There’s nothing I’d love more than to help her shower, but that would mean touching her. It would mean being intoxicated by her nearness, smell, and presence, which seems to overshadow the whole fucking world.
And if I did that, I’d succumb and fuck her without a second thought.
I’d take out all of today’s complex emotions, frustrations, and failures on her body, and I can’t do that when she’s traumatized about nearly being assaulted.
So I choose to deal with that part instead.
I text Viktor to wait for me downstairs with Yuri and Maksim, then I change into a fresh suit. After making sure Sasha is actually showering, I step out of the room and softly close the door behind me.
I find my best three men in front of the house.
“What’s up, Boss?” Maksim asks, yawning. “I thought we were all praying for this day to be over.”
Viktor hits him upside the head without even looking at him.
Maksim clutches the spot and shouts, “What the fuck was that for?”
“Your insolence.”
“I’m just voicing what everyone is thinking. The fuck?”
“We’ll only be done after we burn down all the Albanians’ nests.”
Yuri’s lips lift in an uncharacteristic smirk. “Are we going after their other branch?”
“Yes, we are.”
Viktor's brow creases. “The Pakhan told us to take care of them in our own time.”
“Tonight is as good a time as any.” I head toward the car, and Viktor makes way for me. I stop in front of him and grab his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have punched you earlier.”
“I’ve forgotten about that.”
“I haven’t.” I meet his dispassionate eyes that mirror mine sometimes. Viktor is more unfeeling than I am and uses the loyalty he has only for me as his driving force and occasionally allows it to influence his entire personality.
He was brought up by a single father, who worked as Roman’s head of security and died during a mission when Viktor was around twelve. He had no other family, and since he was always a grumpy asshole who’s a fan of pointing out other people’s shortcomings, no one liked him.
I was the only one who sat beside him during meals and practiced martial arts with him. I did it because I liked his silent company and pragmatic personality. As time passed, he became my shadow and grew to be my most loyal man.
I squeeze his shoulder. “But I’m warning you, Viktor. Don’t get in my fucking way again.”
His expression doesn’t change, as he says in his robotic voice, “I won’t. Unless it comes to your safety.”
He sounded exactly like Sasha just now. What the fuck are they? Telepathic or something?
“I’ve gotta say.” Maksim opens the passenger door. “I love the idea of getting rid of them once and for all. I can sacrifice sleep for this.”
Yuri pushes him and covers his mouth with his palm.
Yes, the day should be fucking over already, but not until every last one of Sasha’s assailants has paid the price.
I might not have been there to stop it from happening, but I’ll take care of the aftermath.
I will annihilate each and every person who attempts to harm Sasha.
She might be peculiar, and I still don’t know much about her past, but she’s mine.
And no one touches what’s fucking mine.
17
SASHA
The shower lasted longer than usual.
Not only did I scrub clean every inch until it turned red, but I also stood under the streaming water for twenty minutes so it could cleanse away those assholes' filthy touch.
It didn’t help much. I feel like no matter how much I clean myself, there’s something dirty inside that I can’t reach.
Why do women have to deal with this everywhere we go? The whole outdated victim-blaming speech about ‘what you were wearing’ is laughable in this case. I was dressed as a damn man, but even that didn’t stop them.
During the entire process of cleaning and hating myself, I expect Kirill to either bang on the door or come inside to inspect what’s taking me so long, or both.
Surprisingly, none of the above happens, even though I’ve been in the shower for over forty minutes.
Kirill might have let me use his company for comfort, but he’s not a patient man, and he certainly doesn’t react well to any bursts of emotion.
I was surprised that he not only sat next to me earlier but also let me hug him and cry against his chest like a baby.
That’s not the Kirill I know, which made the gesture have more of an impact. I’m not sure anyone else would’ve been able to calm me down or wrench me out of those self-destructive thoughts.
I slip on a bathrobe that swallows me whole and stops right above my ankles and make sure to wrap the belt around my waist.
I can’t believe I threw myself in Kirill’s arms while I was completely naked. Talk about embarrassing myself.
Truth is, I’ve never been the type who’s comfortable with being naked, even before I had to disguise myself as a man.
Since the army, I’ve become so careful about that in order to protect my identity. So to say what happened earlier was normal would be a giant lie. The other day, too, after his nightmare. I willingly opened the blanket and hugged him while I was in the nude.
I’m almost certain it’s only because it’s Kirill. I don’t think I’d have the same reaction if it were anyone else.
It’s both fascinating and terrifying that he’s my first in many things—first crush, first sex, first heartbreak, and now, first—and only—person whose presence I feel comfortable and safe in since the massacre.
He’s slowly but surely occupying so much room in my life, and if he’s somehow removed, the gap will be too big to control.
I internally shake my head to chase away those thoughts.
On my way out, I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror and freeze. My cheeks are red, lips puffy, and my eyes shine with an unfamiliar light. It’s almost as if I look…radiant.
What the hell?
I want to deny those thoughts and shove them where no one can see, but as I step out, my heart thunders louder, harder, and with so much intensity, I think I’ll faint.
After trying and failing to control my illogical reaction, I head to the sitting area opposite the bed.
My shoulders drop when I find no trace of him.
Did he go to the office? But it’s late, and I’m sure that even he needs some downtime before he gets back to business.
Sometimes, I wonder if he’s a machine. It feels as if he was trained to always give two hundred percent of his attention and energy. That if he gives anything less, it’s an insult to his intelligence and capabilities.
But surely, he realizes how damaging that rhythm can be long-term. I don’t think he cares, though. I’m the only one who does.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and check my messages. My heart nearly leaps out of my throat when I find his name at the top of my notifications.
Kirill: I’m out on an errand. Get some rest. You’re off tomorrow.
I let myself fall on the mattress, chest inflating with the heavy weight of disappointment.
What type of errand could he have this late in the evening? He already had his meeting with the Pakhan, so what is this, and most importantly, why am I not part of it?