Torrid (Sordid 2)

“No, don’t say a word. All it’ll do is make him suspicious.” You know what else would make him suspicious? If he finds you whispering to Aleksandar in the laundry room. “I’ll see you in a week,” I said, leaving him standing there as I went toward the kitchen.

What was my father thinking about my request right now? I was a stupid girl. He didn’t care. Either I got him full access to Vasilije’s life, or I’d be killed trying. It was a win-win for the man who’d never see me as a legitimate daughter, no matter how many paternity test results proved I was.

I went hunting for a glass, and found one beside the refrigerator. I filled it with ice and water as movement to my right caught my eye. Aleksandar had followed me. Why didn’t he go wait for Vasilije outside the office door? I couldn’t have him hanging around me.

“Oksana.” Aleksandar’s hushed voice was urgent. “Vasilije will hurt you. He likes making people suffer.”

It was true, wasn’t it? He’d tried to humiliate and degrade me. He’d pinched me so hard in the dressing room, it had ached for a long time afterward. But he’d also stopped the doctor upstairs. Was he a sadist? Did he like inflicting pain as long as it was physical, and not emotional?

Aleksandar put a hand on my arm. Maybe his touch wasn’t sexual and he was only trying to offer me comfort. Perhaps it was supposed to be a friendly gesture, or he’d done it to try to get through my stubbornness. It didn’t matter. I jerked back. “Don’t touch me.”

If it was any other attack, I could fend it off, but all my strength abandoned me when a man moved on me like this.

“Alek.”

Vasilije’s voice was a gunshot, tearing through my core. Aleksandar backed off instantly, putting several feet of space between us.

The devil stood in the center of the kitchen, his eyes burning red. He had to be considering murdering Aleksandar right that moment. Judging by the expression on his face, there could be no other thought in his mind. His right hand twitched, and then curled into a fist. He wanted to reach for his gun, and maybe thought better of it.

“Fucking put a hand on her again,” Vasilije said, “and you’ll spend the rest of your short life wishing you hadn’t.”

It was shocking how territorial he was.

“It was nothing, Vasilije. I swear,” Aleksandar said in a rush. “We were just talking.”

Vasilije’s dark gaze slid to me. “About what?”

Jealousy flamed in his eyes. I’d have to be very careful. I kept my face benign. “The American holiday this week. He was explaining it to me.” I took a sip of my water and pretended not to be affected by the tension radiating from the men. “Do you celebrate it?”

“No.” He said it like a gut reaction, and then scowled as he considered it further. “What’s the point? It’s just me here.” He turned his attention back to Aleksandar. “Amit and I are finished. Take him wherever he wants to go.”

Aleksandar hurried out of the kitchen, visibly grateful for the excuse to leave.

Vasilije captured me with an intense stare. We stood as mannequins, our gazes trapping each other, listening to the sounds as Aleksandar and Amit went out the front door. The security system panel chirped and brought Vasilije back to life.

“I don’t believe that bullshit was about Thanksgiving.”

I licked my lips, because my mouth felt dry. “He was worried.”

“About?” When Vasilije rested his hands on his hips, it pushed back the sides of his suitcoat and gave me a hint of the strap of his holster, reminding me of his gun.

“What you might do to me.”

“He was warning you?”

I nodded.

God, his black eyes were magnetic, and he blinked them slowly. “He needs to mind his own fucking business.” He sighed and shook his head. Then, he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs. Was I supposed to follow him?

“Where are you going?” I asked lightly.

“To work out.” His tone was gruff, telling me he wanted to be left alone.

I glanced at the piano. “Do you mind if I play for a while?”

He climbed the stairs as he took off his suit jacket. “Do whatever the fuck you want.” He made it two more steps before he hesitated. “Oksana.”

I lifted my gaze to him. He was near the top of the stairs. He had a hand on the railing, his suitcoat folded over his other arm. The black gun and straps of his holster contrasted against the white dress shirt, and his burgundy tie was the same shade of a dried bloodstain.

“He won’t touch you again,” he said.

My breath stuck painfully in my lungs. Vasilije wasn’t the first to make that empty promise.

His expression was resolute. “From now on, no one touches you but me.”