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Lost in Moscow's Secret 53
MILAIWAS BURNING IN THE flames of hell. It was the only thing that explained the heat consuming me from the inside out. Though hell wasn’t supposed to be so inviting . . . or smell like a Russian forest . . . or fit as well as Armani.It did contain the faint scent of blood, however.I blinked against the sun streaming in through the window. The bright morning light was only shadowed by Ronan’s body—which was, of course, the embodiment of hellfire itself.My face was pressed against his chest, and I was pretty sure some dried priest’s blood had rubbed off on my cheek. That should be the last straw to this messed up tête-à-tête, but somehow, I knew the deceased had been a really shitty priest.One of my legs was intertwined with Ronan’s as I slowly suffocated beneath his heavy thigh, the deadweight of his armaround me, and all the heat. It was bliss.I’d always disliked my height, though that was before I realized if I was any shorter, I’d never be able to feel so many inches of this
Lost in Moscow's Secret 54
MILA“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” I asked Ronan, who walked away from me, the lines of his back as tense as granite. He knew I was asking about my mother and that my papa murdered her practically in front of my eyes.“I don’t know anything,” was all he said before going into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind him.I stared at his absence and realized he didn’t want me to know the truth. He was trying to protect my view of my father. He knew how much my papa meant to me, and while I had no doubt Ronan was going through with his revenge, he still didn’t want to mar the vision I had of my father.My papa killed my mother.He callously shot her in the same house I was in.My chest held an ache so sharp, the pain searched for holes to spread through. It was hard to fathom how the father I knew and loved could do that—though, in the back of my mind, I must have always known. The knowledge warped everything I thought I understood. Thinking about it sent a harsh throb through my head.
Lost in Moscow's Secret 55
MILAYULIA STOPPED ME IN THE doorway of my bedroom, giving me a derisive perusal from my head to my toes.“We have guests,” she said sternly. “You must do something with your”—she flicked a hand at my chest—“bosom.”I looked down at said bosom and saw nothing wrong with it. I was even wearing pants for a change—high-waisted bell bottoms. One would think Yulia would take that as a win. I knew Ronan would.I lifted my gaze to hers. “They’ve been called ‘boobs’for decades, FYI. And considering the fact I was tied to a bed naked the last time we had guests, I find your request a bit hypocritical.”She put her bony hands on her hips. “That was only in guest room. You were not flaunting your bosomaround the house.”Spread-eagled naked for guests to see in the guest room:Not wearing a bra beneath my T-shirt downstairs: Made sense.I sighed. “What would you like me to do with my bosom, Yulia?”“Strap it in a bra,” she said as if it was obvious. “And not some see-through thing only meant to
Lost in Moscow's Secret 56
This was the first time I’d ever had the urge to stab someone with a fork. Instead, I brushed her hand off mine before her fakeness rubbed off on me.“I’mnot the one doing the subjecting here. Captive, remember?”She frowned. “Obviously, the staff feels bad for you . . . Just think of the hassle your diet must put on poor Polina. She is getting older and . . . larger every day.” Nadia shot a glance at Gianna’s belly. “No offense, of course.”“Mamma isn’t fat!” Kat yelled before anyone else could get a word in. “She’s growing my brother. And you’re rude!”“Kat, what did I tell you?” Gianna chided with a small smile.The little girl’s scowl at Nadia faded, then she mimicked the feigned look of pity she’d observed countless times this morning. “I’msure you’re only so rude because of lots of past ’motional trauma.” Then she added, “No offense, of course.”It was a violent struggle not to laugh knowing she got that “emotional trauma” bit from Ronan earlier. Nadia’s eyes narrowed, about to
Lost in Moscow's Secret 57
“MAYBE I COULD BACKPACK ACROSS Europe,” I announced.Head resting on his paws, Khaos looked unimpressed with the idea. I’d snuck him in through the back door and up to my room. If this was my last night here, I didn’t want to spend it alone. Khaos had secured a decent chunk of my bed and was already shedding everywhere. I loved it.Even after learning what my papa did for business, it was hard to see him in a different light than the father who washed my hair when I was a child. I couldn’t deal with the thought of him dying tomorrow or the truth of my mother, so I focused on the things I could control.Lying on my stomach, I rested my chin on my hand. “I suppose you need some kind of monetary support to backpack—or at least a talent and a hat.” I sighed, depressed. “I don’t have either of those.”“What about college?” I perked up. “Maybe I could get a scholarship. I am a little bit smart— book-wise at least. I can’t say I’m street smart, or I obviously wouldn’t be here . . . But if I
Lost in Moscow's Secret 58
MILARAIN DRIPPED DOWN THE CAR window, blurring my view of remote Russia as Albert drove us to our destination. Snow capped the pine trees, outlined the horizon, and covered the ground.The winter wonderland melted and turned to mud in front of my eyes.My mind returned to an hour before, when Ronan slipped my arms into a mysterious yellow faux fur coat. I hadn’t said a word as he zipped it up before sliding my feet into a new pair of ankle boots. I hadn’t realized how dirty and worn my others were until then. He rose to his full height, pulled my hair out frombeneath my coat, and said, “Poydem.” Let’s go.Outside, I turned to give the house one last look and saw the menacing stone fortress in a different light. It was where Yulia’s eccentricity dwelled. Where Polina’s shouts and home-cooked meals could be found. Where rumpled black sheets lay undisturbed. Where doors, mirrors, and hearts were broken. And where sparks were made . . .
Lost in Moscow's Secret 59
MILAI’D ONCE THOUGHT RONAN WOULD let me drown; that he would watch me sink, curly hair floating and aglow. But in the end, it was his voice that dragged me fromthe darkness.“Prosnis’, Mila.” Wake up. “Goddammit, prosnis’.”Ronan had demanded so much fromme since we met—so many orders he was confident would be met—but this request held a vulnerable crack. It wasn’t a demand at all. It was a need.I found another weakness. He was weak for me.Drawing in a shallow breath, I struggled to open my eyes. I forced themopen and saw I was lying on the floor of a moving car that vibrated beneath me. Yellow and red. My new coat was ruined, the faux fur matted with streaks of blood. Crimson-soaked bandages lay discarded around me. My shirt was torn open, and the sight of the hole gushing blood in my stomach made me so dizzy I was almost pulled under again. Though Ronan’s voice as he snapped something at Albert grounded me.My eyes lifted to Ronan, who ripped
Lost in Moscow's Secret 60
THE GUNSHOT WOUND IN MY arm throbbed and bled through my shirt. I must have busted some stitches open when I punched Alexei. And then Albert, who simply opened the car door for me after Mila dismissed me from her life. I didn’t know how to get rid of this irritable, edgy sensation beneath my skin besides violence—and even that didn’t release the tight, hollow ache in my chest.It felt like she was stealing something fromme. Pain I could stand.Robbery I could not.“I flew back for ‘important’business just to watch you silently muse on all your life choices,” my brother said in Russian, sitting on my office couch. “Care to share?”I didn’t know how to explain the feeling in any other way, so I sat back in my chair and said, “She stole fromme.”He raised a brow. “Your pet?” “Her name is Mila,” I growled.Kristian sipped the vodka in his glass, trying to conceal a smile. “So what’d she take? You do have some nice crystal glasses.”
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