Midnight Purgatory (Bugrov Bratva #1)(43)

The rocking slows and his eyes home in on me. They’re blue, too, but a different blue than Uri’s. Lighter, more subdued. “Why are you here?”

“Because—” If I’m reading him right, I deduce that Uri means a lot to him. The very idea of Uri lying to him nearly spun him into anxiety. “—I needed help. I needed a place to hide out for a bit and Uri told me I would be safe here.”

“It is safe here. Except for the rats.”

“Right. Except for the rats.”

“He didn’t tell me that you were down here.” His brow furrows. The rocking starts up again. “He didn’t tell me.”

“That’s my fault. I told him not to tell anyone. I was scared and I didn’t want anyone to know.”

He bites his bottom lip. “Oh.”

I look around the space, seeing it in a new light. “This place is amazing. I love it here. It’s really cool.”

The rocking stops and a slow smile spreads over his face. “Me, too.”

“Is that your video game collection in the corner?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Wow.”

His smile gets a little wider. “You wanna play?”

“I don’t know how. Will you teach me?”

He nods again, but not like an adult would nod. His head bobs up and down fiercely. Grinning, he launches himself up off the ground and I follow along. His size is even more obvious when he’s standing, but he stays hunched and cautious like he needs to be ready to flee at any moment.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” His cheeks go red. It’s nice to know that I’m not the only one who suffers from a blushing affliction.

“Lev.”

I smile. “Is that your name?”

“Yes.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“You’re very pretty.”

He says it as soft as a whisper, but I hear it clearly. I give him a warm smile. “Thank you, Lev. And thank you for letting me use your basement. I promise I’ll give it back as soon as I can, okay?”

He wrings his hands together and nods. Then he gestures for me to follow him and bounds over to his video games.



We play games into the wee hours of the morning.

We don’t exchange a single word the whole time, but strangely, I can feel him relaxing with each passing hour.

Once I’ve lost the twentieth game in a row to him, he puts his controller down. “You’re really bad at this.”

I laugh. “You’re right. I am really bad at this. But you know what I’m better at?”

“What?”

“French toast. Do you want some?”

His eyebrows pull together and he shakes his head. “Too soggy.”

“Ah. What would you like to eat then?”

“Cornflakes.”

“Perfect! I’m great at making cornflakes, too.”

My joke clearly goes over his head because he doesn’t even crack a smile. “You are?”

I nod. “Come on, you can watch me make them.”

He follows me into the kitchen and watches carefully as I pull out two bowls, two spoons and the half-eaten bag of cornflakes that’s sitting in the fridge. I pour in the cereal, add the milk, and push a bowl towards him.

“Ta-da! Gourmet.”

He stares at me, then at his bowl, and finally at mine. “Wow. You really can make cereal.”

My heart shudders. I know I should laugh but I really just want to cry. No, what I really want to do is hug him. I would, too, if I didn’t suspect that he would be completely freaked out by any sort of physical contact between us. He’s made sure to keep at least a few feet of space between us at all times. I’m not gonna cross that line until he does.

He takes a big spoonful; a trickle of milk slides down the side of his mouth. “It’s delicious.”

“Thanks, Lev. You’re the only one who appreciates my cooking.”

“Uri would like it, too,” he insists. “Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, we sit in the kitchen and eat cereal together.”

Oh God, don’t tell me that. I don’t need another reason to like Uri. God knows I have enough as it is. Of course, I have just as many reasons to hate him. But somehow, that latter list isn’t as compelling or as convincing as you’d think.

Damn those pheromones.

“That sounds fun.”

Lev nods. “I like it because it’s really quiet at night. And it’s dark. And all the blinds are down.”

Well, that explains why this basement has no windows. I can’t even be mad at it now. “I used to do the same thing with my sister,” I admit. “Except we used to eat pizza and ice cream and cookies.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yes,” I answer before thinking. Then it hits me: I had a sister. I grab a hold of my Z link instantly, trying to push down the sadness I’ve just unearthed. The bruise on my heart that won’t go away no matter how many times I poke it.

“I have a sister, too,” he explains. “And two brothers.”

“And Uri is one?”

He nods and shovels another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “He’s my best friend, too.”

There it goes again—my heart, shuddering with emotion that I really don’t want to be feeling right now. Or ever. At least not for Uri Bugrov.