What beats me, though, is how he still demands I give him all my money when I get paychecks. He probably doesn’t want me to have any sort of control. If I have money, I have access to do things. It’s dangerous in his mind.
I’m so thankful to Ally because she’s gone above and beyond for me. She agreed to have a part of my check taken out for savings, as I put it. After I told her about everything, we came up with a plan. She’d hold it for me until I needed it and it would be waiting for me. I’m so close to having the money I need to get to Russia. I just need a little bit more.
Quickly taking a shower, I wash the blood away and get out. Fear consumes me and I decide I can’t stay here any longer. I dress in loose clothing and pack just enough to last me for the time being.
A small scream escapes my lips when my phone rings. Glancing at the number, I frown, not recognizing it. Though I do take note, it’s from Russia. It’s probably one of Dema’s friends over there or her grandparents, but I thought I had all the numbers Dema’d given me.
“Hello,” I murmur, wincing at the pain of speaking. I hope whoever’s on the other end of the line doesn’t hear it.
“Is this Trista?” a man with a thick accent asks, causing me to shudder at the way he spoke my name.
“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?” I don’t know if I want to know or not.
“This is Kronid.” So this is the man Dema’s been crushing hardcore over.
“Well, hello, Kronid, what can I do for you?” I mutter, using my spunky tone to hide the fact I’ve been beaten and feel like my knees would cave in underneath me.
“You’re needed here in Russia. There’s a ticket at the airport awaiting you,” Kronid declares with such an intense gruff sound to his voice.
“Um, okay, but you need to give me more than that. Dema knew I’d planned to come soon as I had enough sav—”
“No need to worry about that now. You just need to get here. Dema needs you here,” Kronid says, interrupting me.
Oh no.
I don’t need him to say anything else to know something bad has happened. “I’ll head to the airport,” I murmur quietly and hang up, not giving the man a chance to respond.
I pack as much of my clothes as I can fit into my bag, pull on a hoodie, and do my make-up the best I can to hide the bruises and leave my hair down. I’m hopeful it’ll help hide the rest.
Stepping out the door, I slowly make my way out to my car. I whimper in pain at climbing behind the wheel. I turn the key and take a deep breath. This is finally the day I can get as far away from Jacob as possible, and he won’t ever torment me again.
I just have to make sure to hide what’s happened to me from anyone who asks questions. I don’t need them knowing the truth. The last thing I want them to think is how I’m weak for letting this happen.
Chapter One
Michail
Snow. I knew it would be here, but fuck, I thought we’d have another couple of weeks before it came. Now it’s time to check in with the ladies in the tattoo shop and make sure their cars are set. It’s not something that’s part of my job per se, but they’re good to Kronid and the women upstairs, and so I help them in times like this.
Vika, one of the tattoo artists, bought this piece of junk from an old friend of mine. I knew Yuri many years ago, but the man sold her this. I should wrap my hands around his throat for conning the woman. I might if I get a spare moment, but Kronid keeps me very busy.
“Have you found what’s wrong yet?” Vika asks, tapping her long, fake nails on the side of the car. It reminds me of nails on a chalkboard, agonizing as can be.
“Da, give me a moment,” I speak to her in half-Russian, half-English. Many of the artists in the shop speak English, but we’re in Moscow. It’s one of many tourist capitals of the world. While I hate speaking the language, I do what I must and what is required of me.
The battery is on its last leg, so I’ll need to run and get her a new one at a shop. I let Nikita go get a battery last winter when she was due for a new one, but the woman, gah, it taught me to not let another woman do man’s work. “What’s taking so long, Michail?” Vika asks in an aggravated tone.
I pull my head out from under her hood and slam it shut. “Will you be patient?! You cannot rush these things. I needed to check your battery and I must get you to my brother’s shop to get new shoes on the car.”
“Uh, since when have cars needed shoes?” She props a hand on her hip, probably thinking I’m fucking with her.
“It’s a Russian saying,” I grumble, shaking my head. This is why I don’t enjoy dealing with women. Women always want to think men are doing something to fuck with them. While most of us do, I am not. “To change your tires, as you Americans say. Every winter, we must change your shoes, da?”
Vika shrugs her shoulders. “Okay, whatever.”
“No, not whatever. In Russia, you have to do this. Winters are hard on our vehicles and it’s best we be prepared.” I feel as if I’m her father teaching her basic maintenance, but maybe she hasn’t ever had someone teach her these things.
“Okay, okay, when can I get to your brother’s shop?” Vika asks, eyes
