This high up, the wind was vicious, lashing out at you as if it were angry you’d dared to come out and experience it. I felt Arlo’s presence as he came to stand next to me, but I couldn’t drag my gaze away from the cityscape.
Even so high up, I could hear the faint trickling sounds of life down below. I could visualize people yelling at each other, honking their horns and waving their fists in their anger. I imagined lovers were whispering soft things in each other’s ears and children crying for their mothers to buy them more sweets.
I could practically smell the hot dogs from the street vendors, the yeasty scent of the fresh bread that filtered out from the open doorways of cafés and bakeries. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine I was somebody else, somewhere else where nothing could touch me. And being stories upon stories above it all, it was an almost tangible feeling that it was true.
“I know you want answers,” he finally said after a long moment of silence.
I turned my head to look at him, my upper body leaning against the banister, the wind now more of an intimate caress.
“But you being dragged deeper into this—into a darkness that is unforgiving—comes with a price.” His eyes looked so dark under the moonlight and backlit by the cityscape. “I don’t think you understand how—”
“Dangerous it is?” All the whys bounced in my head, but they didn’t make it past my lips. I found my gaze drifting lower. His mouth had tipped up at the corners slightly as I’d cut him off, but he still finished his sentence.
“Something like that.” His voice wrapped around me, pulling that invisible thread between us tighter until I feared it would either snap before we made contact or irrevocably keep me ensnared.
I forced myself to look back into his eyes, trying to wade through the fog that had suddenly filled my head. “I can handle precautions. I can even handle violence.” I’ve seen enough of it. “I just don’t want lies.” I didn’t know what I meant by saying those words, but his expression told me maybe he understood. But still he said nothing, and I felt like the flickering in his eyes told me he couldn’t promise me the truth regardless.
I cleared my throat and faced the city again, a shiver taking hold of me tightly. “Would it be possible to go to my apartment and grab the rest of my things?” I didn’t know if I expected him to tell me I’d go back there soon so there was no need to get my stuff, but he kept quiet for so long I glanced back at him. He was still watching me, but the look on his face was conflicted.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll stop by and grab what you need.”
Now it was my turn to stay silent for long moments. “No offense, but I usually wait until the third date before having the guy riffle through my underwear drawer,” I teased, but the way his pupils dilated after I spoke had any humor leaving me. His expression was so intense that I felt goose bumps move along my arms and legs. I shivered again.
When he reached up and smoothed his thumb along my cheek, I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. He felt so good, his skin warm, his hand big.
“Ya by ubil lyubogo, kto pytalsya zabrat' tebya u menya.”
I felt my heart race faster at his words. I didn't know what he said, but he whispered it so deeply, with so much possessiveness laced within, that I knew whatever he’d just spoken was the absolute truth.
“Did you just say I wasn’t worth all this trouble?” My voice was light, or at least I was trying to make light of the sudden heaviness I felt.
He didn’t smirk, didn’t do anything but stare at my lips, ones I suddenly felt like licking. “Let me know what you need, and I’ll make sure you get it. Whatever you need,” he said deeply, his gaze still on my mouth.
And then he turned and left me standing there, and a part of me knew he’d forced himself to leave, because if he hadn’t, I was pretty sure this night would have been ending a hell of a lot differently.
Like with me in his bed.
16
Arlo
I’d gotten the text from Dmitry this morning.
Butcher and Son. Midnight.
A part of me wasn’t going to go. I didn’t owe the bastard anything. I didn't work for him or his father, yet a dark curiosity filled me on why Leonid's oldest would want to speak with me. And if we were doing this at the old slaughterhouse, it was clear he didn’t want a witness. He didn’t want the Pakhan to know.