Page 8 of In Her Blood
Grisha smiled like he thought Otto’s response was funny.
Pyotr side-stepped closer to his own guard, his shoulder nearly pressing into the man’s chest. “You’re full of shit, Voronin,” he spat. “I don’t care how loyal your father’s been to us, you better watch yourself or I’ll have you out playing mule in a fucking heartbeat, you hear me?”
Otto rolled his jaw. “Like I said, I don’t take orders from you.” He turned to go back to his post, having no interest in an extended dialogue with either of them.
“The vote is just a formality!” Pyotr called after him. “You know I’ll be chosen. I’m theonlychoice. You and my bitch cousin should be licking my fucking shoes.”
Otto twisted back around, barely taking note of the restrictive hand Grisha had placed on Pyotr’s own shoulder, and let a little of his anger into his voice. “You’re not the only choice, you spoiled fuckin’ brat. You’re not even theheir. Lina is. And if you ever talk about her like that again in front of me, I’ll—”
“Otto,” Grisha interrupted, tone sharp, “be careful you don’t say anything you can’t take back, yes?”
Otto sucked in a rough breath. He wouldn’t really regret threatening the snot-nosed brat, but he heard Grisha’s point. He shoved down the volatile edges of his emotions and asked, “Did you need to deliver a message?”
Pyotr scoffed, then spit, landing a slimy piece of phlegm on Otto’s slacks. “Just tell my cousin that once I am sworn in, if she doesn’t start pulling her weight, she’ll be on the streets. She’s to earn her protection or drown with the rest of the trash.” He twisted and stomped away, not waiting for a response.
Otto held his position outside Lina’s door until both Pyotr and Grisha had disappeared around the corner. Then he slipped back inside, threw the lock for good measure, and made his way back through the suite. He felt a certain degree of arguably irrational, persistent anxiety at letting Lina out of his sight at any time, but it seemed to have heightened since she’d returned to the main house.
More specifically, since Mikhail’s mysterious collapse.
No one was sure what had killed him. They only knew what hadn’t. He’d been found slumped over his work desk, not twenty minutes since the last time anyone had had eyes on him, with no sign of bodily injury. Pyotr was convinced it had been a heart attack or a stroke. Many agreed it had to have been age-related, as Mikhail had been in his late seventies.
Otto had his doubts, and he knew Lina did, too. That was why she’d wanted an autopsy. Most of Otto’s doubts had flared when Pyotr sabotaged the autopsy and loudly, publicly ridiculed Lina for having wanted to humiliate and disrespect her father in his death with such a procedure. They were little more than trigger words used to incite the brigadiers and lower-ranks in attendance that day into siding with him, at least on that one issue, but it had worked. And despite beingthe daughter and sole next of kin, Lina was forced to bury her father without answers.
Otto wasn’t superstitious enough to believe the house itself had killed the man. He just also wasn’t naïve enough to believe it was utterly impossible for someone to reach the balcony outside Lina’s room and perhaps sneak inside while he was distracted. He didn’t like to think it, but lots of things were possible.
So, when Lina wasn’t where he’d left her, for a split-second, it felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. His head snapped to the side, taking in the closed and perfectly intact state of the double-door windows. No form shifted on the balcony beyond. He turned his head to survey the room again, and only then did he register the sound of running water.
She’d disappeared into the attached bathroom. He could see she had left the door ajar, and light poured out from within, accompanying the tell-tale sound of shower spray hitting glass and marble.
Otto swallowed hard and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. He absolutely hated when she took spontaneous, off-schedule showers. But all he could do was move up to the wall, just shy of the door, and settle in to wait. He couldnotpicture the water sluicing down her lightly tanned skin, gliding over her perfect curves and the way it might make her tits glisten. He couldnotthink about how he wanted to follow each and every one of those trails with his tongue. He couldnotimagine her standing beneath the rainfall showerhead, holding herself and shaking as she used the deluge to drown her tears.
He jerked in place.What?
Straightening, Otto slid to the edge of the open doorframe and cocked his head in an effort to hear better. The adrenaline suddenly pumping through his system did an excellent job of dousing the inappropriate arousal.
And there it was. A muted, but distinctive, sob.
Fuck.
He couldn’t let her hurt like that. He couldn’t let her fall apart, feeling like she’d lost everything and everyone who might or was supposed to be there for her. It took two seconds to pull his phone and car keys from a pocket, pitching them toward the bed. He didn’t exactly keep a change of clothes in her private space, but he didn’t give a shit, either. He’d strip down if it wouldn’t just make everything more awkward.
Otto pushed into the bathroom and grabbed the towel she’d set out for herself off the vanity. He wrenched open the glass door of the oversized shower enclosure and swiftly reached inside to turn off the spray. Lina let out a startled shriek, but he ignored the sound and flare of panic in her eyes, quickly pulling her to him as he wrapped her in the towel. He bundled her tight, scooped her up, and carried her from the steam-filled room.
“Otto…” The tangled emotion in Lina’s voice made him tighten his grip.
“It’s okay, Lina,” he said without thinking. He lowered onto the loveseat and pressed her against his chest, ignoring the way her sopping hair instantly soaked through the shoulder of his shirt. “I’ve got you.”
She let out a shuddering breath and burrowed into him, her knuckles pressing into his sternum where she held the towelaround herself. Seconds passed before she found the strength to speak, her face still pressed against his collar. “Someone … someone killed my father, Otto.”
He rumbled an acknowledgment and stroked one hand up and down her spine. He had no argument for her, but he’d been too focused on doing what he could to get her through the week to keep an eye open for suspicious behavior.
She didn’t actually wait for a response. “And now we’re stuck”—she sucked in a ragged gasp—“living with that traitor.” She shifted over him and one of her hands found its way to curl into his shirt before she finally lifted her head, demanding his gaze.
As if he could deny her.
Her beautiful, tear-lined, rage-filled blue-gray eyes stared back at him. “I’m going to take the title my father left behind. I’m going to take control, whether these sons of bitches like it or not, and I’m going to find out how he really died.” Her throat worked on a swallow when she paused, and a flicker of vulnerability slipped into her eyes. “I need to know you’re with me, Otto.”
It would have been so easy to kiss her. With as close as they were, it was almost harder not to.
