Fractured Souls - Page 17

I glance over my shoulder at the bedroom door. I hoped Pasha would stay in the kitchen or the living room, but he hasn’t returned. However, even when he’s not in the same room with me, knowing he’s here, makes the dreadful voice in my head retreat.

After I’m done putting away the groceries, I look at the last few bags on the counter. They are big boutique bags with wide ribbon handles. Pasha said he would buy something for me to wear. I expected some sweatpants and a few T-shirts, but the bags in front of me are stacked full of clothes. Should I unpack these? He only mentioned the groceries when he asked me to put away the things he bought. I turn around and move to the kitchen island to prepare the lasagna.

Making lunch while only wearing someone else’s T-shirt and nothing underneath is weird. Especially in a kitchen belonging to a man I don’t really know. Weird, but at the same time liberating. I focus on the task in front of me while a faint melody plays in the back of my mind.

“No, you can’t bring the buyers to Ural, Sergei,” I say into the phone and sigh.

“Why the hell not? Did you look outside? It’s fucking freezing. My balls are going to fall off if I take them to the unheated warehouse and have to listen to their rambling for more than ten minutes.”

“The last time you conducted a meeting in my club, the cleaning crew spent two hours trying to wash away the blood and brain matter from the VIP booth.”

“That was years ago, Pasha!” he barks. “And you changed the upholstery to dark leather last month. Washing the blood off that is a piece of cake.”

“I said no.”

“Mudak,” he mumbles and hangs up.

I shake my head and switch back to the liquor order I’ve been reviewing on my laptop. Since I won’t be heading to the club, I had to take care of the most pressing matters and brief Kostya on the rest. He might be good with numbers, but logistics is not his strong suit. I glance at the time in the corner of the screen and see that it’s just after noon. I should check on Asya again.

I’ve been holed up at the desk in my bedroom for the past three hours, but I’ve been taking peeks at Asya every fifteen minutes to make sure she’s okay. She seemed immersed in cooking lunch, and her relaxed posture said she was enjoying the process. The last time I checked on her, I heard her humming a complicated tune. I expect to find her buzzing around the kitchen this time too, however, she’s nowhere in sight.

“Asya?” I call as I hurry across the living room, but there is no answer.

I pass by the dining table, where plates and salad bowls are set for two. A big tray of lasagna, cut into squares, sits between them. I round the kitchen island and come to a halt. Asya is sitting on the floor with her back pressed to the cupboard, arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She’s staring at the window on the far wall with panic in her eyes.

“Asya?” I crouch next to her and place my hand on the back of her neck. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s . . . snowing,” she whispers, eyes locked onto the scene before her.

“You don’t like snow?” I ask.

“Not anymore,” comes her barely audible answer.

“Asya, give me your eyes, baby.” I brush my thumb down her cheek. “Please.”

She takes a deep breath, then turns her head. There’s such a haunted look in her eyes. Seeing it hits me right in the chest.

“I’m going to pull down the blinds,” I say. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Quickly closing the blinds in the kitchen, I head to the living room to pull the heavy curtains over the windows there and rush back. Asya hasn’t moved, but now she’s staring at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles and looks up at me with watery eyes.

I crouch in front of her and cup her face between my palms. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m such a spineless person,” she says and presses her lips tightly together.

I lean forward until my face is only inches from hers. “You’re reacting because of the reminders. Your mind is being triggered by various things, but it doesn’t mean you’re weak. Do you understand?”

She sighs and closes her eyes. Something breaks inside me to see her so defeated. I grit my teeth. I need to stay calm for Asya’s sake now, but eventually, I’m going to annihilate the sons of bitches who did this to her.

“Mishka. Look at me.”

Her eyes open.

“You are not weak,” I say. “And you will fight and get better. I promise.”