Fractured Souls - Page 25

“Please don’t be sad, baby.”

Asya takes a deep breath and leans away, looking at me. Tears are falling down her cheeks, and her eyes are red and puffy. But she doesn’t look sad. She looks mad as hell.

“I’m so sick of this,” she says through her teeth and grabs at the front of my jacket. “So. Fucking. Sick.”

“I know.”

Her hands let go of my jacket and she takes my face between her palms, staring into my eyes. “I want to go to the mall.”

Our gazes are locked. It feels like I could drown in the dark depths of her eyes, it makes it hard to think straight. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Asya.”

“I can’t live like this. Panicking because of the most basic things. Hiding here, in your place.” Her hands move to the back of my head, threading the strands between her fingers. “I want my life back. I want myself back.”

Her last sentence is barely audible. I lift my hand and brush the tears from her cheeks with my thumb. “Okay.”

Asya nods and her eyes fall to my lips. Her hands are still raking my hair. As I watch, she takes a deep breath and leans forward. She’s going to kiss me. God, I’ve been thinking about kissing her for days, hating myself for having the idea festering in my mind. She is too young, and she’s been terribly hurt. Letting her kiss me would be no better than making a move on a traumatized girl.

“Asya,” I whisper. “Please don’t, baby.”

My body goes rigid upon hearing Pasha’s words. I look up to find his eyes regarding me with concern. Just a couple of inches are separating my mouth from his. If I’m quick, I might be able to steal one quick kiss, even if he doesn’t want it.

But as fast as that thought enters my mind, another follows. No, I know what’s it like to have something taken from you against your will. I can’t do it to him.

“Why not?” I ask. “You don’t want spoiled goods, is that the issue?”

Pasha’s eyes widen and the next instant his hand shoots up, grabbing my chin. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he says through his teeth. “Ever.”

“Then why, Pasha? Is it bad that I want to kiss you?” I lean into his hand, intending to close the distance between us, but he doesn’t allow me to.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me, his nostrils flaring. I wonder if he’s aware that while he’s holding me away from him with his left hand, his right is still stroking my cheek. I sigh and straighten, letting go of his hair.

The phone in his pocket rings. He reaches for it and presses it to his ear, listening to what the person on the other side is saying. I can hear the faint voice from the other end. It’s male and sounds agitated, but I can’t understand what is being said because he’s speaking Russian.

“I’ll come over,” Pasha replies in English, then lowers the phone.

“You need to go to work?”

“Yes. I’m in charge of the Bratva’s club business. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he says. “Will you be okay?”

I don’t want him to go, but I nod anyway.

“I’ve ordered some groceries; they will leave them at the front door. If you’re tired of cooking, I’ll order something for you from the restaurant across the street.” He brushes the side of my chin with the tip of his finger. “But if you want to make something for dinner and can’t decide what, there is a laptop on the nightstand in the bedroom. Google quick dishes and pick the first one you know how to make. Okay?”

I nod again. He doesn’t release my chin. Instead, his fingers move along my jaw to the back of my neck where he buries them in my hair.

“I emptied the dresser in the bedroom, you can put your new clothes there.”

So, he noticed that I freaked out when I saw the suits in his closet. “Do you really need to leave?”

“I won’t be long.” He looks over at the clock on the wall. “I need to go over some paperwork with Kostya before the club opens at ten. I’ll be back by ten thirty.”

“Can you take the clock down?”

Pasha looks down at me, and I can see the question in his eyes.

“I’m nearsighted,” I say.

His hand on my nape moves back to my chin and tilts my head up. “Why haven’t you told me?”