Page 89 of Sinister Promise

I wanted freedom.

Freedom from him.

Freedom from my father's debts.

Freedom from obligations that never should have been mine.

Leaving the plug on the counter, I cleaned myself up as best as I could before creeping back into the bedroom.

It was still eerily still. Quiet.

The only sound in the room was my heart hammering in my chest.

I still didn't trust it.

It didn't make sense, but I didn't want to look this gift horse in the mouth, either. If he wasn't going to be here to make sure I stayed, then there was no reason for me to stay.

I just needed clothes, and I would be gone. No one would ever hear from me again. I'd figure out how to buy a new identity, how to start over somewhere where Alina Russo didn't exist.

It was going to be hard, if not impossible. But it couldn't be worse than this.

It couldn't be worse than demeaning myself by serving drinks in that hellhole. Nothing was worse than getting groped by old men who reeked of desperation and piss.

It couldn't be worse than scrubbing bloodstains out of carpets and mopping them up from tiled floors while pretending I didn't recognize the smell.

It couldn't be worse than having to watch my grandmother slip further and further away from me, her mind almost completely gone, and seeing the signs of neglect on her body and not being able to do a damn thing about it.

All I had to do was take this opportunity and run. When I was safe and settled, I would return and sneak my grandmother out as well. Maybe I'd find a state with better senior facilities. At least hope was free.

I rushed to the wardrobe, opening it to see designer suit after designer suit, all in the finest fabrics, all whispering wealth and decadence.

I could take one. I would bet sliding one of his jackets on would feel like I was wrapped in his powerful arms.

That wasn't what I needed. I slammed the doors andwent to the dresser, ignoring the pang of regret and longing in my body.

The first drawer had more than I expected.

Thousands of dollars in cash, all neatly stacked and wrapped with paper strips labeled $5,000, $10,000 or $20,000.

The stacks were all made of fives, tens, twenties, or fifties. Small, unmarked bills.

What the hell?

Pavel had cost me two steady jobs and taken my virginity.

This was the least he owed me.

The next drawer down had T-shirts and the one below that had workout shorts and a pair of gray sweatpants. I thought about what he would look like in the gray sweatpants, how they would cling to his thighs, the outline of his cock visible. Mental images of him coming back into the room wearing nothing but these sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his abs glistening with sweat from an intense workout, came unbidden to my mind.

"Get yourself together," I whispered, shaking the images out of my head.

What was wrong with me?

I slid on the sweatpants, tightening the drawstring as much as I could before tying it off. Then I grabbed one of the white T-shirts. It was so soft and smelled like him.

As I slid the shirt on, I realized I had been right about the jacket, because just wearing this shirt made me feel like his arms were around me. Unfortunately, the fine fabric was also too thin to be completely opaque.

I needed something more.

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