When he catches Story looking at him expectantly, he signs something.
“He says he won’t let Adrian hurt you.”
“Okay, I wasn’t asking for a bodyguard. I was just wondering if I had to worry about two of you now.”
“Oleg wouldn’t hurt you,” Story says immediately.
I’m sure she believes that. I know Oleg would never hurt her, and that sentiment may extend to me as her brother, but I also suspect bratva loyalties run deep.
I knock on Nadia’s door, and Adrian answers it with a glower. “I brought Oleg to kick your ass if you punch me again,” I say.
Adrian’s gaze jerks to Oleg’s.
“Just kidding. He’s here because I’m not allowed to roam free in the Kremlin.”
Adrian lifts his chin at Oleg, which I interpret to mean that he’s taking over the watch now. It’s funny how just because Oleg doesn’t speak, people don’t speak much to him, either. I think it drives Story crazy. That’s why she pushes us all to learn sign language.
“Did you punch Flynn?” Story asks, sounding shocked. She searches my face, her gaze locating the yellowing bruise on my jaw.
“Uh uh,” I cut off her questioning. “I don’t need you to stick up for me.” I lean over and kiss the top of her head because my big sister is much shorter than I am. “You guys can go now–bye,” I say pointedly.
Adrian steps into the hallway and shuts the door like I’m not allowed in their apartment.
Aw, fuck. Is he going to try to keep me from seeing her altogether?
“I’m not going to apologize for hitting you,” he growls, which actually relaxes me. It means he at least knows he should apologize.
“Nah, you do you, bro. I understand. Nadia told me what happened.”
This changes him. I suddenly see the full weight of the horrors she endured in the lines of his face, the weight on his beefy shoulders. Just like I’d carried the weight of her pain all week–willingly. This guy’s been living with it 24/7 for so much longer than I have. Who can blame him for lashing out and trying to erase any additional stressors that come her way?
“So you see why this can’t happen–especially not with you.” He points back and forth between me and the door.
I take exception to the especially not with you part.
“She’s not ready. She doesn’t leave apartment.” Adrian’s accent has grown thick.
“She does. She did.” I spread my hands. “She leaves it with me.”
Adrian opens his mouth like he’s going to argue, but I plow on.
“Listen, I know you’re holding her up–you’ve been holding her together ever since you rescued her. But at some point, you have to see that you’re also holding something in place.”
Adrian jerks back like I punched him. “What thing?”
“Who you think she is right now. Nadia wants to change. She can’t do it if you’re keeping the broken version of her in place.”
Adrian’s brows slam down, and his upper lip curls, but just then Nadia throws open the door and demands something in Russian. “Hi.” She turns that moonbeam smile on me, and my insides bunch up in my chest. She looks breathless and happy to see me. I want to kiss her senseless.
“Hi. You look great.” She has on knee-high boots with a pair of black jeans and a sweater that criss-crosses at her throat, leaving both shoulders bare. Her new shag bob with the copper highlights perfectly frames her face. She looks hot.
Adrian grumbles something in Russian and stalks back inside. I take it as his acceptance of our date.
“I’m sorry about Adrian, he didn’t threaten you again, did he?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s cool.”
“Um.” She rubs her lips together. She’s wearing lip gloss, and I already want to know how it tastes. “I’ll just grab my jacket.”
“Cool.”
“Cool,” she echoes, a secret smile on her face as she slips back inside. Then she immediately throws the door open, grabs my hand, and pulls me inside. “You don’t have to wait in the hallway. You’re welcome in our home.”
“Hey, Flynn,” Kat calls out from the kitchen. Her accent is an interesting mix of British-English and Slavic. Like she learned English in the UK not here. She’s sitting on the kitchen counter, licking a spoon with peanut butter. She wears her long, dark hair in pigtails and has on white thigh-high socks and a plaid schoolgirl skirt. Adrian hovers near her, indulgent, but protective.
Now that I know their origin story, my interest is piqued.
“Don’t worry about curfew.” She beams a wide, saucy grin. “We trust you completely.”
It’s funny because we all know the opposite is true–at least from Adrian’s point of view–so I chuckle, immediately liking Kat. “Yeah, I really got that,” I say drily.
“I’m ready.” Nadia has put on a bright red woolen jacket, belted at the waist, and she tugs me toward the door.
Nadia calls out something in Russian, and I give Adrian and Kat a wave as we leave. I catch her hand in mine on the way to the elevator. I don’t see any of the nervousness in her that I saw the last time we left the apartment. Her hand isn’t clammy. She’s not relaxed, but her manner is more excited than scared.
As if reading my mind, when we get in the elevator, she says, “I think I’m going to be fine. I feel fine!”
“You’re totally fine.” I bring the back of her hand to my lips and kiss it, inhaling her butterscotch scent. I don’t know what I’m doing. We’re supposed to be friends. Friends who have sex.