I SIT ON THE edge of the bed, my eyes widening every time Ziven pulls something else out of the glossy black bag he’s holding. Clothes, underwear, bras, all for me.
My mouth is dry and my eyes wet once he’s taken the fifth and final dress from the bag. They’re cotton, plain, sleeveless and just solid colors, but they’re pretty and mine, a gift from Kristy.
“She really did this for me?” I ask once I’ve cleared my throat.
“I didn’t even think about getting you clothes. I should have,” he mumbles.
I stand and walk over to him, taking the garments from his hands and setting them down on the bed behind me. Then I turn back around to face him, taking another step, pressing my body against his chest and placing my hands on his strong jaw.
He’s tall, and even before I lost weight, he was so big in comparison to me. Now, he feels almost massive; though, compared to other men, he’s long and lean muscled.
“You’ve done so much for me, Ziven, so much more than just some fabric. I could never repay you, not ever in my life. Thank you,” I murmur as his hands gently wrap around my waist.
His brown eyes move over my face, studying me, and his mouth tugs at the corner before he lowers his head so that his nose slides alongside mine, a new move he’s started. I absolutely love it.
“I’d do more if you’d tell me the bastard’s name who did all of this to you,” he whispers, his voice dark and dangerous.
“No,” I sigh.
“Yeah, I know. But once you’re healthy, once you put some weight on, you will need more clothes,” he grunts.
“Is that why you didn’t think about clothes?” I ask as my eyes close. I inhale his scent enveloping me.
“Yeah,” he grunts.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper.
Ziven’s body straightens when there is a knock on the door, and I know that our moment is broken. Luckily, I’ve showered, as it seems that Doctor Sokoloff has arrived a little bit early.
“Put one of your new dresses on, yeah?” Ziven mutters as he takes a step back from me.
I nod and turn away from him, wrapped tightly in one of his fluffy towels.
I hurry and slip on the sheer black bikini panties that Kristy bought me and the black cotton dress. It is loose and comfortable, falling to just above my knees.
It covers all of my bruises, which are starting to yellow, while some older ones are even fading away. In a week or so, I hope that they’ll all be completely gone. Maybe having that reminder gone from the mirror will help me that much more.
“Quinn,” Ziven calls with a gentle tap to the bedroom door.
I walk over and open it, expecting to see Doctor Sokoloff standing next to him, but he’s alone.
“Come out to the living room, yeah?” he murmurs, looking me up and down. “You look pretty,” he grins.
I feel my face heat at his approval, and then I know it goes from pink to bright red when his hand wraps around mine and he gently tugs me after him.
Doctor Sokoloff is sitting on the sofa, and he stands as I enter the room, ever a gentleman. Though my heart is rapidly beating in my chest, I still find a way to greet him with a smile.
He takes a step toward me and wraps his warm, soft hands around mine, giving them a gentle squeeze as he smiles.
“You look much better than the first I met you, only days ago,” Doctor Sokoloff murmurs as he lets me go and sits down.
I follow suit, sitting two cushions over from him. Ziven sits even further away, facing us in a chair. He isn’t my support to enable me or to hold me up. He’s letting me do this on my own, but he’s in the background to catch me if I fall. I like that. No—I love that.
“I wanted to talk to you about your test results,” Sokoloff murmurs.
“Go ahead,” I whisper.
“You aren’t pregnant. Your birth control shot hadn’t run out of time yet, based off of the dates you gave me, so that’s good. Also, he did not give you anything. You have a clean bill of health. I’d like to see you gain some weight, but that will take a little time,” he suggests. I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“I’m clean?” I ask, needing that clarification—needing it from him, confirmed more than once.
“You are,” he grins.
“Thank you so much,” I cry, launching myself at him and wrapping my arms around his neck.
I am able to hug Doctor Sokoloff for about one second before I’m gently pulled from his body with a growl. I turn my head to see Ziven’s scowl staring down at me as his hand fists in the material of my dress at my back.
“You have any concerns, call me. Also, in about three weeks, you’ll need to discuss birth control again. I’ll get in touch with Ziven to meet up with you,” he murmurs. I nod.
I’m frozen as I watch him walk away, Ziven’s hand still at my back. I’m unsure of what to do. As soon as the front door closes, Ziven spins me around, keeping his hand still and pulling me into his chest. I gasp when his angry gaze meets mine, and then his face dips even closer.
“Never touch another man,” he growls.
“Ziven, I—I didn’t mean anything. I was excited, relieved, and nothing else,” I whisper nervously.
“I was two seconds away from taking out my gun and blowing his brains out. I would have if he would have hugged you back. No men, Quinn, never again.”
I look at him, really look at him, and I search beyond the anger, seeing the hurt I’ve caused. I willingly went to another man when Ziven only wanted me, only cared for me, and put up with my bitch attitude for months and months because I was what he wanted. I threw it all in his face and ran into another man’s arms. This goes beyond him being insecure and is more about the fact that I hurt him. I more than hurt him with my actions, and I hate myself for it.
“Okay, Ziven. I’ll never touch another man, not ever,” I whisper.
“You’re mine, Quinn,” he grunts as his eyes close.
“Yours, I’m yours,” I vow, meaning every word. “Only yours.”
Ziven presses his lips to mine gently before he releases me and takes a step back. His face becomes a mask, and all hint of emotion is wiped clear.
“I have to go into work the rest of the day. You’ll be okay here?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I’ll be okay.”
“What will you do?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
“Clean up a little, read, I don’t know; I’ll entertain myself,” I shrug.
“I have a cleaning lady, she comes on Fridays,” he murmurs.
“I don’t mind, Ziven,” I whisper.
“You want to clean the condo?” he asks, looking confused.
“I do,” I admit.
“Why?”
“It will make me feel useful,” I mutter.
“Okay, katyonak, you can clean, yeah.”
“Okay,” I nod.
Ziven steps close to me, bending down and brushing his lips across my cheek.
“I’ll see you later,” he whispers before he steps back and walks away from me.
I watch him go, listening to the door lock from the other side. Unlike at Oswald’s, I know that with the flip of the lock, I can step out of the condo if I want to. Though, I wouldn’t dare; not anytime soon, and probably never alone again.
I look around the condo, taking it in completely. Yesterday, I slept all day long, woke up, ate and then slept some more. Today, that won’t be happening.
The condo feels different, less foreboding than it used to. It’s as though a thick, dark cloud has lifted from the last time I lived here. I’m in a much different place, and as a very different person.
I choose to be here this time.
I choose Ziven.
We aren’t in a place to call ourselves lovers yet, but I can hope that we will be someday soon. I miss him. I miss his touch and the way he fit so perfectly inside of me.
I can only hope that he’ll be able to forgive me enough to be that for me again. I know that he says I’m his and he’s mine, but when it comes down to it, I don’t fully know that he’ll ever trust me enough to be truly mine.
I sigh heavily and walk into the kitchen. Today, I’m going to do some baking. I found a bag of chocolate chips yesterday while rifling around in Ziven’s cabinets and decided I would bake some cookies, since the recipe is already on the back of the bag. I wish I had my phone. I had that Pinterest app, and tons of recipes that I’ve been dying to try pinned.
Once my cookies are in the oven, I decide to eat the bowl of raw dough that I set aside before I start cleaning up around the condo. When I’ve finished the last bit, I jump at the sound of a knock on the door. As quietly as I can, I tip toe to the door and look out of the peephole, thankful that there is one.
Standing on the other side of the door is Kristy, wearing a huge smile on her lips. I quickly open it and she strolls right inside of the condo. I lock the door behind her and eye her curiously.
“Oh, good, he gave you the bag,” she says, looking me up and down.
“Thank you so much. I truly appreciate it,” I say stumbling over my words, trying to get them out as quickly as possible.
“It’s no problem; just a few little cotton dresses. I thought you would want some things to wear,” she says with a shrug as she sets her big purse down on the table next to the sofa.
“Are you baking cookies?” she asks with wide eyes.
“I am…”
“Oh, today is my day off. Edik is working, as usual, and I don’t have many girlfriends. Plus, I thought you could use a friend,” she says with a smile.
“Wow, yeah,” I breathe with a nod.
“I won’t stay if you’re busy or you don’t want me to,” she mutters suddenly, losing some of her confidence.
“No, no, please stay. I’m sorry, I just, I’ve never really had any real friends,” I admit.
“Well, we’ll watch shitty television shows and eat a few cookies, then some lunch, and then I’ll leave and let you rest. How does that sound?” she asks with a grin and a wink.
“It sounds—fun,” I smile.
I spend the rest of the morning with Kristy. She’s funny and sweet, and I feel like she could really become a friend.
I’d become friendly with Ashley the first time I met her, but I was so jealous of her relationship with Ziven, of the way that he talked about her, about how sweet and perfect she was. I didn’t let myself become very close to her.
It didn’t matter that she was married to another man, and it didn’t even matter that she was having his baby. I was jealous. I had no right to be, not with the way I treated him, but I was anyway. It was stupid, selfish and immature—I see that now.
Once Kristy leaves, I decide to clean up a bit, cleaning the bathrooms but leaving the floors for the next day, and the dusting for the day after that. I want to spread out the chores, not only so that I don’t tire myself out, but also so that I have something to do.
With the house smelling of sweet chocolate chip cookies, I make my way over to the sliding glass door of the balcony. I won’t go out. Not because I feel like Ziven wouldn’t approve, I don’t think he’d actually mind, but I’m not ready to be outside yet. It feels too vulnerable.
“You should go outside, soak up some sun,” A deep voice says from behind me.
I don’t bother turning around. I know the man who belongs to the voice. It’s Ziven. His tattooed hand wraps around my belly from behind and he splays it against me while his chin rests on my shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to scare you earlier today,” he rumbles.
“You didn’t,” I admit.
“After all you’ve been through, I shouldn’t have been so—rough,” he murmurs.
“You don’t scare me. You never have.”
“I should, katyonak. I fucking should,” he grunts.
I place my hand on the top of his as I lean back against him. Ziven straightens his body and tucks me a bit closer to his front. He’s warmth and safety, all rolled into one. A man I know is dangerous, but a man I know that would protect me with his life.
“When that FBI agent in Cali was warning me about you, when he was trying to seduce me and use me to tell him about you and lull me into feeling safe with him, I never once felt as though his warnings were valid. I knew you were a dangerous man, I knew you were doing illegal things, and that you were part of the Bratva. I knew it all, and yet, I never once thought that you would hurt me. I never once thought that you would damage me in any way.”
“I always wondered why you didn’t try to work with him. You despised me so much,” he murmurs softly. “I kept waiting for the Feds to knock on my door and haul me off.”
“My father was making a deal with him, not me. I didn’t want anything to do with him; and the deal my father was trying to make, it was disgusting.”
“What was that, katyonak?” he asks.
I can hear that the softness has left his voice, and there is now a hard edge to it.
“Me. I was the deal, Ziven,” I whisper.
“I thought that maybe it was the case,” he grunts.
“You did?”
“Why do you think I took you and wouldn’t let you go back?” he asks as the hand on my belly squeezes me gently.
“I thought it was because you didn’t want me to talk,” I whisper.
“You didn’t know enough of anything to talk. I could explain your innocence easily if I had wanted to. The Feds know I’m Bratva. My tattoos prove it, if nothing else. I knew your father was a slime ball and was planning something. When Mika called me, and I was in New York, he informed me of the man you were out with, described him. I looked into him, and I discovered just what he was enthralled with, in life. I knew exactly what was happening and I knew that your father was at the root, I wouldn’t allow it,” he explains.
“What did you know?” I ask, wanting to turn around to face him. Afraid to look in his eyes, I stay where I am.
“I knew the activities that man liked to engage in. It wasn’t hard to find out. He likes to hurt young girls, and let’s just say, the life you had for the past few weeks, it would have become your reality. I don’t think I would have been able to save you from it, not if he had you in his grasp already,” he says.
“And I treated you like shit, repeatedly. I was cold, and my words were cruel. You saved me, you’ve always saved me,” I whisper as tears fill my eyes.
“Are you going to be that girl again, Quinn?” he asks.
“Never,” I announce.
“Then it was all worth it. Every headache was worth it to have you here, safe in my arms, when you actually want to be in them. Fucking worth it,” he grunts.
Ziven doesn’t say anything else, and neither do I. We spend the next twenty minutes staring out at the city around us.
“Ziven,” I whisper.
He grunts as his response, but that is his only verbal answer.
“Tell me about your childhood. You know more about me than I know about you.”
“It’s ugly,” he rumbles.
“As if my story isn’t?” I ask with a humorless laugh.
“My parents could have been good people, had depression not taken over my mother, and other women and drugs hadn’t taken over my father. I had the things I needed—shelter, food, and clothing—but that was it. My father was never home; my mother spent her time in bed or on the sofa with a bottle in her hand,” he shrugs.
“You were an only child?” I ask, trying not to let the sadness I feel be apparent in my voice.
“I had a little sister,” he practically whispers. “She was five and I was ten when they found her dead in her bed. Nobody ever explained to me what happened. After she died, my mother was taken away. I never saw her again. After that, my father was in and out, so were his women. None of them stayed for longer than a few weeks, so I never bothered even learning their names.”
“Ziven,” I whisper.
“I was taken into the organization when I was twelve. My father dropped me off at a metal warehouse one day and never looked back. I never saw him again.”
I turn around in his arms and wrap my hands around the back of his neck. My eyes searching his in hopes of seeing something, some kind of reaction to his sad tale, but there’s nothing there.
“They both abandoned you, and then I did the same,” I whisper.
“I’m a big boy, Quinn. What happened between us, it isn’t the same as my family,” he murmurs. I don’t believe him, and I don’t buy it.
I abandoned him. His mother abandoned him. His sister died, and it sounds as though his mother probably had something to do with his sister’s death, and his father probably took care of her himself. Then his father just dropped him off at a warehouse, and he never saw him again.
What kind of childhood is that? What kind of life is that? And then he turned into this wonderful man, and I treated him like shit.
“Turn around and watch the sun set, katyonak,” he whispers.
I watch him for another minute, an apology on the tip of my tongue, an apology he surely doesn’t want to hear from me. Then I turn around in his arms and look out the window again.
Denver is the most beautiful place I have ever been.
Maybe it’s solely because of this moment, wrapped in the arms of this man who has done nothing but show me beauty when I didn’t deserve even an ounce of it. Maybe it is because with the snow glittering the ground below me, I feel as though I’m living in a dream.
Whatever the case may be, I never want to leave, the city or this man—not ever.