Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 100796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
The bathroom looked like it had been lifted from the pages of a magazine. It was all soothing colors and sophisticated fixtures. The large glass shower had a seat in it, and I started the water, stalling for time so I could regroup.
I kept an elastic band on my wrist since I knew the day was going to be long, and drew my hair back, twisting it into a bun. I wasn’t about to get my hair wet. It’d take hours to dry without a hairdryer, but I needed to get under the water to keep up my lie.
My traveling hadn’t started in Kazan, Russia; it’d started in an affluent south side suburb this morning. I’d hung out in baggage claim at O’Hare for hours, inserting myself with the other girls who’d come in.
Shit, Oksana. Pull yourself together.
One spoiled little rich boy I could handle. That was what I’d told my father, and I would make myself believe it. Our families had been battling for control of Chicago for years, and getting inside a Markovic house was a huge advantage to Sergey Petrov.
Too bad for him my real goal didn’t align with his.
I stripped and got under the shower, letting the scorching water beat down on me and steam the glass. My body was a tool. I’d use it to bring the Serbian mafia prince in the next room to his knees.
The pep talk I was giving myself died when the bathroom door swung open and a dark figure appeared beyond the fogged glass. What the hell was he doing? It was unlikely he could see me, but I covered my nakedness with my hands and moved to the corner of the shower.
The figure stooped for a moment, then disappeared, pulling the door closed behind him. Dread lined my stomach, making me feel heavy. When I shut off the shower and pushed the door open, it confirmed my suspicions.
Vasilije had taken my clothes.
4
Vasilije
I tossed Oksana’s damp clothes in a laundry basket at the back of my walk-in closet, when I should have trashed them, but I was feeling lazy. No, not lazy. Too impatient to go downstairs and throw her shit in the garbage. If she took too long, I’d go in there and get her.
Had she noticed me when I ducked in the bathroom? I hadn’t seen her, but I also hadn’t been looking. I was saving that moment for later, and I was curious how she was going to react. Would she try to stay in the shower all night, or wrap one of the short towels around her body? Or would she come out stark fucking naked?
I lit up a joint and drew the smoke into my lungs. If Luka saw me smoking weed in the house, he’d lose his goddamn mind, but he wasn’t here anymore, was he? I could drop ash everywhere and stink up the master bedroom. I didn’t, though. I grabbed the bowl I used as an ashtray and went to the window, cracking it open a few inches.
Cold seeped in as I stared at the bed.
My father had fucked his whore on this very bed, which led to my mother’s death. The mattress was new, but otherwise it was the same. Was I sick for moving in here? It hadn’t bothered Luka when he’d done it. It was the biggest, nicest room in the house.
I only toked a few puffs and stubbed the joint out. I could get high as fuck some other time. Tonight, I just wanted to feel different. Better. I blew the air clean from my lungs out the window, and then slid it shut, quieting the sound of the rain.
The shower stopped, and I heard the glass door swing open.
A smile burned across my lips. What was the Russian girl thinking about right now? Was she panicking? Was she going to look for a weapon to defend herself with? She could go ahead. She wouldn’t need it. My attack on her wouldn’t be physical.
There were a few quiet sounds, but nothing to give me a clue what she was doing.
The bathroom door opened.
Fuck. Me. Sideways.
I’d hoped she’d come out with a towel tucked under her arms, barely covering her pussy and ass, but instead she was wrapped up in a plush black robe. My robe. I never wore it and forgot it was hanging on the back of the door.
It was way too big on her. She had one hand clenched on the front, holding the robe closed in addition to the belt knotted around her hips. Her other arm hung at her side, and the sleeve of the robe went past her fingertips. She stood in the semi-hallway between the bathroom and the closet and peered at me, trying to hide any trace of fear from her expression.