Chelle
I go to work the next day like nothing happened. Like everything’s normal in my world. I told Janette I got the bruise from running into the doorframe when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Zane texted me at two in the morning to tell me his hand requires surgery.
I didn’t reply. I had zero fucks left to give about Zane’s situation.
I know I should be grateful to Nikolai for getting me and Zane out of his mess. I am grateful.
Except the gratitude rips my heart to shreds. I don’t want to feel anything for him.
I want to write this whole thing off.
Pretend it never happened. Move on and never, ever look back.
I can’t have this level of drama in my life. I don’t run with motorcycle clubs or drug dealers. I definitely shouldn’t run with the Russian mafiya. Not with killers who can single-handedly gun down a room of armed and dangerous men.
Nikolai let me walk away, but I don’t know if it’s over.
Our deal was thirty days or nothing, but I don’t care. I’m out, regardless. Zane can figure out his own shit. I’m officially done.
It’s not like Nikolai didn’t try to warn me off in the first place. He told me not to bail Zane out.
Well, I guess I had to learn in the hardest way possible.
I will never, ever allow myself to be in a situation like I was at that warehouse again.
I can’t be in bed with a killer, no matter how great the orgasms.
I can make it through the day. And then I’ll make it through the next one.
Eventually I’ll allow myself to feel again, and this will all be over.
Nikolai
I text Chelle the next afternoon. Are you okay?
She doesn’t reply.
I start to text Can we talk? but I delete the message before I hit send. I already know where this is going. Chelle is done. Pretending otherwise would only delay the pain. And yeah, maybe I could talk her into prolonging what we have-or had-but at the end of it all, she’s not going to stay with me.
She only agreed to be with me because of a bargain we made.
Fuck. It feels like my heart just shriveled up and died inside my chest. Just when I found what felt like my new purpose in life, I fucked it up.
I close my eyes, trying to push away the torrent of fresh memories we made the last few weeks. Chelle, drunk, tugging me into her apartment and begging me to spank her. Showing up at my game full of piss and vinegar. The way she looked tied to my chair. The smiles she tossed over her shoulder when we rode bikes along the lake. The way she filled my kitchen. My apartment.
Goddammit. I wanted the real deal, and I’d found it.
I fucking love Chelle.
But that means I have to let her go. I care too much about her to push when she wants out, even though walking away feels like it will kill me.
I ache right down to my soul, so I drink a bottle of vodka on an empty stomach and when that’s gone, I order one of our soldiers to bring me more and crash on the couch.
I intend to drink until I forget she was ever here.
Chelle
I need to get my stuff from Nikolai’s, but I’m not ready to see him. I’m still pretending to myself that nothing’s wrong. That every day is normal, just like all the days I had before I met Nikolai.
I do double workouts at my spin gym and make an excuse to skip Wednesday at the Red Room, and I send Shanna vague texts about being busy. I don’t want to-I can’t-be with anyone who will talk about feelings. I’m working very hard not to have any.
On Sunday afternoon, Shanna shows up at my door with two grocery bags of brunch food.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping back.
“You need me. I can tell.” She gives me a critical look, taking in the faded bruise on my face, then pushes past me and into my kitchen to start unloading. I follow her but can’t make myself move to help or to speak.
She pops a champagne bottle, pours us mimosas and puts coffee cake and fruit salad on plates for us. “Come on,” she says, picking up her mimosa and plate. “Tell me what’s going on.””How do you know I need you?” I ask, mechanically picking up my plate and glass and following.
“You’re doing robot-Chelle. This is how you were after your dad died. What happened?” She eyes the bruise again. When I don’t answer, she asks very quietly, “Did Nikolai do that?”
I shake my head miserably. “It’s a really long story.”
“That’s why we have champagne. I’ve got you, sister. Spill.”
I set my plate and fork down on the coffee table and straighten my back. “Maybe it’s not that long. Here’s that short version. Zane couldn’t stand me having sex with Nikolai to pay off his debt, so he somehow got into bed with a motorcycle club-I think selling drugs, but I’m not sure. I don’t even want to know. Then things went bad-again, I don’t know how, and they came and trashed my apartment and kidnapped me.” My voice breaks on the word kidnapped.
Dang it. I was trying to keep it together.
Shanna sets her champagne down and pulls me into a hug. “Jesus, Chelle. That’s terrifying. Then what happened?””Zane was there, and he was all beat up. They let him go. He was going to get money from Nikolai to buy me back.”
The trauma of that night blows through me full force.
This was what I was resisting all week. The fear. The helplessness. The violation.
I choke on a sob.
Shanna squeezes my hand.
“They were going to rape me,” I sob, touching the bruise on my face I got while fighting with them.
Shanna wraps me in the tightest hug imaginable. I bawl into her shoulder, wetting her Beatles t-shirt. “But they didn’t?” she asks softly.
“No.” I pull back and wipe my nose. “Because Nikolai came in with Zane and they, um, killed everyone.”
I know Shanna was trying to play it cool, not screeching about my bruise, waiting for me to tell the story, but her eyes widen now. “Wow. Okay. Shit.”
“Yeah.” I cry some more, but it feels better now that I’ve told someone.
Like holding in that terrible secret was burning my insides like battery acid.
“So did the police come? What happened then?”
“No.” A fresh sob rips through me, remembering. “Nikolai’s friends showed up, and he said it was ready for cleaning.” I make air quotes with the last three words. “It really scared me.”
“Oh, babe.” She squeezes my arm and doesn’t let go. “Scared you because you saw into his world?”
I nod, tears streaming down my face. “I asked him to take me home, and I broke off our arrangement. My stuff is there, and I don’t want to call him to get it, and I don’t know how Zane’s going to pay him back, and I don’t even care.”
“Well, I can go get your stuff, so don’t worry about that. I’m thinking the Zane thing doesn’t matter. I mean… Nikolai rescued you, Chelle. He killed a bunch of guys for you. I think that means he cares.”
Hearing her say it out loud settles me. The white panic of seeing Nikolai as a killer fades, and he becomes an outline of the man I know. I nod. “Yeah. I guess… I guess I knew the whole time he would rescue me. I mean, I… expected it.”
That thought brings another wave of relief. Talking this all out is helping release the dam of trauma. My brain just shut off at the warehouse. The wires disconnected. Shorted out.
Now they’re starting to rewire.
“Yeah. I mean, I met Nikolai. I liked him. He seemed like a sweetheart and totally into you. I’m not going to be sad that he killed guys who were trying to rape you. I’m just not.” She shrugs.
Hearing her absolve him lightens the air around me. “Yeah.”
“I mean, what are you really upset about here? That some guys who probably deserved it got killed or that things are over with Nikolai?”
A shudder of recognition runs through my body, and I drag in a hiccupped breath. “I miss Nikolai,” I admit as the full realization hits me. I’m grieving. Not over what happened to me, but the choice I made afterward.
“So maybe talk to him?” Shanna suggests. “Tell him what freaked you out. I don’t know what he’s into. How bad it is. But maybe you could-I don’t know-set some hard limits, and it could work.”
My stomach churns some more. Could it work? Could I be with someone like Nikolai long-term? Get married and have kids with a guy who’s killed men?
I scrub my hands over my face. I’m getting ahead of myself, as usual. “I don’t even know if he’s that into me. I mean, we had no discussions of what would happen beyond the thirty nights. Maybe killing for someone isn’t a big deal to a guy like him.”Shanna rolls her eyes. “Will you just call him? You can’t figure this one out all by yourself in your own head.” She hands me my phone.
I stare at it for a moment, heart pounding, then dial his number.
He doesn’t answer, and there’s no voicemail. An uneasy feeling stirs in my belly.
Maybe it’s too late.
I text, Sorry I bailed. I was scared. Can we talk? and hit send.
As soon as I do, I feel better. The weight on my chest lightens and shimmers of hope squirrel back in.
Maybe this doesn’t have to be over.
There’s still so much to work out-so much I’m afraid of-and yet the explosions of joy that thought brings can’t be wrong.
I throw my arms around Shanna, and she hugs me back in a long, tight hug.
“You feel better?” she asks.
“Much. Thank you.”
“I’ve got you, girl. Let’s have some more champagne.”