Page 21 of Ruinous Need
“Why do you have a dog if you’re away so much?”
“I like that he’s not a person. He’ll never judge me, or talk back to me, or tease me.” He shoots a pointed glance in my direction.
I sigh. “Unconditional love. I get it.”
The way he talks about Chekhov with such tenderness surprises me. It’s not something I would’ve thought he was capable of. I didn’t imagine anyone in the Bratva had feelings.
“You wouldn’t be so lonely in here all day, if I let him in.”
He’s really not going to give up on this. It’s subtle, but I think from a stoic guy Viktor, this is the equivalent of an enthusiastic sales pitch.
“Fine.” I huff. “You can bring the dog in. But if he gets too close to me, he’s going straight back to the courtyard.”
The black husky strains at his collar while Viktor leads him slowly into the room. His dark eyes are fixed on me, monitoring my response carefully.
“Chekhov. Sit.” He strokes the dog’s head when it obeys his order.
The dog tilts his head at me, watching me with those pale blue eyes. Its mouth falls open and its tongue lolls out, revealing its pointy teeth.
I exhale sharply. Viktor is holding him back. However big and scary the husky is, the muscled giant holding him back is bigger and scarier.
Heshouldbe scarier.
But when I look at Viktor, I don’t feel anything close to the panic that rises in my chest when Chekhov is here.
“If you reach your hand forward and let him smell it, that’s usually the best introduction.”
I tentatively extend my hand and the dog waits as though he’s asking Viktor for permission.
“Go on,” he says, his voice gruff.
The dog sniffs my hand, his wet nose against my palm and his breath hot. I stay as still as I can.
“You can pet him if you want, no pressure.” He strokes his hand gently through the dog’s fur to demonstrate.
Chekhov tilts his head at me expectantly.
It takes so much effort to unstick my limbs and raise my hand to the top of the dog’s head. Once I do, I don’t hate it. His fur is silky and soft and he butts his head against my touch, like he wants more pressure.
I feel Viktor’s eyes taking in every movement. “That’s right.”
Then the dog wags his tail and springs closer.
I freeze up, my pulse quickening at the unexpected movement.
Viktor notices. His knuckles go white from how tightly he’s holding Chekhov back by his collar.
“Well done. But maybe that’s enough for today.”
Chekhov looks back at me as though saying goodbye while Viktor hauls him out of the room.
He re-enters, dusting the black fur off himself.
“Sorry if he got too enthusiastic there. He’s well-trained but huskies can be stubborn as hell.”
“It didn’t kill me,” I say, still feeling a bit shaky. “You know, you’re good at this.”
Viktor narrows his eyes at me.
