by Jasmin Quinn
“Then do it.” Rusya stepped from the room, closed the door behind him with a thud.
Yuri was in a chair, a glass of vodka in his hand. “Will she live?”
Rusya narrowed his eyes. His anger in his chest was beating at him, wanting to escape. Esma pregnant. He was so afraid the doctor would tell him it was recent, since they’d been together. The implications of the thought – she’d slept with someone or she’d been raped. And what if it were Jackman’s? The thought sickened him, it would kill him. “You should leave.”
Yuri shifted. “Son—”
“Yuri, leave. Thank you for setting this up for me, but you need to leave. I don’t want you here right now.”
Yuri seemed like he was going to argue as he considered Rusya, but then he rose from the chair. “Will you come to the house. See your mother?”
Rusya nodded. He’d agree to anything if Yuri would get the fuck out. “If it’s safe.”
Yuri picked up his coat as the doctor came out of the bedroom. Rusya could see Esma through the door. The doctor had her covered up, keeping her warm. He flicked his eyes to his father. “Good night, Yuri. I’ll be in touch.”
Yuri nodded, left. He and the doctor were alone. “How many weeks?”
The doctor walked to the couch, picked up his discarded overcoat and drew it on. “Eight weeks give or take. Keep her warm, the IV can come out when the bag is empty. Make sure she drinks and eats. She’s obviously exhausted and too thin. I don’t think she’s at risk of losing the baby, but eight weeks, that’s early days, you know.”
Rusya nodded, his words evading him as emotions overwhelmed him. The baby was his.
“Call me if you need me.” Then he was gone.
Rusya was alone. He and Esma were alone. He sat in the same chair that Yuri had been sitting in and leaned his head back, closed his eyes, took some deep breaths. He wanted to be home. Be back in Vancouver where it would be safe for Esma and the baby. The baby! His baby. Emotions seared him, unsettled him. Something he had not thought about for years, his lost child. Something he thought he would never have again. Not even something he thought he wanted. But now, now that he was going to have it, he couldn’t imagine living without it.
But he couldn’t leave, not yet. Not until he knew Esma was well enough to travel, not until he knew they were safe from Jackman. He wondered if Esma knew about her state. How could she not? Eight weeks, two cycles. She’d know.
Chapter 57
Esma opened her eyes a crack, then a little more as she remembered that Rusya had her. She was in a bed, in a little bedroom, covers tucked up under her chin. It was dusky in the room, but light from the hall filtered in through the open door. She turned onto her side, every muscle in her body protesting, and saw Rusya in an armchair in the corner, his eyes closed. She couldn’t tell if he was sleeping. She ran a hand over her stomach and realized she had been stripped down to her underwear. A revelation, not really something she worried about.
She shoved her back against the headboard and struggled her way into a sitting position, letting the blankets pool in her lap. Her rustling drew Rusya’s attention as he opened his eyes. He stood, walked over to the bed and sat next to her, his eyes on her face, on her chest. He didn’t reach for her though. “How are you feeling?”
Like a bus hit her. “I’m okay.” Her voice was too small, unused. But she was safe, with Rusya again, and she had to fight the emotions down.
He reached over to the night table and picked up a glass of water. “Doctor says you’re dehydrated. Need to drink some.”
His fingers brushed hers as she took the glass. She felt his touch straight through her, ricocheting off her heart. She took a sip, let it slide down her throat to her belly. Waited. Nothing bad happened, no nausea, no projectile vomiting onto Rusya, so she took another sip. And another. She tried to put the glass down on the night table, but Rusya blocked her. “Drink more.”
She took another sip, then the queasiness rocked her. “I’m feeling a little sick. Maybe need to eat something.”
Rusya nodded. “Toast.”
“Okay.”
He left the room and Esma was alone, feeling unsettled and a little weirded out. Rusya waiting on her, did he even know how to make toast? She had no idea where she was, why it was only her and Rusya. She remembered Yuri or thought she did. But if Yuri were there, then that meant they were in Moscow. She wanted to know what was going on but didn’t want to ask.
Her mind was firing up even as her weariness pulled at her. She didn’t know if the fatigue was from the ordeal yesterday, or the baby. Or both. Probably both. She ran her hand over belly, rested it on the small swell. Probably not the baby yet, but maybe it was. And a flair of excitement as she thought of being pregnant. Then trepidation. She didn’t know how to tell Rusya, if she should tell him. Of course, she should tell him, he’d notice eventually. She shook her head, wished she hadn’t when a wave of dizziness hit her. It was all so very fucked up.
Then Rusya returned with the toast, handing it off to her, sitting next to her and watching as she ate it, little bites, little chews and then it was gone. Warm and buttery and it was so good, the texture on her fingers, the smell as it lingered, the taste on her tongue.
“Better?” Rusya asked.
Esma nodded. “I feel better.” Her voice still creaked but her body seemed to embrace the toast.
“More?”
“Yeah. I’m hungry now.”
He left and returned with more toast and a coffee for her. The way she liked it, with a little drop of cream. It made her emotional to have Rusya look after her, be as attentive as he was. She couldn’t remember if that ever happened in her life. She took a sip of the coffee as Rusya sat in the chair in the corner, away from her. Quiet. Both of them. She couldn’t find the words to say and neither could he, it seemed.
A nervous bite of toast, another sip of coffee. He was studying her like he did on that first day, when she’d walked into his office, interviewing for a manufactured job. She had trouble meeting his eyes and yet, she didn’t feel ashamed. “Should we talk?” she said, a little too meekly for her liking.
Rusya didn’t smile, didn’t blink. He stood, walked to the door. “Later perhaps. You need to rest more.”
“I’d like to shower.”
“Rest first. I’ll come back in a couple of hours and help you.”
She nodded. He was asserting his will and she had no strength to push back. He was right, she needed to rest. She drank her coffee, ate the rest of her toast, and wished for more of both. Then curled back into the blankets and fell asleep again.
When she woke, she had to pee. Seriously, bladder full, if she didn’t get to the bathroom now, she’d wet the bed. She sat up too fast, then stood, felt a wave of dizziness hit her and thudded to the floor. Rusya wasted no time coming to her aid.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He needed to work on his bedside manner, Esma thought as his rough hands banded on her arms and he hauled her to her feet, trying to put her back to bed.
“Rusya, don’t!” Esma pushed at him. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
He stopped, and maybe for the first time she’d ever seen him, he looked flustered, flushed, embarrassed. He put his arm around her waist and led her into the small bathroom, letting her go once he was sure she had hold of the bathroom vanity. She tried to shut the door, but he blocked her. “Leave it open in case you need me. I’ll stay close.”
She didn’t argue because maybe it made sense. Once she peed, she started the shower.
Rusya was back, hovering in the doorway. “What are you doing?”
“Showering. I need to shower.”
He stepped into the bathroom, in the small space. “I’ll help you.”
“No.” He was too close, stoking her senses, and Esma needed distance from him. It was stupid or maybe it wasn’t, but the last time she’d been with him, he had been planning to throw her out of a plane. She didn’t know where she stood and she didn’t want t
o be any more vulnerable than she already was. “I’m okay.”
Rusya’s face darkened and he pushed back. “You can barely stand. You’re not going to step into that fucking shower and risk falling.”
“I was dizzy because I got up too fast. I’m okay now.”
Rusya shook his head, a stubborn set to his mouth. “No.”
Esma reached in and turned the water off. “Fine, I won’t shower until I can stand without getting dizzy.” She turned to the sink, washed her hands, wet a cloth and rubbed it over her face. Then she turned, tried to leave the bathroom, but Rusya reached out for her. She stepped back out of his reach, fear winning over her bravado.
He didn’t like her reaction, scowled, a frown splitting his face as he circled her arm with his fingers and hauled her out of the bathroom, to the bed, shoving her in it. “Stay there.” His tone was hard, his eyes hooded. He started to turn but she stopped him.
“Rusya.”
He shifted back to her. Said nothing. Waited.
“I don’t know what your intentions are. I don’t know why you intervened.”
Rusya nodded. “It’s simple, Esma. You’re mine. You lost your right to freedom when you walked into my home.”
Esma decided not to react to his provocative words or at least not in the way he would expect. “I’ve never been free, Rusya. This is no different. I just want to know what’s next?”
He scowled, maybe because he didn’t get the reaction he wanted, maybe because she was pushing him. “Next? As soon as you’re well enough to travel, we go to Vancouver.”
“Are you going kill me?”
He studied her with his dark eyes, let the silence linger, then as he turned, he said, “Not today.”
Esma’s heart broke as she curled up under the blankets. Would it have killed him to offer her some reassurances? Even if he was lying, he could have said, no. But fucking Rusya Savisin, a man of his word. Criminal, murderer, thug, asshole, but not a liar.
She shifted to her side as tears seared her eyes. Rusya was not a safe haven. Even if he came to her and declared his undying love, how long before he lost his temper with her? How long before he got tired of who she was. And the baby – despair, fear, panic raced through her. He would assert his will over the child too. He might make her give her baby up to him, turn her out or kill her. She couldn’t risk all the maybes, no matter what her heart wanted. The truth, the awful, ugly truth was that they were strangers, she and Rusya.
Her tired mind ran through her options. She was in Moscow, that much she knew. Cold out, but it was heading into February. It had to thaw sometime. If Rusya got her back to Vancouver, back to the house with Eduard and Janice to keep an eye on her, she’d not be able to run. The grounds patrolled, the guardhouse, the dogs. She’d be trapped, no way to escape. No, she couldn’t go back to Vancouver with him. She would have to find a way to escape Rusya here, leave Moscow, leave Russia on her own. It hurt to be so alone. It hurt to lose those few moments of hope she’d had when she was with Rusya. It hurt to lose his love.
She set her pain aside, like she always did. She had something to live for, something to keep her going, something to keep her sober. The last thought twisted in her head. Sober. The need for a drink had disappeared when she realized she was carrying a baby. Her brain knew what it needed to do, more than her body, or her heart. She needed to live, she needed to be clean. She needed clothes, some money, and a fucking plan.
She got out of bed and walked to the door of the bedroom. They were in an apartment. Not big. The standard rooms and a second bedroom. Rusya was slumming. He and another man were talking in low voices by the front door and didn’t notice her. She leaned on the door jamb, crossed her arms and waited until Rusya looked up. When he saw her, he sucked in his breath. The other man followed Rusya’s gaze, startled, then snapped his eyes to the floor.
“Get back in the bedroom,” Rusya bellowed, crossing the small living room in four long strides. He grabbed her, dragged her into the bedroom and slammed the door behind them. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Esma decided not to rise to Rusya’s anger. “It’s obvious I need some clothes, Rusya. I don’t know where mine are so can you please get me some, so I can come out of the bedroom.”
He lowered his voice, maybe realizing he was being a prick. “You need to rest.”
“I feel fine. I’ve spent the last few weeks locked up in a cell with no one to talk to and nothing to occupy my mind. For all I know a zombie apocalypse has taken place and I’m the only one on the planet not aware of it.”
Rusya dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head. “A zombie apocalypse has not taken place. Stay in here. I’ll get you something to wear.”
He left, closing the door behind him. Ten minutes later he was back, one of his shirts in hand and a pair of his jeans and a tie. “It’s all I have for you right now. I got rid of everything you were wearing except your underwear.”
Esma took the clothing as she scowled into his face. “Why would you do that?”
He leaned into her, mirroring her scowl. “Because I don’t want a fucking trace of Jackman anywhere near you. Take the fucking underwear off while you’re at it. I’m going to set them on fire.” He walked out.
“Fuck,” Esma exhaled under her breath as she removed her bra and panties. Rusya was kind of right. Fucking Jackman, now she didn’t want anything of his on her either. But Rusya’s clothes swamped her. It was ridiculous. Everything about them was ridiculous, especially the jeans and even rolling up the pant legs and cinching them at the waist with his tie seemed futile. She didn’t think she’d be able to walk in the jeans, let alone run and she didn’t have any fucking shoes anyway. Rusya was going to have to get her clothes before they left. Hopefully, well before they left.
She came out of the bedroom and saw the half-smile on Rusya’s face as he watched her from his chair. She shuffled over to the couch, keeping a grip on the pants as she sat, the end furthest from him. “When are we going to Vancouver?”
He studied her. “When you’re well enough to travel.”
“Will you get me some clothes that fit? Pajamas, shoes, socks.”
“Yes.”
“Can I take a shower?”
“Tonight.”
“Are you going to kill me?”
Rusya paused, his eyes travelling the length of her. “No.”
“Ever?”
“If you betray me again, I’ll kill you.”
Esma thought that was fair. “Will you at least listen to my explanation and give yourself 24 hours before killing me?”
She could see the struggle on his face and then he cracked a grin. “I’ll try.” He stood, moved to the couch, too close to her. Turned his body so he was fully facing her. He flooded her senses, the earthy smell of sandalwood as he leaned into her, the light brush of his fingers as he brushed a curl of hair away from her face, the soft intake of his breath. She quivered in response. Fucking body. “Will you ever betray me again?”
Esma thought of the baby, thought of her plan to run from him. “Even if I said no, why would you take me at my word?”
Rusya was quiet for a moment. Then, “Is there something else you want to tell me?”
Esma studied him. “Like what?” He knew, she thought. He knew about the baby. The fuck! But how?
He didn’t answer her, looked at her expectantly, waiting.
“No.”
Chapter 58
Rusya closed his eyes briefly, clenched his hands into fists. Then he opened them, stared into Esma’s eyes, trying to see past them into the crazy little brain of hers. “Why, Esma? Why would you lie?”
He saw her pale, could see her mind working, clutching for a straw. “I’m not lying. There is nothing else I want to tell you.”
It angered him that she was playing a word game, but he held on to it. “Not even about the baby you’re carrying?”
She sucked in a breath, moved one hand to the other and held them tightly in her lap.
“How do you know about the baby?”
How did he know? That was her fucking response? He wanted to smack her. “Is it mine?” He knew it was, couldn’t be anyone else’s, but he wanted to hear whether she’d lie about that too. He watched her face, shifting as she thought. So expressive – she didn’t know it, but she couldn’t hide anything. She had no poker face.
She nodded finally, her head bobbing up and down, followed by soft words. “Yes. I haven’t been with anyone else.”
He stood, too agitated to sit still, paced away from the couch, then turned back to her. “Why wouldn’t you tell me? What were you going to do? Run?” And he saw it in her face. That’s what she was thinking of doing. Running and hiding. His fury hit him in the gut. “You were!” he shouted. “You fool! You would leave my protection to go out on your own? With my baby?”
The tears in Esma’s eyes didn’t move him as he pulled her from the sofa by her arms, gave her a small shake. His hands on her didn’t stop her from talking. “I can look after myself, Rusya. Always have.”
“That’s bullshit!” he bellowed, fully aware that he should keep his voice down. Fully aware they were in an apartment and his men outside the door could hear him. “And it’s not just you – it’s my baby.”
“My baby!” she shouted back. “Mine!”
Her anger as explosive as his, their reason lost in the haze of fury. He ripped open the shirt she was wearing open, yanked it down her arms. “That’s why you need clothes, isn’t it?” He pulled it off her as she struggled to hold it to her. Then his fingers on the tie at her waist, knotted.
“Get the fuck off me,” she cried as he managed to loosen it and pull it out of the pant loops. The jeans fell to her ankles and he picked her up by the waist and pulled them over her feet.
“You will get no fucking clothes until I say.” He held her under his arm as she kicked and punched at him.
“You fuck!” she bellowed.
He couldn’t slap her, couldn’t throw her. Couldn’t do anything but haul her to the bedroom and toss her on the soft mattress. She hit and bounced up to her feet almost immediately, fists balled and crouched in a fighter’s stance. He saw her, on the mattress, hands fisted, ready to fight him and his anger grew, for a second, maybe two. He didn’t think he had it in him, but he checked it. Stopped before they both lost their heads.
