides procreation?
My legs were growing numb, so I gave Misha one last pet, then stood with my plate and headed into the outbuilding. Khaos lounged on a torn-up bed that leaked stuffing in his chain-link kennel. My heart sank when I saw his paw was bleeding, staining the cement floor with a few drops of crimson.
I lowered to my knees in front of his kennel to get a better look. Something sharp was wedged between his paw pads. His stare followed me, but he wasn’t growling for a change, so I edged the gate open and slowly moved inside, speaking soft, encouraging words while watching for any sign I made him uncomfortable. He didn’t do anything but view me with steely, dark eyes.
Nervously, I stayed a few feet away, having never been this close before. Even Albert maintained his distance, pushing Khaos’s food bowl under the gate with his boot. The idea I was getting somewhere made my chest clench with hope, but the emotion faded as thoughts surfaced of how to help him. I wondered how anyone would remove the object in his paw without knocking him out. And I knew from experience, being drugged sucked.
“Can I see your paw, buddy?”
I swore, a kingly glint in the dog’s eyes said “nyet” like I was a servant invading his rest.
“You’re just going to lie here with that stick in your paw forever?”
He turned his head away from me as if I was a massive waste of his time. The dog had the weird ability to make me feel beneath him.
“Fine. Don’t look at me,” I said, oddly slighted. “But your choice is either me or etorphine, and, trust me, the latter leaves a massive headache.”
He licked his front leg, bored with anything I had to say. A feeling arose that he knew he needed help; he would just never deign to admit it. I shared the stubborn trait, and it only made me more sympathetic to his plight. The fact I was so near to him and he wasn’t up in arms gave me the courage to edge closer. My hands grew clammy, and I wiped them on my coat.
“This might sting a little, but don’t hate me, okay?”
With a shaky inhale, I grasped the stick and yanked it out. Movement, bristling sable fur, and a snarl filled the kennel. It all happened so fast I didn’t notice the bleeding puncture marks in my wrist until my vision began to dot and a shakiness flared in my veins.
Khaos bit me.
A cool numbness spread from the wound up my arm. The marks weren’t that deep, but he must have nicked an artery because blood dripped steadily to the floor. With a growl, Khaos stalked away from me to the corner of the kennel.
My wrist began to throb, but even with the pain, I didn’t blame him for biting me. Sometimes, I lashed out at the piece of furniture I stubbed my toe on. My rising concern was owed to the fact I hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days. The emptiness in my stomach roiled. My blood pressure dived so low it left my head spinning and my muscles weak. I braced my hands on the cold cement floor and breathed deeply to sway the darkness rising, but it didn’t help.
I passed out.
Consciousness returned, though as soon as I opened my eyes, I closed them tightly at the sight of Khaos standing over me, sharp teeth bared. My heart rate kicked into overdrive, fear grabbing my lungs.
“Please don’t eat me,” I blurted unsteadily. “I won’t taste very good to you. I’m vegan.”
A huff came from him, his hot breath warming my face. A tremble coasted through me while I lay supine on the cement floor with a blood-hungry beast deciding if I was edible. Even a freaking dog wasn’t sure if I was worth the trouble.
“If you’re going to make me a snack, just do it already.” I didn’t know if it was the fear of death or low blood sugar that suddenly clogged my throat with emotion. “Nobody will miss me.” A cold nose sniffed my cheek. “My mother’s dead and was apparently a sadist. My papa’s also a terrible person and will probably be tortured to death soon. Ivan thinks I’m a traitor.” A tear escaped. “The way it’s looking, if I get out of here alive, I’m going to end up in the sex industry.” The words came out with a sob. “And I’ll only make pennies because I’m an emotional fuck.”
A drool-laden lick to my face pulled me out of my pathetic reverie. Cautiously, I opened my eyes to see Khaos towering over me, his expression thoughtful.
“Just for clarification, does that mean you forgive me, or that you’ve decided I’m dessert?”
He tilted his head—then, seemingly over the situation, he moved to lie down on his bed and began licking his injured paw. A heavy breath whooshed out of me. I had stuffing in my hair, tears on my cheeks, and blood dripping from my wrist, but when I sat beside Khaos and he let me run a hand down his back, a sense of purpose filled a hole in my heart.
