by Bethany-Kris
“You need to get back here. There’s been an incident,” Marky said.
“What incident? What do you mean—I’ve only been gone a day and a half?”
Roman called him back after he switched on the burner phone he’d picked up as he left town. They were a dime a dozen in airports. Available at every turn. Karine still stood in the garden where he could see her in the distance, walking along the path and reaching out to feel the bushes as she passed.
Her momentary happiness calmed him. It amazed him how such simple things about her made him smile.
“Masha, she’s gone.”
For a second, Roman’s thoughts cut off.
And then he asked sharply, “What do you mean she’s gone?”
“She’s disappeared.”
“From the house?”
“Nobody thought she was a flight risk. Like, what is she running from? Who is she running to? It isn’t like the woman’s got anybody here, Roman.”
Marky had a point.
But this was just another thing.
Something else to handle.
Fuck.
Roman resisted the urge to kick the decoration at his foot next to the path. It might soothe his irritation for a brief time, but it also wouldn’t last. Masha’s recent behavior had certainly been a red flag, and while he thought he’d dealt with it, he clearly had not.
Or not well enough.
“Do we have any leads?” he asked.
“She’s taken some things. One of your mother’s Fabergé eggs, probably to hock, and a bag—”
“Anything else?”
Roman eyed Karine who was laughing with a staff member now. The woman had come walking up the path from the opposite direction, but Karine didn’t appear to mind the conversation. Her hair fell back over her shoulders while she squinted against the sun. He couldn’t help but fantasize about her on a beach somewhere. She would look beautiful against the backdrop of a roaring sea. Far away from here and the uncertainty he found looking at the future.
Was it so bad that he wanted this to end?
That he wanted time to love her?
“Marky,” Roman asked again, “is there anything else?”
The man sighed, making the speakers crackle from the breath. “Some personal items of Karine’s that Claire brought from the Vermont Lodge. A coat. There could be more, your parents live in a big fucking house, okay?”
Yeah, yeah.
“So if she’s taken the time to gather things to take with her, this was a deliberate escape. It’s not like someone kidnapped her,” Roman added.
“No. But we’re not sure where she could have gone. Is there a chance she’s working with Dima?”
Roman considered that.
Had she fed information to Dima before—was that how he stumbled upon Roman the first time and caused the car accident? Nobody had thought to keep a close eye on the lodge phones; everyone had their own devices, and Masha was always so concerned with Karine day in and day out.
It was possible.
Anything was.
“Shit. If she is, I wouldn’t have guessed it, though,” Roman admitted, hating that he even uttered the words. “She seemed dedicated to Karine. She has to know what he’s capable of doing to her.”
What he did to her, he added silently.
Marky stayed quiet, and Roman wondered if that was the right time to apologize. Or even, say something to make up for the shit he kept putting his best friend through. Nobody had his back quite like Marky.
He didn’t because his friend spoke first, reminding him what was most important at the moment.
“I think you should get back here, Roman.”
“Yeah, I think I should.”
The call ended abruptly, and Roman could still hear the lingering bitterness in his friend’s final words. He didn’t fault him for still being sour.
Roman tried to put it out of his mind for now. Separating from Karine was going to be difficult—no matter how many times he had to do it; it hit him like a punch to the gut to say goodbye.
Not that it changed anything.
Every time, he still had to go.
*
They returned to her room together holding hands, and he didn’t let her wander more than an inch or two from his side the whole time. He wanted to keep Karine as close as possible for as long as he could.
“I’m sorry I just got here only to go again,” he said.
Karine had taken it surprisingly well when he told her he was returning to New York. He decided to tell her the truth about Masha’s disappearance, as well, refusing to keep anything more from her. He wasn’t going to treat her the way she had been treated all her life—fragile, and easy overlooked.
She wasn’t a sensitive flower who couldn’t handle the breeze. Perhaps the way she dealt with her fears wasn’t the way someone else might want her to, but she was stronger than anyone knew. She’d been doing this for years.
He couldn’t forget that.
“I want to say there’s a good reason for her leaving—she’s probably freaking out because she doesn’t know where I am. You should have told her. Maybe she thinks she can come and find me. I don’t want to think she has bad intentions, Roman.”
“Then, don’t. I will.”
“But—”
No buts.
He’d do what she couldn’t.
Roman interrupted any argument from Karine by pulling her in for a kiss that left his chest aching with the need for breath. He kissed her long and hard, pinching her chin between his forefinger and thumb to keep her right where he wanted her while he licked the taste of his last breath off her lips.
She didn’t shy away from him, and he adored that. Her tongue moved over his, firm and sure in what she wanted. Despite the relationships she had with the men in her life—Karine always kissed him boldly.
Like she was showing the world ... he’s mine.
From the moment they first met, she had decided to take him. Even if he hadn’t known it then. He had no choice in the matter.
This instability between them—the constant coming and going—couldn’t be good for her mental health, even Sylvia said it. They didn’t know how his departure would affect her progress. Was he chipping away at her?
“I’m sorry,” he repeated again. “I’ll let you know how long you’ll be here, or at least when I’ll be back, as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Roman stilled. “Will you?”
“Here, yeah. I think so. I don’t want you to worry about me. You should be with your family now—focus on them, and what needs to be done there. I need you to do that first so that we can do this again soon,” she finished in a whisper, fisting his shirt in her balled hands, and pulling him close again.
Roman hadn’t believed he would hear those words from her mouth—for Karine truly understand why he had to do what he did.
He stroked her hair and she pressed herself further into him.
“Do you forgive me?” he asked, barely above a breath.
He didn’t want anyone else to hear it, anyway. This was meant for him and her alone. It was between them, and would always be.
“For what?”
“For this place. For bringing you here. For taking you to Vermont and Michelle. The therapists and doctors. The people constantly watching you. Any of it—all of it, Karine. I just ... wanted to know,” he said lamely, with a shrug.
Karine licked her lips and looked away. He wished she wouldn’t. “I know you’re trying to help me. Sometimes I don’t understand it, or it doesn’t really seem fair, but I know why. Your actions sometimes speak louder than your intentions when I don’t think they match, but I picked you, and I didn’t say you had to be perfect when I did it, Roman.”
“You tried to run once here.”
She laughed, shaking her head and glancing back at him with a twinkle in her eye. “You can’t lock someone up and think they won’t crave freedom—I still forgive you. I know why you d
id what you did.”
“The world is yours the second I make it safe for you.”
“And you want these people,” she said with a smirk, waving around them, “to tell you it’s safe for me to be out there, too.”
“That you can handle it, yeah.”
He kissed her forehead and pressed the tip of his nose to hers. Any bad days together would be worth it just to have a few good days like this with her.
Quieter, he added, “And the world was the one that did this to you, Karine, so fuck them, anyway. I don’t care about anybody but you. It’s me and you first, babe, from here on out.”
He kissed away the tears that spilled to her cheeks, whipping away what wetness remained with his thumbs right after. Giving him a rueful smile, she latched onto his thumb and sucked the taste of her tears away.
God, he loved this woman.
“You should go,” she whispered, her fingertips tapping the underside of his jaw. “Give my love to Claire. And if you find Masha, tell her ... tell her I am okay. I’ll be back soon, but right now, I’m okay. Give her at least the benefit of the doubt, Roman.”
He stared hard at her, not wanting to make that promise.
“Please?” she asked.
“Karine—”
“Please.”
“Depends on what happens. That’s the best I can promise.”
“Fair enough. I love you, Roman.”
He didn’t want to leave her, as he kept picturing waking up the next morning without Karine in his bed. Here, in this sterile, lonely bedroom, she would wake up doing the same for him. From his pocket, he pulled out his wedding ring which he hadn’t started wearing in public yet.
Karine’s eyes brightened when he slipped it on with a smile.
“I’m done looking because I’ve already found everything,” he said. “Everyone should know.”
*
Nobody seemed happy when Roman arrived back in New York. Not that he expected them to be considering he’d done exactly what he was told not to.
His father demanded his presence the second Demyan knew Roman’s feet were on home soil, and he drove over there to find Marky already waiting on the steps of the house.
He offered Roman a smoke first thing.
“We need to talk,” Roman said to his friend, refusing a smoke he badly needed.
“Yeah, I know.”
He grabbed him by his arm, yanking Marky towards himself. The two men stared hard at one another before Roman said, “Listen, I know I’m a fuck up and an asshole sometimes, but I appreciate—”
Marky nodded once, shrugging Roman’s hand off his arm before he could even finish. “All’s good, man. A sorry suffices sometimes, shit. That’s all.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
That seemed to be good enough for his friend, and after another quiet pause, Roman walked into the house alone.
Bulls milled about the grand staircase and outside his father’s office where he found Demyan waiting for him. Two of the men slipped in, one was his father’s spy who moved to the corner of Demyan’s desk to look through a file he passed over to the man.
It was his father’s disappointed eye turning on him that made Roman tense a bit on the spot. Standing just beyond the doorway, he noticed that with his mother absent from the room, the cigars filled the ashtrays and smoke still clung to the air.
“Do you have any idea where this woman could have gone to?” Demyan asked.
Roman bristled—he never did well with that tone his father liked to use. He’d been trying to get past the constant need to snap back at every comment Demyan made, but habits were hard to break. “Don’t you think I would have dragged her ass back here already if I knew where she went?”
“Thin ice here, son, you’re skating on it. Don’t get smart with me, huh? How do you propose we find her? She was part of your package of responsibilities, so to spe—”
“Fuck off, don’t call Karine that.”
“Roman!”
He didn’t even blink at his father’s shout. “I get it, you’re pissed. I didn’t listen to you and jumped on a jet. You can be an asshole to me without taking it out on her.”
Demyan’s gaze burned. “Back to that woman—who knows what information she has or who she’s feeding it to? We need to find her.”
Roman wasn’t stupid.
“I don’t know, but I’ll start somewhere. I just need some time to think.”
“Perfect because you’ve given her a two-day start here, Roman. You know she’s taken stuff from my drawers, too, yes?”
Roman couldn’t remember if Marky mentioned that or not—he also wasn’t surprised. “Like what?”
“In my desk. Random papers, a file on a shipment deal. Some contracts; an old day planner. Looks like she took whatever she could get her hands on, really,” Demyan grumbled. “Quite a bit is missing, actually.”
Shit.
Roman couldn’t consider what that meant, asking only, “Why didn’t anyone keep an eye on her?”
“You brought her into our lives!” his father roared, Roman’s defensive comment throwing Demyan over the edge. “She came here because you decided to bring her, never once letting anyone believe she was anything but harmless. Why would I think I had to watch her every fucking move?”
“Who put me in Chicago in the first damn place?” Roman asked back, eerily calm.
“I didn’t make you steal Dima’s car, son.”
No one in the room even blinked at the spat between father and son. Demyan dragged in a heavy breath, and grunted at the men, “Get the fuck out, yeah?”
Nobody needed to be told twice.
Roman wanted to leave, too, but he knew he couldn’t. He was in too deep now, and this was his responsibility. Life was better when his father didn’t concern him directly with the family’s business. Back when he dedicated all his time and energy to the chop shop.
Demyan stuffed his burning cigar into a crystal ashtray, crushing it down with as much force as he could.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” he asked when the room had finally cleared, and the door clicked shut behind the last man.
Roman assumed he was talking about his recent visit to Karine. “I had to see her. We’re not in a position where I can leave her with unfinished business between us. I won’t apologize for it.”
“Not Karine—I’m so used to you ignoring rules. You got high, Roman. You’re using. Again.”
He didn’t speak.
Demyan slammed his hand down to the desk, demanding, “Well—at least have the decency to lie about it if nothing else!”
What would be the point?
Demyan called Marky in shortly after because Roman’s silence pushed him to that point. He had nothing to say for himself. Not yet, anyhow.
“For fuck’s sake,” Roman muttered under his breath when Marky strolled into the office with a tight smile. It was the men peeking into the office—who could probably hear every word his father shouted—that irritated Roman the worst.
“And what were you doing when my son was snorting lines of poison into his brain?” Demyan barked.
“Stop it,” Roman said, stepping in before his friend could even get a word out. “I’m not a fucking kid—I’m a grown man who can make my own choices. And for what it’s worth, he was there. He tried to stop me. This isn’t his fault so leave him alone.”
Marky’s defense while his friend stood there was to light a cigarette, shove his hands in his pockets, and otherwise, say nothing.
Marky wasn’t going to talk back to the boss, but he also wouldn’t throw Roman under the bus. His best option was to say nothing at all, and let whatever happened, happen.
Demyan plucked up the ashtray off the table and threw it at the wall where it shattered into thousands of little shards, falling to the floor. “How much more of your shit am I supposed to keep from your mother?”
“None of it,” Roman said, shrugging. “It’s over. I’m not touching that shit a
gain.”
“You’re damn right you’re not. You’re going to be under twenty-four-hour surveillance. Do you remember what went down the last time you went on one of your binges?”
Roman glared at his father, meeting his eyes with defiance. If there was ever a time to snort a line—this was it. He’d never had the balls to blatantly do it in front of his father’s face, though.
“And how are you going to manage that?” he asked Demyan.
“You’ve been free to mind your own business for too long. You’re going to be minding mine, now.”
“I’m not a child,” Roman repeated.
“And yet, you act like one.”
Demyan turned to Marky before Roman could respond, snapping with a jerk of his hand toward the door, “Get out of here.”
“What about Masha?” Marky asked.
Roman shook his head. “If she took things to sell, like maybe she needed cash, start there.”
Like the designer bag and expensive, priceless jeweled egg she’d stolen from his mother. Those things were hard to come by, and hot goods were easier to find than some people might think.
“I’ll start putting words in around pawnshops.”
“Yeah—”
“Get the fuck out of here!” Demyan snarled. “Do your job!”
“I’ll hold the fort down and see what I can find on Masha,” Marky said, not blinking an eye at Demyan’s rage before he stepped out of the room again. Out of the line of fire. His father’s bad attitude was nothing new. Sadly, Roman’s friend was used to taking the blame in his story, too.
Once he was gone, Demyan turned to his son once more. His anger was still plain to see, and as much as he hated the way his father presented it ...
Roman knew some of it was justified. He tried to remind himself of that when Demyan asked, “This is the shit you pull as a married man? You didn’t think your wife deserved better than that—that your family deserves more from you?”
“I messed up, I know. I thought I fucked up my marriage, that I lost Karine.”
One of the men stepped into the office with a dustpan and broom to clean the mess. Marky must have mentioned it on his way out, but the presence of the bull was enough to quiet the men again. Not that it really made a difference. They’d undoubtedly heard everything.
