Page 7 of In Her Blood
She didn’t resist, and though he could feel her watching him as he unbuckled and loosened the strappy wedge-heeled shoes she’d worn all day, she stayed silent. He kept his visible attention on his task of removing the shoe, then running his fingers carefully over the curve of her foot. He knew her soles were ticklish, but he also knew she’d worn those torture devices for hours and her feet had to be killing her.
She hadn’t chosen the shoes to compliment her outfit. She’d chosen them because they had been her final birthday present from her father, some seven months prior. The shoes were what she’d chosen the rest of her outfit based on, as a way to pay one last respect. Otto had watched her pull half a dozen items from her wardrobe, hold them over the shoes, and toss them aside with a curse. He didn’t personally understand whyit was so hard to pick the right black dress and semi-sheer black stockings to match with black leather shoes, let alone how one belt or set of earrings was better or worse than another, but if she’d waited until that morning to make her choices, they’d never have made it.
Nor did any of that matter. There was nothing he could do for the pain in her chest, the pain in her soul, but he could at least ease the pain in her goddamn feet. So, he pressed his fingers into the skin at the edges of her arch, dug his thumbs into her heel, and rubbed slowly as he crawled his touch up to her toes. The thin material of her stocking remained between them, but removing that was a line he didn’t dare cross.
From the soft moan she let out and the way she shifted in her seat, she was still able to appreciate the massage just fine.
Otto lingered over her toes, massaging the ball of her foot and helping stretch out the muscles of her toes one by one before gently lowering her leg back to a resting position. Then he reached for the other and repeated the process, making sure to treat her discarded shoes with a modicum of respect instead of pitching them across the room.
Lina blew out another breath, the sound less agonized and more relaxed. “Have you picked up a side-gig I somehow don’t know about? Because I’m starting to think I’ve been misusing you.”
Otto grunted as he finished working over the muscles of her delicate toes. He was pretty sure he didn’t have a foot fetish, but touching her this way—even indirectly—and hearing her moan like she had still affected him. That, and hedidhave a thing for a good pair of legs. Her legs.
Probably he hadn’t thought this choice through.
Out loud, he said, “Not yet. You sayin’ I should expand my horizons?” He eased her leg down as gently as he had the first before retracting his touch and dropping back on his haunches.
Lina huffed, the sound tinged with amusement that lit her eyes when he lifted his gaze. “If you try to quit on me right now, I swear to fucking God, I’ll hobble you myself.”
He let his lips lift in a teasing smirk, pretending not to hear the pain behind her mock threat. “Well, I don’t want that. Guess I’ll stick around.” He rocked to his feet.
Before either of them could say another word, insistent, ceaseless knocking carried through the air from the main door. It shattered the calming atmosphere like a bullet through glass.
Lina pulled her legs up to her chest, balancing her heels on the edge of the sofa. “Chase them off.”
Otto nodded, pivoted, and strode from the sleeping space and into the sitting room. She’d redone the entire suite, and in the sitting room she’d had one wall transformed with built-in shelving for books from floor to ceiling. A new crystal chandelier hung low enough that he had to walk around it to avoid hitting his head. A chaise and a wingback chair, along with a coffee table and an ottoman, created an almost loungey vibe. This was her space, which she intended to use for relaxation, so she’d tailored it to match her grown tastes.
Otto was only grateful she’d included two seats.
Currently, however, he needed neither. He went straight for the door and whatever asshole continued to beat on it on the other side. No one had any right or any need to be calling onLina after a full day spent saying farewell to her last surviving parent.
Somehow, he wasn’t surprised the asshole proved to be Pyotr.
Pyotr Nikolaev hesitated before finally lowering his fist, as if he’d thought for a moment keeping it raised was somehow necessary or beneficial. His golden-brown hair was a mess, undoubtedly from the number of times he’d run his fingers through it over the course of the day, and he’d discarded his suitcoat and tie. He stood at an even six feet tall, thanks only to the two-inch inserts in his custom boots, and made a point of squaring his shoulders. The rubies in his ears glinted in the low hall light as he narrowed his eyes up at Otto. “Of course, Evie couldn’t be bothered to answer her own fucking door.”
Otto glared right back. For as bad as it was, objectively, that the seat of the pakhan was vacant, that same vacancy also meant a level of freedom. While Pyotr and Lina inevitably fell into conflict over who would claim the title, there existed no man with true authority over her. Which meant Otto no longer had to bite his tongue or hold himself in check when any man saw fit to abuse her.
The next time someone moved to strike her, he would be within his assigned rights to rip their offending limb from its socket and shove it down the fucker’s wailing throat. If he happened to hope Pyotr would be the one to challenge him on the issue, well, that was a thought he kept to himself.
“Lina’s not taking visitors tonight,” Otto said. He kept any inflection from his voice but held Pyotr’s glare.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Pyotr replied. “I’m Pakhan now, and I demand to speak to my deadweight, half-blood cousin. Let me in or I’ll have you demoted, mongrel.”
Otto folded his arms across his chest in a calculated movement. He’d already shoved the sleeves of his button-down up to his elbows, revealing all the tattoos that painted his forearms as well as emphasizing the bulge of his muscles when he flexed. He could feel the material of his old dress shirt straining against his biceps and imagined how that added to the visual.
It wasn’t that Pyotr was small or weak by average standards. It was that Pyotrwasaverage. He was in-shape, on the lean side, and vain and insecure. Otto, on the other hand, was tall, muscular, and fit and they both knew who would hit harder if or when that became a question. One of them trained for it. One of them had never felt the pressure of their life depending on the strength in their fist.
Pyotr swallowed visibly. “I said let me in, Voronin.”
“Upgrading to my name won’t change my answer,” Otto replied. “You’re not Pakhan. No one is. And I sure as fuck don’t take orders from you. Lina will come out when she’s ready, not before. Now fuck off.”
Pyotr’s lip curled, his fists flexing at his sides. “Evie!” he bellowed, “Get your ass—”
Otto surged forward, pulling the door shut behind him to seal off Pyotr’s potential access and not stopping until he had the sniveling bastard backed against the opposite wall. “I. Said. No.”
A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “Otto. Create space before I’m forced to do something unpleasant.”
Otto held still long enough to watch Pyotr shudder, shoulders up close to his neck in a reflexively protective posture. Then, for the sake of camaraderie, he took a large step backward and cut his eyes to the side as Grisha’s hand fell away. “If he violates Lina’s space, I’m within my right to remove him.”
