He figured this night meant more to her than she was saying. She was stepping way out of her comfort zone and doing things she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do them. It didn’t matter that it terrified her, she still wanted to do it.
Learning to love the fear, he knew.
She was ruling it.
Not the other way around.
“Let me see, babe.”
She pressed a fast, fleeting kiss to his lips that made him want to drag her in for more, but he restrained himself. It was a miracle. The second she stood back to let him get a peek at the black ink on her inner thigh, he felt the smile already growing on his lips.
He did that often with her.
Smiling.
It was a knife—maybe three inches long, and without a lot of details. A bit of shading made the blade look real and sharp. But what struck him the most was how much that knife looked like the ones he carried constantly. There was nothing else to the tattoo—just the knife, and the way it laid against her skin.
Like he’d done to her once.
He reached out and let his fingers drift around the ink, but not directly on it. He knew better than to touch it. It still made him feel some crazy kind of way—worse than the jealousy, but stronger than anything else he’d ever experienced.
In a way, staring at it, he felt like it was her way of saying …
“Mine,” he murmured.
Viktoria laughed. “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it.”
He knew it.
So did she.
She did this, after all.
If she didn’t want to say it yet, then fine. He’d wait. He felt like he’d already waited his whole life for her, anyway. What was a little while longer?
“Mmm, are we going back to the hotel tonight or in the morning?”
“Morning,” he replied.
She nodded. “Where are we staying, then?”
“I know a place.”
“Do you?”
“I’ll explain when we get there.”
“Okay.”
15.
“WHAT IS this place?” Viktoria asked as they climbed the stairs.
Pav’s fingers tightened around hers as he replied, “A loft.”
“Who lives here?”
He shrugged.
Viktoria laughed. “What was that?”
“What?”
“The shrug you just did. What, you don’t know who lives here?”
He tipped his head to the side like he was considering her words but continued to pull her up the stairs with him, all at the same time. It seemed like he was familiar with the place, so much so that he knew the code to get into the stairwell for the loft, and he’d barely passed a glance to the stragglers sitting at the bottom of the stairs. They either didn’t recognize him, or they did, and they didn’t care that he was there. She never thought to ask.
“I know whose name is on the deed now, and he always stays here,” Pav said, “but other people come and go, too. It changes.”
“I don’t understand.”
Pav smiled back at her. “Yeah, I know.”
He didn’t offer more of an explanation, and Viktoria didn’t press for more. He’d told her at the tattoo shop that he would explain when they got there, so she was putting her trust in him to do exactly that.
Was this a place he was allowed to come when they let him out of the Compound over the years? Did he know the people here?
At the top of the stairwell, a short, dark hallway led to a door. Like downstairs, there was an electronic pad on the door with keys to press in a code. Pav didn’t let go of her hand as he used his other to punch in a six-digit code. A loud buzz echoed in the hallway, and then a click sounded, too. He grabbed the doorknob and twisted to open it up.
Darkness welcomed them, for the most part. Lights had been dimmed, and the loft was quiet. Immediately, she took in the space as best she could. The shoes lined up along the entrance, and the coats hanging on hooks that had been nailed to the wall. The place seemed clean, felt warm.
It was only the figure coming out from a back hallway in the loft that made Viktoria take a step behind Pav. He didn’t tense or act like the person bothered him. In the shadows of the hallway, she couldn’t see the unknown man’s face, but the squeeze of Pav’s hand against her side was enough to tell her everything was fine.
She still stayed behind him.
Just in case …
“Pavel,” a man’s voice greeted. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, Grisha. It’s me.”
“Been a while.”
Pav laughed. “A couple years or so. Thought you might have changed the code.”
“I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Spasibo.”
She had so many questions in that moment. He spoke to this man—Grisha—like the two of them had known each other for years. The man came out of the hallway into the dim lighting, and she could see the gray at his temples, and the lines deepening his aging face. He had to be at least thirty years older than Pav, at least.
How would they know each other?
“The older you get,” Grisha said, “the more you look like him, you know?”
Pav cleared his throat. “I can’t remember his face most times.”
“Trust me, Pavel. You look just like your father. The room is empty—as it always is. You and your … friend there, keep it to a dull roar. You know the loft is always open to you, if you need to
