Page 52 of Born into Madness
“You’re very wrong about me, Cyn.” He wipes his hands with a napkin and then rests his forearms on the table as he looks at me. “You see the good in people, even when there is no good to see. I won’t bother with the lecture about how that puts you in danger, because I won’t ever allow anything to happen to you, but you need to see me as I really am.” He runs his fingers over mine as he says, “Don’t forget that I’m the bad guy. I’m the monster you should be afraid of, and whatever softness I possess, it begins and ends with you.”
“I know you believe that,” I say, refusing to be afraid of him, even though Sasha is a formidable presence that everyone takes notice of. The other people here keep stealing glances at him, either from fear or lust, but even though I have no doubt Sasha could close his eyes and describe every detail of what’s around us right now, he doesn’t give any indication that he’s paying attention to anyone other than me. “You seem close to your family, though. I bet you’re kind to them.”
“My family is different.” He gives me another quick wink. “Like you, they’re firmly on thedo not killlist.”
“Tell me about them.”
He takes a drink of his Mexican Coke before telling me about his family. He tells me about his parents and sisters, about their husbands and his oldest sister’s kids, and then he briefly tells me about his cousins and their families and explains that his dadand uncles decided to become a family by choice when they were teenagers in Moscow. There’s no way I can remember all the names, but I try my best to keep up with it all.
“Wow, you have a really big family.” Grinning, I add, “See, your no-kill list is huge, ya big softie.”
He nearly chokes on his drink, causing even more people to turn and stare at him. While he gets himself under control, I reach over and pat his back.
“You okay?” I ask. “You can’t choke to death at my favorite restaurant. I’ll never be able to eat here again, and they have the best tacos in the city.”
“You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he says, and this time it’s his turn to watch me while he tries to figure me out.
“Don’t waste your time,” I tell him. “This enigma can’t be cracked.” I can’t say it with a straight face, because I’m hardly a psychological puzzle, and when he sees my smile slip through, he grins and reaches over to cup my face.
“Do you want to see where I live?”
The question surprises me. I hadn’t been expecting an invite to his place, but I know it’s an invitation to get to know him better, to see a part of his life that he usually keeps hidden, so I quickly nod my head and say, “I’d love that.”
The corner of his mouth lifts up, and I’m starting to realize those half-grins of his are the equivalent of full-blown smiles on anyone else.
“Chort will be excited to see you again,” he says and then nudges my plate. “But first you need to finish your supper.”
I grab another taco, and it’s only when we’re finished and leaving Bean Me Up that I realize it’s been a few weeks since I’ve had a panic attack. I usually get anxiety, if not an actual attack, that’s bad enough to have me mentally reciting what I can see and feel to try and ground myself to the present, but I haven’t had to do that since the night I was attacked.
Looking up at Sasha as he guides me down the crowded sidewalk, I can’t help but assume his presence has something to do with that. He makes me feel safe, makes me feel like I don’t need to worry about anything, like everything will be okay as long as he’s near me. It’s a dangerous way to think, because it’s too soon. I shouldn’t be comforted by him in the way that I am, and I definitely shouldn’t be going and getting myself attached.
No anxiety for a few weeks, but it seems I’m doing my damnedest tonight to bring it all back, because the more I think about it, the more I worry, and by the time we stop in front of the massive black motorcycle, I’m more than a little convinced that I might be in way over my head.
He hands me a dark helmet. “I don’t have a spare on me, but you can use mine for now. I’ve got an extra at home you can have.”
I keep eyeing the large bike. “What if I fall off?”
“I would never let that happen.”
He grabs the helmet and starts to lower it onto my head. I inwardly cringe at how I’m going to look once the ride is over and he pulls this thing off me. My hair is untamable on the best of days, but helmet hair? Jesus, this is gonna be bad. His fingers work quickly, buckling the strap and pulling it tight so there’s no way it’ll fall off. My head feels cocooned and heavy and everything around me seems muted. I watch as he hikes one long leg over his bike and sits down, looking completely at ease and sexy as hell.
When he motions me closer, I take a hesitant step, grateful I’m at least wearing jeans tonight. I eye the small seat and then immediately think about my much bigger ass.
“I’m not so sure about this,” I say, raising my voice so he can hear me.
He leans in so our eyes are at the same height, even though I know this thing is tinted and he can’t see me. “Scared, Cyn?”
“A little,” I admit.
That small grin of his makes an appearance as he lowers his hand to grab my butt. He gives one of my cheeks a firm squeeze and then a pat before he asks, “Do you trust me?”
“This is not the same thing as vegetarian tacos,” I remind him, but he just pats my bottom again.
“Get your beautiful ass on the bike, Cyn. I promise you’ll enjoy the ride.”
I don’t tell him that I’d probably agree to just about anything after hearing him call my ass beautiful, but I do hike my leg over the monstrous bike and sit awkwardly behind him on the pretty much nonexistent seat. When I just sort of hang there, he patiently points out the foot pegs and helps me get situated.
Turning his head, he says, “Wrap your arms around me and don’t let go.”
