Page 27 of Dark Possession
“A car will be safer,” she says simply, as if that ends the discussion.
I clench my jaw. A quiet battle of wills stretches between us, a war fought in silence. My pulse kicks up, but I force my posture to remain steady.
“Fine.” The word tastes bitter on my tongue, but I know when I’m outmatched.
Dima nods once, then turns away, already reaching for the phone.
Minutes later, as I wait by the kitchen door, the low purr of an approaching vehicle signals my surrender.
I don’t look at her again as I step outside and slide into the backseat. But I can feel it.
She won.
The car ride into the city is tense. As I sit in the back of the sleek, black vehicle, my heart won’t stop hammering. Lev never told me I couldn’t leave. He didn’t lock the doors or chain me to the bed.
But he didn’t leave me shoes either, except these silly stilettos.
As the car winds through the streets, I keep glancing over my shoulder, expecting to see one of his men tailing me. Or worse—Lev himself.
I don’t know how long I’ll be with him. I don’t know what he wants from me. Just sex? Something more?
And if I can’t find a way to come up with another fifty thousand dollars, I don’t know how long I’ll last.
I need to work up the courage to ask him, and make him answer me. Or maybe I just need to pray for another one of those godforsaken Bratva events. Something about Lev terrifies me.
If I find Sergei first, maybe I can offer myself to him. This time, I know I need to make my bargain very clear. I need to have something in writing. Fifty thousand dollars for…say… I shake my head. The idea makes my skin crawl. What is fair for fifty thousand? A week? A month?
A moment?
The thought makes my stomach churn, cold sweat slicking my palms. I want to go home. I want to go back to my paints and my sketches and my tea and my mother and forget any of this ever happened. Moisture tracks my cheek, and I brush it away with the back of my hand.
Marina’s safety comes first.
When the car pulls up outside my family’s building, my chest tightens. It’s always the same—worn brick, sagging steps, despair hanging thick in the air like a storm that never clears.
I slip inside quietly, my steps light. Mama is slumped in her chair, her frame swallowed by the cushions. At her feet, Marina kneels, carefully tugging off her shoes.
I freeze in the doorway.
It never gets easier, seeing her like this. Each year, Mama seems smaller, more fragile, like a gust of wind could carry her away.
Marina glances up and spots me. Her brows knit together in confusion, and her lips part, but I press a finger to my lips. She nods, finishes helping Mama, then murmurs something about bringing her tea before slipping into the kitchen.
I follow.
The second the door swings shut, Marina turns on me. “Where the hell have you been?”
I exhale slowly. “Working. I got a new job.”
Her arms are crossed tight over her chest. “Since when does housekeeping mean disappearing for days?”
I brush past her accusation. “It’s good money. That’s all that matters.”
Her eyes narrow, but I don’t let her question me further. “Have you heard from those men?”
Her face falls. The tough facade cracks. “No. Not yet.” Shame flickers in her expression, in the way she avoids my gaze. “I’m so sorry, Alina. I shouldn’t have—”
I grab her hands, squeezing tight. “Stop. We’ll figure it out. The new job is helping, and I’ll get a loan from the bank if I have to.”
