“Vik—”
“They wanted to help, but I just wanted to die. I couldn’t have them get too close. They might hurt me, too, but if they didn’t, then I wouldn’t want them to be hurt when the inevitable finally happened. I didn’t want them to feel pain when I died because I wasn’t even worth that. Does that make sense?”
Pav’s sigh echoed in the quiet car. “I suppose, in a warped way, yes.”
“I don’t know what I feel about this house anymore.”
“We don’t have to stay here.”
His words were simple.
And true, she knew.
Everything seemed to be that way for Pav—things either were or they were not. He wasn’t the type to add frills and nonsense to anything. He was very much black and white, and she appreciated that more than he could possibly know. Everyone else always wanted to get inside Viktoria’s head and figure out all the nuances that attributed to her behavior.
It wasn’t that deep.
She didn’t want them that deep.
Pav managed to get exactly that deep, but he never even had to try to do it. He got under her skin, and there was no getting him out now. Every touch and moment with this man, even in passing, seemed to be wiping slates clean for her in different ways.
“We could get a hotel,” she suggested.
Pav’s hand came to rest just below the back of her neck. His fingertips drifted over the small patch of her exposed skin, causing shivers to race down her spine. She wasn’t afraid of that feeling when he was the one causing it. She just wanted more of it.
Not here, though.
“I need to grab some things, but then we can leave,” she said.
“Whatever you need.”
She was scared a part of herself was starting to love this man; it terrified her even more that somehow, it had become a fear at all. She didn’t want to be scared of love—of him. That was just the broken part of her that still had its claws dug into her mind.
Something for another time.
Right now, she had to deal with this damn house.
Viktoria pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. She dragged in a heavy breath of Chicago air—not quite fresh, but cool enough to chill her lungs and feel like it might be a new start for her in a way.
Pav followed, but he wasn’t looking her way. Instead, he glanced at the driver of the car, who had pulled out his phone and had it pressed to his ear. The man seemed a hell of a lot more distraught than he had when he’d stepped out of the car.
“Stay here,” Pav said to her.
“But—”
“I’ll only be a minute.”
She didn’t understand what was wrong—if anything even was—but she didn’t feel up to arguing with him, either. Today was emotional and difficult enough without her attitude adding to it. Even she knew that.
His fingertips drifted along her lower back as he left her side, to go to the driver around the side of the car. The two of them talked in low tones. She couldn’t hear a thing either of them said, but the way Pav’s face darkened and then blanked as he glanced back in her direction was enough to confirm her suspicions.
Something was wrong.
That growing ball of dread in her stomach seemed to get heavier with every passing second. She tightened her coat in an effort to keep away the chill that was suddenly running through her body. She wasn’t going to panic—not yet.
Pav nodded at the man and then headed for the house. He gave her a nod and a half smile, but it didn’t feel true. He hadn’t asked her to follow him, so she didn’t. But as he walked up the front steps of her house, and reached for the front door, her body moved forward on its own accord. Like a rope had come to knot itself around her middle, and was dragging her to him.
The door is locked, she wanted to say. You’ll need the keys, Pav.
He didn’t need the keys at all.
He just pushed the door open.
What was happening?
“Miss, you should wait out here a moment,” called the driver behind her.
Viktoria ignored him altogether. “Pav, wait!”
He was already inside the house now. Who knew if he’d even heard her calling for him. Wasn’t there supposed to be someone watching her house? She was sure that’s what Konstantin had told Pav in the airport. Had they given the guard the keys to her house for him to be inside? Because she didn’t like that at all.
The inside of the house seemed normal. Nothing was out of place, and everything was just as she had left it before going to Russia. Even the glass bowl on the stand near the door was still full of the bobby pins, hair ties, and a set of random keys. Her junk bowl, for all purposes. The coats still hung on the wall and her shoes were still lined underneath them. The floor didn’t have a speck of dirt to be seen, and the place was quiet.
Eerily so.
Maybe too quiet.
“Pav?”
She heard the footsteps above her head instead of him answering her back. She didn’t bother to call for him again, instead, heading down the hall and up the stairs to the second level on the home. She found him in her bedroom.
Along with a nightmare.
A new nightmare.
There was a dead man on her bed. He’d been gutted and his blood stained her white sheets.
On the mirror, heavy strokes of congealed crimson wrote out her greatest fear. It had her heart racing, and her
