Sex, Lies & Nikolai (25 page)

Frantically, I pull all of him out: his arm, his head, the remainder of his body, and all the stuffing coming out of it.

Grant is a sadistic fuck. He knew what this fucking teddy meant to her.

I feel like I’m going to cry.

Over a teddy bear.

That dick. That motherfucking dick.

“Alina,” I hear Nikolai’s voice.

I’m fuming too much to respond.

He comes back in and walks to where I am. “What is that?”

I sniff and look up at him, my hands full of stuffing. “It’s Rumple.”

Nikolai makes me bag up Rumple, assuring me he’ll find someone who can put him back together again. I highly doubt it, though. I think he’s a goner.

Scarlett’s fallen asleep, thank god, but she’ll want that bear the minute her eyes are open. I’m thinking of what I’ll say to her in the morning, when the front door suddenly opens and Vlad appears, a workbag in hand.

Nikolai says something to Vlad and he nods in return, turning back to the door. When Nikolai stares at me, he answers my questioning look simply with, “You need a new lock.”

I don’t know how long I stand there in disbelief, but by the time I snap out of it, Vlad is already getting to work.

“It’s a form of prevention,” Nikolai tells me. “If he wants to get in, he will, but if he’s lazy, he’ll just move on.”

I haven’t even come down entirely from Grant’s intrusion, and Nikolai’s already getting the lock changed.

“Thank you,” I tell him sincerely.

He nods once and leaves my side to help Vlad.

Within a half an hour, the lock’s been changed and I’ve been given a new set of keys. I thank Vlad and he leaves. I expect Nikolai to follow, but he’s walked into the living room, stopping at the balcony window to peer out.

I can already hear the sirens in the background and the banging next door. Crazy psycho man from next door was replaced by crazy psycho man number two over a month ago. This one does a lot more screaming than hitting, though, so he’s the lesser of two evils.

Nikolai hears the shouts and his back stiffens. He looks over his shoulder at me, frowning at the commotion. “This must keep you up.”

I smile shortly, collapsing on my couch. “He’s not so bad compared to the last one.”

He turns to me, crossing his arms now. “This is a very fucked up area.”

I shoot him a wry look. “Yeah, I know, I live in it.”

“Has anyone ever hassled you?”

“No.”

“You answered that too quickly.”

“Because it’s a straight forward question.”

“Getting the truth out of you is like drawing blood from a stone.”

“You’re just as evasive, Nikolai.”

He takes a step closer to me. “What do you want to know?”

“Nothing.” Everything. All of the in-between.

“Come on,” he insists, watching me. “You must want to know something.”

I begin to shake my head, on the verge of denying that, when I pause.

Being around Nikolai so much has taught me a lot about him. He’s a pissy man; he’s got a temper as short as my arm, but he’s also fiercely passionate about his pawn shop and…being with me in the bedroom. He’s fair, but not easily forgiving. I’ve witnessed this countless times when he’s dealt with men that owe him. He’s adaptable and cocky as fuck. He’s also painfully close to Vlad, an unbreakable bond I get curious about often.

I don’t fear him anymore because I know the nature of him well. I’ve got that down pat, but…there are still the simpler things about him I’m in the dark about. Things like…

I look up. “What do your tattoos mean?”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

I expect him to answer vaguely, but as he looks over the tattoos on his hands, a thoughtful look flashing through his eyes, he nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’ll tell you.”

I wait, but what he does surprises me. He throws his shirt off and then his pants, until he’s in nothing but his briefs. Then he stands there, in my tiny little living room, half-naked for me to inspect.

I’ve already seen his body countless times before, but never as he’s standing so still. I look over his chest and abdomen, and the tattoos crawling over his thighs and legs. When I ask him to spin, he does, and I see all the other markings, some blurred from countless scars.

After I’ve looked him over, he turns back to me and starts to run them through me. “This is the insignia of the brotherhood I grew up in.” He points to a cross the size of his hand that’s on his chest. It’s covered in thorns and there’s writing over top of it. “That reads ‘No Honour Among Cowards’.” I want to ask him about it, but he blazes through to a series of markings on his chest. “These are the dates I went to prison, and the crimes committed.”

“You’re a criminal.”

“By my choosing,” he explains. “Every time I went to prison it was for a reason. The actual crime was committed for the sake of getting inside the walls.”

“Why?”

He doesn’t meet my eye. “I did things in there. All for the Sokolov.”

He tells me more dates. Special dates for particular things he doesn’t get specific about, but I have a feeling they’re worse than the prison dates.

“On my back is the ranking I held in the Sokolov.”

I can’t help but ask, “What was your ranking?”

Nikolai shrugs casually. “Not important.”

I doubt that.

There are bible quotes about salvation, and a word over his heart that translates to ‘lawless’. More quotes, about choosing to live against the law than a slave to it. There’s a black raven on his abdomen; a symbol, he explains, of the mediator animal between life and death.

I’m blown away, to be honest. Every single one of them stands for something. None of them are there to make his skin look pretty. There’s no flow to them, either. In a way, they all look like they’re clashing for space.

I catch notice of a series of dots on his inner bicep, and when I ask about those, he simply says, “Every dot is a year served in prison.”

There are a lot of dots.

“What about the ticks on your upper back?” I ask.

He hesitates this time. “A count of something else.”

I go still, my face paling when I start to realize what they might be.

Shit. I’m with a madman.

The ones on his hands are dates. One of his mother’s passing, another of the day he started his life over. I wonder if they coincide, but with the sudden frown on his face, I realize they must.

Then there are others he won’t tell me about, and I’ve reached a point I’d rather not know.

“It’s a canvas of your life,” I remark at the end.

“The Sokolov believes you must tell your life story with your body. It’s a habit I couldn’t shake, even after I left,” he explains, sliding back into his pants. “So there you have it, rybka. That’s that.”

“You were still evasive.”

He gives a stern look. “For your sake, you don’t want to know the details.”

“Of what?” I push, tilting my head to the side as I stare at his chest. “That you really are mafia?”

He pulls the zipper back up and tucks his hands into his pockets, looking down at me. “Was, Alina. I
was
.”

I watch him throw his shirt back on, curious more than ever about why he isn’t in it anymore. Then something occurs to me, and it disturbs me a lot more than those tattoos did.

“Sokolov,” I state. “That’s your last name. Your… family is mafia.”

He nods once slowly. “Yes.”

“So your ranking must be high.”

Another nod. “It was, but not anymore.”

What were you?

He pulls his keys out of his pocket and I know then that he’s intending to leave. I don’t want him to. His company fills a void in this place. He makes me feel safe and warm.

“What happens now?” I ask him.

“With what?”

“We had a bit of a tiff today. Do you…Do you still want me to come around or…?”

Nikolai doesn’t answer for a few moments, deliberating my question. I’m scared of the answer now, and every silent second makes me more anxious.

“You look worried, rybka,” he finally says, studying me. “What does it mean to you if we stop?”

“I don’t want to stop,” I admit, and it takes everything to do that.

He approaches me and bends over just long enough to deliver a chaste kiss. “Then we won’t.”

I look into his eyes. “You don’t hate me?”

“It concerns me you think I could hate you so easily.”

“I’m not easy, I know that.”

“That’s what I like. You hide behind lies, but your body doesn’t lie to me. Not when I take you and” – he smiles devilishly – “I like what your body says when I take you.”

He kisses me tenderly again and it makes every inch of me burn for more.

Then he pulls back and gives me one last look before he leaves.

I miss him the second he’s gone.

*

Scarlett doesn’t take the news about Rumple well. It’s actually the first time in a very long time I see her deteriorate to this extent. It’s not in her nature, but then again she’s never gone without Rumple before. She refuses to get out bed or get dressed. She doesn’t cry, but she crosses her arms and looks angry.

“Scarlett,” I tell her soothingly. “I have work, angel. I have to get you dressed and ready.”

She doesn’t answer.

“Scar, please.”

“Give him to me then,” she pleads.

“He’s getting fixed up.”

“He was never broken!”

I sigh and lay down next to her, but she turns so her back is to me. I wasn’t very specific about what happened. I simply told her he went away to get fixed. I understand her confusion and anger. I would be feeling this way too.

I run my fingers through her long blonde strands, and then I tell her honestly, “Grant tore him to pieces. Then he stuffed him in the garbage and I found Rumple in four different pieces. My friend Nikolai says he’s going to find someone who’ll fix him.”

Scarlett slowly turns around to face me. “Why would Grant do that?”

“Because some people are horrible.”

“Like Mom.”

There was a time I would have shaken my head and said some pretty words, but now I just nod. “Yeah, like Mom.”

Her sullen demeanour shifts slightly. She moves closer to me and wraps her arm around my neck, tucking her head against my chest. She stays like that for a while, giving me affection that I realize she must have poured into that damn teddy bear.

“Your friend will really fix him?” she wonders, hopeful.

“He’s a man of his word,” I assure her.

She relaxes, the anger slowly leaving her body. “Okay. I’ll wait for him.”

I hug her to me just as tightly and let out a long breath. This girl is my entire world and I would die if anything happened to her.

I decide right then I’m not going to work. Scarlett needs me, and I’m going to make her feel better.

*

We go shopping later. I buy some baking supplies and ingredients for cupcakes. When we get back, we spend an hour in the kitchen baking chocolate cupcakes with pink icing. She’s all smiles at this point, getting her hands filthy. She lets go of the flour at one point and it spills everywhere. She looks to me with alarmed eyes, but I just laugh. “You can clean up a mess,” I tell her. “Nothing wrong with getting a bit dirty.”

“Roberta hates it,” she responds. “That’s why I stay out of the kitchen.”

“Roberta’s old, so cleaning up is harder for her.”

We throw a tray into the oven and I sweep up the floor. She throws all surface garbage into the bin and then fetches me the dustpan.

“I wish it was like this every day,” she says. “Just you and me.”

“We can bake more often together.”

She smiles. “A cake next time.”

“What flavour?”

“Uh,” she thinks, tapping her finger against her lip. “Strawberry.”

“Yum.”

“With skittles on top.”

“Skittles?!” I fake gag and she giggles.

We kick back on the couch later and feast on our attempted baking efforts. It’s overdone on chocolate and we bite into clumps of sugar that has me choking when I try and swallow, but they’re still the best cupcakes of my life.

I rub a bit of icing on her cheek. Scarlett laughs and does the same until our faces are sticky and covered in sickly-sweet icing.

“I think we should stay out of the kitchen,” she declares, spitting a hard clump into her napkin.

“But I had so much fun,” I pout.

She smiles so bright, her cheeks turn red. “I had a lot of fun too.”