34
Vasilije
I jolted awake.
The sheets were tangled around my legs, I was cold with sweat, and the bed beside me was empty. Shouldn’t have been a surprise. It’d been four weeks since I’d ‘rescued’ Oksana from the warehouse, and she hadn’t slept a full night in my bed once. Every once in a while one of us would fall asleep after we’d fucked, and it’d be late before she snuck off to play the piano or go to her own room down the hall, but we didn’t cuddle after.
I always woke up on my own. I’d told her that was how I wanted it because I didn’t trust her, but as the weeks went by, my stance began to shift. I wasn’t going to kill her, and she wasn’t going to kill me. Maybe I wouldn’t mind if she stayed in my bed.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to organize my thoughts. The weed I’d smoked last night had made me paranoid. That had to be what this feeling was. Everything was fine.
But there wasn’t piano music wafting up the stairs.
I was out of bed and moving swiftly down the hall to the bedroom on the other side of the house, nervous. What if she wasn’t in there? I threw open the door to her bedroom, and when I saw the splash of blonde hair on the pillow, the tightness in my throat eased.
Fuck me, she was beautiful, and she was still here. Still loyal.
Still mine.
“Oksana.”
She stirred. Her head lifted and she peered at me with bleary, disoriented eyes, then her gaze went to the clock. She launched upright in the bed, her posture stiff because it was three in the morning. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” And everything. “Come on. You’re sleeping in my room tonight.”
She stared at me like I’d just burst into song. “What? Why?”
My eyebrow shot up. “Because I had a dream you left, and it’s stupid I had to come all the way over here to figure out if it was real or not.” In the nightmare, I’d spanked her so hard, she’d screamed and run from me, and I remembered it in vivid detail. When I got up and she hadn’t been at the piano, I was half convinced her room would be empty and all her shit gone.
“Get up,” I ordered. This wasn’t a discussion.
Her mouth dropped open, but no words came out. Why wasn’t she moving? Couldn’t she see how worked up I was? Finally, she swung her legs out of the bed and stood. She had on an old Randhurst t-shirt from some rush event my sophomore year, back when I still gave a fuck about going to school, and it was so large on her, it was like a dress.
She looked sexy as fuck in it, even with her hair a mess and indentations from the wrinkles of the pillowcase pressed against her face. We’d been together a month. A whole freaking month. If she was conning me, she was playing the long game, but I felt in my gut she wasn’t.
She hadn’t told me a lie since, and got more interesting the deeper I dug.
Oksana padded over in her bare feet, and when she tried to get past me in the doorway, I snared her in my hands. “After you told me about your father, I told you to get the fuck out of my house.”
Her eyes filled with confusion.
I wanted to stop talking, but my mouth kept going. “I changed my mind. If you leave me, we’re going to have a problem.”
It was a threat, but she didn’t treat it like one. She placed her soft hand on the side of my face. “I told you. I’m not going anywhere, Vasilije.”
I was done with this shit. She was right, after all. She couldn’t change who her father was, but she planned to do something about him, and I enjoyed how she wanted me to be a part of it. Besides our plan, I liked coming home to her. I cooked dinner for us while she played her songs on my mother’s piano, and after we’d eaten, we’d watch movies and talk, or I’d smoke weed and fuck her until she nearly passed out from an orgasm. Being with her was . . . easy. I tried not to feel anything, but it was getting harder every day.
She didn’t make a sound as I picked her up. Her arms banded around my shoulders and her legs wrapped around my waist, holding on as I carried her down the hall and into my bedroom. We fell in a heap onto my bed, our mouths slamming together.
I knew all her noises now.
When I scraped my fingernails over her tits, clawing at her nipples through the thin t-shirt, the whine she made was need. As I sank one finger into her damp body, her cry was desperation. And when I withdrew, she delivered a sound of pure frustration.
I shoved the waistband down on my underwear, gripped my cock, and buried myself as deep inside her pussy as I could get. Her gasp of satisfaction was better than any music she composed. More real and perfect, and I could listen to it forever.
She raked her fingers down my back, scoring my flesh, but I ignored the sting and pounded into her. I mumbled Serbian against her collarbone, and she murmured back to me in Russian. We didn’t understand the words, but knew exactly what the other was saying.
The fuck was rough, and fast, and so amazing, I lost control way too soon. After I came, I pulled out and slid my middle two fingers inside her. I fucked her like that, my fingers sticky wet with my own cum, until her pussy clamped down in rhythmic pulses and she flung her head back in orgasm.
“Christ,” I groaned, “there’s nothing sexier than watching you come.” I collapsed beside her, my arm thrown over her chest, and tugged her tight against me. It felt so fucking nice, I made the decision instantly. “You sleep here from now on.”
She inhaled sharply, and her word was barely audible, but I heard it anyway.
“Okay.”
♪
It’d been a shit day at the dealership. Some fuckhead crashed a BMW during his test drive and totaled the thing, and I wanted to shove my Glock up his ass and pull the trigger until the magazine was empty. On top of that, one of our coke dealers had gotten busted for, of all things, solicitation. Like he hadn’t a clue we could get him any kind of ass he wanted, and ass that wasn’t secretly attached to a cop.
I came in from the garage, tired from the day. I yanked off my coat, tossed it in the closet, and headed for the living room—
Why did it smell like a goddamn pine forest in the house?
I skidded to a stop in the kitchen, noticing the new addition in the living room. “What the hell is that?”
“I chopped down an evergreen on the golf course,” Oksana said from behind the piano.
My pulse jumped. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.” Because if she wasn’t and someone found out, the association would bill me thousands of dollars.
A faint smile twitched on her lips. “They were selling trees on the lot outside the grocery store. John helped me set it up.” Whatever song she was playing stopped, and the opening bars of O Holy Night came from the piano.
I glared at the undecorated tree. Christmas was only a few days away, and I’d dragged my feet long enough I thought I could avoid the whole fucking thing.
The song cut off and she stood from the bench, her expression filled with concern. “You don’t like it? I got it half-price—”
“It’s fine,” I ground out.
I didn’t convince either of us, and Oksana took a hesitant step toward me. “What is it?”
“You bought a Christmas tree, which you’re probably going to want to decorate.” The knot of my tie gave me trouble and I yanked it off in frustration, tossing it on the kitchen counter. I set my hands on the cold granite and leaned on it.
“I don’t understand why that’s . . . upsetting,” she said quietly.
“All my Christmas shit’s in the basement.” I said it like she should get it, even though she wouldn’t. I sighed. “I haven’t been down there since I killed my father.”
Her lips parted with surprise, but it was forever before she spoke. “I’ll have John get rid of it in the morning.”
“No.” I pushed off the counter and straightened. I was being a coward about this. My father had deserved to die for what he’d done, so why did I care so much about going down in the basement? Luka and Addison had helped me clean it up. There was nothing down there but memories, and wasn’t I stronger than some stupid fucking ghost?
“Come on,” I said, forcing my tone to be indifferent. “Help me carry the boxes so I don’t have to make as many trips.”
“I can go get them—”
I cut her off by marching to the basement door and gripping the knob. When I’d been a kid, the unfinished basement had scared me. It was dark. Full of shadows, spider webs, and strange noises, and as I got older, I learned all the secrets that lurked down there.
It was easy to wash blood off the floor because it sloped toward the drain in the center of the room. There was a well-window beside the side door to the garage. It meant nothing had to go through the main house if you didn’t want it to.
The stairs creaked as I went down, and I could hear her following me. Even when I flipped the switch at the base of the steps and the bare bulb flicked on, the place felt like a cave. Cold, dark, and damp. I stared at the pockmark on the far wall. My bullet had gone clean through my father’s head, and Luka had been forced to dig the slug out of the concrete.
I’d lost control in this room.
I swore to myself I wouldn’t do it ever again, and so far, I hadn’t.
The sound of cardboard sliding against stone grabbed my attention. Oksana had found the boxes labeled ‘Christmas’ in a pile behind the stairs, and as she lifted one of them in her arms, she gazed at me. “You okay?”
I glanced back at the chip in the cement . . . and a slow smile worked across my face. I’d been such a pussy about the basement, and it was stupid. What had I expected? That all the guilt I should have felt about killing my father was lying down here, waiting for me? It wasn’t, because it didn’t exist. Bad people got what they deserved.
No point thinking about it. Someday my number would be up, too.