Oleg blocks my way, concern written on his face.
I change direction and slide off on the opposite side, nimbly taking a quick-step in the direction of Oleg’s room. “It was so great hanging out with you guys.” I turn and wave at the group. Oleg is right behind me.
I head back down the hallway to his room and slide my feet into my boots again. I pick up my coat and guitar.
Oleg shakes his head.
“Oleg, I can’t stay here forever.”
He doesn’t move, but he’s blocking the door.
“Can you drive me to my place?”
He hesitates then shakes his head.
“That’s cool,” I say, pulling out my phone. “I’ll schedule a Lyft.”
Oleg takes my phone away from me.
“Hey.” I get that he can’t talk, but he’s pushing it.
He cups my face with so much tenderness, I can hardly stay mad.
“I really need to go.”
A half-baked idea forms. Knowing he doesn’t seem to want his friends to know what happened last night, I whirl and dart through the door back to the living room then throw open the door to the elevator hallway from there.
Oleg’s right behind me, but as I’d guessed, he doesn’t catch or stop me.
The elevator door is open, and I step into it. I press the button as Oleg hefts his body between the doors to block them from closing.
He shakes his head at me.
“I can’t stay here forever, Oleg. I’m feeling cooped up, and you haven’t told me what’s going on.” I give him a pointed look.
To his credit, he draws back slightly. Like communicating hadn’t even occurred to him.
“I don’t want to have this fight with you,” I tell him, even though we’re really not having a fight. We’re so much sweeter to each other than most people I know, even when we’re at odds.
He shakes his head again, eyes rounding at the word fight.
But he refuses to move. He holds the door open and tips his head in the direction of his room.
“Uh uh. I really have to leave now. I have lessons to give tomorrow.”
He raps his knuckles against the door and tips his head again. I get the feeling he’s trying to appear non-threatening, which is hard for a guy of his size and stature to do. I saw how imposing he was to my errant student at my apartment, and all he had to do there was fold his arms across his massive chest.
My throat works. “You don’t want me to leave.”
The elevator dings its annoyance.
He beckons to me again. This stand-off is getting really old.
He steps in and takes my guitar, then very gently tips me up over his shoulder. He stops the elevator doors from shutting with my foot. His hand molds over my ass. Not a spank this time, this just feels possessive. I kick my legs. “Dammit, Oleg. This isn’t cool.”
He carries me down the hall toward the door that enters directly to his bedroom.
“You need to talk to me,” I warn, my voice clogged. “I don’t know how, but you have to tell me what the fuck is going on. I’m not up for the guessing game anymore.”
Oleg stops. He stands there in the hallway, unmoving. Holding me captive over his shoulder.
Oleg
Blyad’.
My life is ugly. I’ve never been proud of any of it, but I’ve done what I had to do to stay alive. Still, exposing it to my little swallow is something else. She will run so fast the pavement will light on fire beneath her feet.
And if I’m going to let this darkness out, if I’m going to tell Story about my past, I should come clean with my cell brothers, as well. Own up to my betrayal by omission. I knew this day would come at some point, and every day that went on, I wished it wouldn’t. Because I’ve come to care about this family. I trust them. I rely on them.
And now they will find out they can’t trust me.
But for Story, I’m willing to risk losing everything I have here. She said we were having a fight, which terrified me. I can’t stand the idea of her mad at me. This girl is the heart that beats in my fucking chest. Hurting her or even pissing her off is the last thing I want to do.
I change direction and walk back to the door to the penthouse, carrying Story inside.
“Um… pretty sure if she wants to go you have to let her,” Nikolai says from the breakfast bar where he’s working on his laptop. I lower Story to her feet and go for the notepad of paper and pen on the breakfast bar, pushing it beside Nikolai.
I start to write a note to her-but it’s rudimentary and crude. I don’t speak, and I’m also no writer. Nikolai reads and translates the note over my shoulder. “I can’t let you leave. I’m so sorry, Story.”
“Um, what the fuck, Oleg?” Nikolai says. His twin stands up from his work table to walk over, texting as he does. Probably telling everyone else to come to the living room.
Story holds up her hand, eyes on my paper, even though she can’t read it.
I scribble on the paper. Nikolai reads it. “You’re in danger because of me. You must stay here where I can protect you.”
Story nods. “Okay, that’s what I thought. The people after you know you care about me. That’s why they waited at Rue’s.”
I meet her eye and nod. I’m grateful and shocked by how much Story understood without being told. And she still didn’t run away screaming last night.
Sure enough, Sasha and Maxim emerge from their room, and Ravil comes out, too.