by Roxie Rivera
“Yes, you are.”
“Holly, I can stand.”
“No, you can’t. You’re about to fall over right now.”
She was right, and it irritated him.
“Fine,” he growled and shuffled to the chair. “Happy?”
“The last time I washed your hair while you sat in a chair, you were much nicer.”
“If that’s an option right now, I’ll start smiling.” He reached for her hip, but she evaded him.
“Stop! You’re going to get me all wet!”
“That’s the idea, milaya.”
“You’re incorrigible. And don’t think you can start with all the Russian pet names now,” she warned. “Now, hold still.”
Closing his eyes, he decided to stop being an asshole and enjoy her mothering ministrations. She used the handheld shower head to rinse his body, starting at his hair and moving down carefully. The smell of dried blood and sweat and dirt filled the bathroom as the warm water amplified the scents.
He almost groaned when her small, soft hands began to massage his scalp with the citrus shampoo provided by the hospital. She had those magic fingers that set his whole body on fire as they scratched his scalp and tugged on his hair. Her hands moved down to his aching neck and massaged gently, easing the tension as she continued on to his shoulders.
When she began to wash his body, lathering her hands with the small bar of soap and wiping them along his skin, he watched her. Flashbacks of their shower and the incredible sex that followed made his groin ache. There were too many painkillers in his system to allow him to get fully hard, but his cock tried nevertheless.
She held his gaze as she stroked her soapy hand up and down his shaft and over his balls. “When they finally let you out of here, I intend to finish this.”
“You keep that up, and you’ll have to finish it right now.”
She leaned in and kissed him tenderly. “Sorry, but our five minutes are up.”
He groaned with frustration as she washed his legs and feet. After rinsing him, she turned off the water and reached for a towel. She dried most of his body while he sat and then cautiously helped him stand so she could finish the job. She took a clean gown from the shelves near the hamper and helped him into it.
“Do you want to brush your teeth?” she asked, gesturing toward the unopened hospital toiletries.
“Please,” he said, desperate to feel human again.
She opened a toothbrush and tiny box of toothpaste. “Do you want me to brush or steady you?”
“I can brush my own teeth,” he replied, harsher than he had intended.
She rolled her eyes and handed it over. “Fine, but you are not shaving your own face. I’ll do that for you.”
“You took a straight razor to my hair. I’m perfectly comfortable with you shaving my face with a safety razor.” He leaned against the sink and brushed his teeth. Behind him, Holly kept her hands on his waist and her body against his, bracing him just in case he got dizzy or weak.
When he was done brushing and rinsing, he lifted his gown for a better look at his chest and stomach. There would be a lot of scarring, some of it distorting his tattoos. If he were a vain man, he would have them touched up, but they weren’t tattoos he had chosen for aesthetic reasons. They were business.
“Do you want me to shave you now or later?”
“Later,” he said, leaning into her touch as she wrapped her arms around his waist, gingerly avoiding his injuries.
Her plump pout pressed tender kisses to his back. “I’m really happy that you’re awake.”
He closed his eyes, reveling in her touch and hating himself for what he would have to do soon. “I’m happy you’re here with me.”
“Always,” she promised. “I’ll always be here with you.”
No, he thought sadly. No, you won’t.
*
“WHY DO YOU get fish tacos and I have to settle for soup?” Kostya asked, dramatically scooping it up with spoon and letting it pour back into his bowl.
I fought the urge to sigh or roll my eyes. Ever since he had woken up two days ago, he had been grumpy and difficult. He was acting like a child about things, and as much as I wanted to call him on his ridiculous behavior, I understood that he was struggling with his recovery.
Calmly, I explained, “I’m not the one with eating restrictions. You are. So, either you eat the delicious caldo de res I brought from the restaurant or you can have salty vegetable soup the hospital is serving tonight.”
He frowned but accepted his fate, taking a taste of the hearty soup. He didn’t complain again after that first spoonful.
Hoping to steer him away from his moodiness, I said, “Savannah sent me the mock-ups for the Denim and Diamonds gala. They’re outrageously shiny. I can’t even imagine what the postage is going to be like on them with all of the rhinestones and glitter!”
“That’s your sorority’s charity thing on New Year’s Eve?”
“Yep.” I eyed him and tried to decide his jeans size. “We’ll have to take you to Cavender’s for some jeans and boots. Maybe Republic Boot Co.,” I added, thinking how much fun I could have getting him a pair of custom cowboy boots.
“I’m not wearing cowboy boots,” he grumbled sourly.
“You have to,” I insisted. “It’s the theme for the gala. How else are you supposed to two-step if you don’t have boots?”
“I don’t dance.”
I rolled my eyes. “Everyone dances.”
“Not me,” he retorted. “Definitely not two-step.”
“It’s the easiest one to learn,” I assured him. “As soon as you’re out of bed, I’ll teach you. We might not be the best dancers there, but we’ll have a good time.”
He made an unhappy noise. “You should take someone else. I’ll be a terrible date for a party like that.”
Pushing aside the tray holding my takeout, I sat forward on the chair. “I’m not taking someone else to my sorority’s biggest charity night. You’re the only one I want with me.”
He put down his spoon with a noisy clink. “And what about what I want?”
Taken aback by his rude question, I asked, “Are you in pain? Is that why you’re being such a jerk? Because if you’re hurting, I can get a nurse in here to give you something so you’ll feel better.”
“Yes, I’m in pain, Holly. These doctors gutted me like deer and sewed me back together like a Frankenstein monster.” He grabbed his cup of water and tossed it back angrily. “That’s not why I’m acting like a jerk, as you put it.”
“What’s wrong? Why are you trying to pick fights with me?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you trying to run me off? Because that’s not how this works, Kostya. I’m not going to run away just because you’re in here growling like a bear.”
“Then maybe I need to be blunt,” he snapped. “I want you to pack your things and go back to Houston with your mother. As soon as possible,” he added meanly.
“I’m not leaving. I don’t care how much you yell and complain. I’m staying here to help you recover.”
“I don’t want your help, Holly!”
I jerked back at his outburst. He had never raised his voice with me, and the thunderous sound of it made my stomach clench. “Don’t yell at me like that. I’m not one of your street soldiers. You don’t scare me.”
He inhaled roughly and looked away from me. The muscles in his neck tensed, and his hands were tightening into fists. “I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he said finally, “but that doesn’t change what I want.”
“You want me to leave?” I asked, dumbfounded. “You want me to pack my shit and go?”
He met my confused stare. “Yes. I want you to go.”
“Why?”
“Because I realized something when I woke up, Holly.”
“And what’s that?”
“You’re not the right girl for me.”
His words stung worse than any slap. “How can you say that to me? After everything we’ve been through—�
��
“That’s right, Holly. We’ve been through too much. It was selfish of me to ever think I could have you. We can’t do this anymore. I won’t put you and the people you love in danger.”
“You don’t get to make that decision unilaterally,” I argued, desperate to make him understand. “I’m not a child, Kostya. I understand the risks. I love you, and I want to be with you even if—”
“I drugged you,” he interrupted loudly.
Shocked by his statement, I blinked. “What?”
“That first night we stayed together at your place,” he said, never dropping his gaze and forcing me to look at him and see that he was telling the truth. “When I came to the salon and found you and took you home?” He shook his head. “It was all a setup. You were on a hit list. Someone found out you were Maksim’s daughter, and they were coming after you. Lana was a decoy—”
I stiffened as if someone had just thrown cold water on me. “What do you mean? Lana was a decoy? How?”
“I found her in a hotel room a few weeks before that night,” he explained. “She had been bought and sold and then left behind. A colleague of mine found her and wanted me to look after her.”
“You didn’t recognize her?” I asked, thinking of what Maksim had said.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his brow furrowed.
“Maksim told me that her mother was a terrorist and her father betrayed you. Is that why your colleague wanted you to look after her?”
“I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “I suspected, but I hadn’t confirmed. When I took her in, I was only thinking of her as being useful.”
“Useful? She’s a fucking person, Kostya! Not a tool!”
“She was the tool I needed to keep you safe that night,” he countered. “She went into the salon with the rest of the women from the shelter, and no one noticed she didn’t belong there. I told her to get the same haircut and dye job as yours. I wanted her to look like you from afar.”
My stomach pitched violently as he spoke. “And then what?”
“I had her drug you. Your drink,” he clarified. “She hid in the salon, and after Savannah left, she kept an eye on you until it was safe for me to come inside. I took you into the supply room at the salon and left you with Lana and Lobo while I took care of business.”
“Took care of business,” I repeated. “How?”
“How do you think?”
I closed my eyes as a wave of revulsion overwhelmed me. “You killed people in my salon while I was passed out in the supply room.”
“I did.”
“And then?” I didn’t want to hear the rest of his horrible tale, but I needed to know.
“And then I had the girls clean up and get rid of the bodies while I took you home,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“What is wrong with you?” I asked, suddenly furious. “Why didn’t you just come to me and tell me I was on a hit list? Why didn’t you ask me to let you into the salon while I hid in the supply closet? Why the hell did you just jump straight to drugging me?”
He didn’t seem to have an answer. Not at first. Eventually, he said, “It was cleaner that way. The secret of your parentage stayed buried. You weren’t a part of the killings. You got to sleep through the whole ugly thing and wake up the next morning without any awareness of what had happened.”
Rubbing my face, I asked, “Is that why you wanted me to take a month to think about us? That next morning over breakfast? Because you were feeling guilty?”
“Yes. Partially.”
A troubling thought hit me. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“That I drugged you? Or that I killed people in your salon?”
“Both!” I exclaimed with exasperation.
“I’m telling you now.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I wanted to come clean so many times, but I couldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a coward when it comes to you,” he confessed. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Until today,” I said, starting to cry. “Now you’re trying to push me away.”
“I’m not a good man, Holly,” he replied, his own eyes glittering and dark. “I’ll ruin you.”
“You already have,” I whispered, wiping at my cheeks. “I love you. Just you. If you don’t want me, that’s fine. I’m not afraid to be alone.”
His harsh expression slackened. “Holly, that’s not what I want for you. I want you to be happy.”
“You make me happy. Faults and fuck-ups and all,” I added seriously. “I love you, Kostya.” Picking up the tote bag I had been using as a purse, I slung it over my shoulder and wiped the tears from my face again. “But I’ll go. If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. I’ll go back to Houston and leave you here to wallow in your bitterness and bullshit.”
He stiffened as I came close to the bed and leaned across to kiss him, maybe for the last time. I pressed my lips to his, lingering for a few seconds while I fought the urge to weep. When I pulled back, he had his eyes closed, his jaw set as he breathed heavily. He was just as upset as I was, but he seemed determined to run me off.
“You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
Barely holding it together, I left his hospital room without a backward glance. In the hallway, I ran into Gabe. He took one look at me, at my crestfallen face and the tears shining in my eyes, and drew me into a bear hug. “That stupid asshole,” he muttered against my hair. “He’s determined to be miserable.”
“He’s hurting,” I said, trying to make sense of the man I loved. “Physically, emotionally—he’s wounded. He doesn’t mean what he’s saying. Not really.”
“He feels vulnerable,” Gabe explained. “Having you here makes him feel weak. He feels guilty about everything he’s done. It’s hard to have all that terrible shit deep inside you when the woman you love is so clean and good.”
“I’m not perfect, Gabe.”
“Compared to him? You’re a damn saint, Holly.” He squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye on him. He’ll be safe with me.”
“Thank you, Gabe.”
“You leaving soon?”
“Probably in the morning,” I decided, certain there were flights we could take then. “Why?”
“I have something I wanted you to take back to Houston,” he said, avoiding my gaze as if shy.
I suspected it was something for Savannah. He seemed smitten with her, but I wasn’t sure there was a future there. After Savannah shared her opinion on Kostya and his history, I couldn’t imagine she would be accepting of someone like Gabe who seemed to have secrets of his own.
“Just send it to the hotel,” I said. “I’ll make sure I ask at the front desk before we go.”
“Thanks.” He patted my back. “You should get some rest. Don’t worry about your old man. I’ll handle him.”
“Not too roughly,” I insisted.
“No promises,” Gabe said, backing away from me.
Alone in the elevator a few moments later, I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall. I wanted to breakdown and start crying hysterically. I wanted to crawl in bed with my mom and drink wine until I forgot about the nasty fight I’d just had with Kostya. I wanted to run back to his hospital room and demand he let me stay and take care of him.
Somehow, I found the strength and willpower to leave the hospital and make the short walk to the resort. I crossed the lobby, got into the elevator and made my way up to the spacious suite I was sharing with my mother. When I entered the room, she was on the couch, sipping something white and crisp while reading on her tablet.
“You’re back earlier than I’d expected,” she said, setting aside her wine glass and tablet. She took one look at me and sighed, taking off her reading glasses and dropping them on her tablet. “Come here, Holly. Tell me what he said.”
Crying, I dropped down next to her on the couch and melted into her motherly hug. It was
just too much. Everything that had happened to me bubbled to the surface and erupted out of me like a volcano of sadness. The break-in, Scorpion, being kidnapped, finding out about my biological parents, shooting Igor, being shot, watching Kostya almost die, finding out he had drugged me and killed people in my salon…
I sobbed and wept until I couldn’t see straight or breathe. I let it all out and let it all go.
No more secrets, I promised myself. No. More. Secrets.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“DID YOU WANT to borrow this necklace?” My mother asked as she came into my bedroom with diamonds dangling from her finger. She looked stunning in the midnight blue gown she’d chosen during our Saks shopping trip. The halter style highlighted her toned arms and shoulders in a way that made me outrageously jealous. She had chosen flashy diamond earrings and a bracelet instead of going for an eye-catching necklace. “I have the other one, the teardrop, if you’d rather wear it instead.”
“I definitely want that one,” I said, greedily eyeing the glitzy piece. “I have to dazzle with my jewelry so people won’t ask me where my non-existent date is…”
Mom smiled sadly. “I’m sorry he isn’t coming.”
“So am I.” I lifted the ends of my hair while she draped the necklace in place and secured it. The necklace was heavy and cold, reminding me of ice crystals. As an accent to my silvery white column gown, it worked perfectly. My simpler bracelet and earrings were the perfect balance.
“Did you talk to him today?” Surprisingly, my mother had been supportive of me communicating with Kostya over text and email and the occasional phone call. He had caved first, texting me not even a week after I’d left Mexico to apologize and ask me to give him some time to get his head straight.
“Briefly,” I answered truthfully. “He called this morning to wish me a happy new year since he knew that I’d be at the gala at midnight.”
“Did you tell him you have a date?” She had a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“No! I don’t want to make him jealous over an imaginary date. I want him to come back to me because he wants to, not because he’s afraid someone else will snap me up first.”