Blyad’. She’s back to being terrified again. And I’ve confessed to being a killer.
“He could have killed Nikolai,” I tell her, pointing toward the bedroom where Nikolai is still suffering. “He is lucky I let him live.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend my anger. The rational part of me knows I’m in the wrong here, but I just can’t seem to find him. And it’s all because of Natasha. What she does to me. To my sanity. “I still don’t even know what he was looking for, but you know what I do know?”
She takes another step back. The rain stops like my tirade interrupted its flow. Only the smattering of drops falling from the trees patter against the roof and windows now.
“I know he never would’ve been at that game if you hadn’t brought him. And I wouldn’t have given you the address if you weren’t playing your fucking games with me.” I smack my palm against the window, and she recoils.
I already hate myself for being so cruel, but I can’t seem to stop the rage and frustration from pouring out. Can’t reel myself back in. Can’t dial it back and apologize.
It takes her a couple of seconds to conquer the fear I just instilled in her, and when she does, it’s a beautiful sight to see.
Natasha draws herself up, lips tightening, anger blazing in her bright eyes. Her skin changes from pale to flushed. and she tosses her ginger locks over one shoulder. “I can’t change what happened.” Her eyes swim with tears and fists clench at her sides. “If I could, I would. And you obviously can’t get over it. So I think we’d better just keep our distance from each other until—” she breaks off, probably coming to the realization that she’s not running this show. I set the rules. I decide if and when she gets to leave and what happens while she’s here.
And that’s probably what makes her run.
12
Natasha
I don’t know where I’m going. All I know is I need some fresh air. I need to get away from Dima and his anger and blame. From my regrets and desires. From the constant churning and yearning Dima produces in me.
I throw open the back door and skid down the slick wooden steps from the deck to the rain-soaked earth. It’s spongy and wet under my bare feet, mud sinking between my toes as I run.
“Natasha.”
Damn him. He ignores me for hours on end, and the one time I need some space, he has to follow?
I keep running, heading into the thicket of trees, tears blinding me.
“Natasha, get back in the cabin!” Dima follows me.
I run faster.
“You really do love punishment don’t you?” he shouts.
Oh, hell no. No, no, no, no, no. He doesn’t get to throw that in my face. To shame me for the intimate acts we’ve shared.
I whirl and march back to him, slapping him across the face as hard as I can.
His blue eyes widen behind his black-framed glasses, dismay in the slackness of his mouth. “I guess I deserve that.”
I turn again, intending to run, but he catches me around the waist. I scramble out of his grasp, but my feet slide in the mud, and I face-plant in a puddle.
“Oh, baby. Natasha, I’m sorry.” Dima jogs up and crouches beside me.
For a moment, I don’t move, praying the earth will open up and swallow me. When I feel Dima’s hands on my shoulders, I try to scramble up. If I wanted to run from him before, the urge has quadrupled now.
“No, please.” He catches me around the waist and drags me back, pulling us both to the ground, me cradled against his body in the mud.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He pushes my wet and mud-thick hair out of my face, his touch gentle. “None of this is your fault, Natasha. It’s all on me.” He cradles my cheek in his palm. “You’re… you’re special to me—I can’t say why. And my attraction to you clouds my judgment.” He plucks a wet lock of hair from my forehead and smooths it back. “I never should have given you the address for that game. I knew everything about it was wrong, but I got confused. And my mistake nearly killed Nikolai—” He shakes his head, closing his eyes as if in pain. “It’s not the first time he’s nearly died because of me.”
It’s all too raw and vulnerable. I want to bury my face and hide, but Dima’s exposing his vulnerabilities, too, and it’s impossible to look away.
Misery makes Dima’s youthful face suddenly appear ancient. “He’s the other half of me,” he explains. “And all I’ve done is drag him into danger. He’s in the bratva because of me.”
“He’ll be okay,” I promise. I’m not a doctor, but Nikolai seems like he’s stable. Improving a little every day.