Page 73 of Fight

He stopped short, though, smoothed his hand down his buttoned suit jacket.

“You trying to upset me, make this quick and easy for yourself?” he said.

I shook my head. “I hadn’t been, at least not intentionally. I guess you won’t do me that favor?”

He smiled, his face stretched so wide that I swore I could see every one of his teeth. “Oh no. Of course not,” he said.

I blinked but kept my eyes on him for a few seconds longer before I looked away.

“What were you just thinking?” he said.

“What makes you think I was thinking anything?” I asked, looking up at him again. As I took in the exaggerated distance that me sitting and him standing over me created, I felt a spark of irritation, but I pushed it down.

It came back when he smiled again, his face reflecting the amusement I couldn’t bring myself to feel.

“Your face tells all your secrets, koshenya,” he said.

His words hurt me more than I thought anything could, especially now. I knew why instantly. His words were so reminiscent of Ioan’s, and the circumstances only reinforced how different this was, how lost I was.

Markov was staring down at me like I was a science experiment, the smile that veered close to a leer reminding me of how loving Ioan had looked when he’d told me much the same thing. How his strong fingers had brushed against my skin as he’d kept his eyes on my face, coaxing those expressions from me.

He’d probably known that I loved him.

“Well?” Markov said, growing somewhat impatient.

I looked up at him sharply, having somehow forgotten for a moment that he was there. At least knowing Markov was there gave me something else to focus on besides my heart breaking yet again.

“Why?” I said, my voice sounding like my own, but the word itself barely uttered above a whisper.

“Why what?” he said.

He knew exactly what I was asking about, but he was enjoying this, dragging it out just for the pure satisfaction of it.

That irritation came back, but I squelched it again, reminding myself that I was beyond caring.

“When my mother…” I trailed off and then swallowed, tears clouding my vision before I regained control. “When she ran up her tab, why didn’t you cut her off? After that shit with your guard, why did you press the issue? Why insist I pay? And when I proved so disagreeable, why didn’t you just end it?”

“You mean why did I let you and your constant disruptions remain?” he asked.

I nodded curtly, regretting having asked the question, but somewhat grateful to have something of a resolution, even if it wasn’t one that would spare me since I was so far beyond deserving it.

He smiled his oily smile again, his eyes brightening. “I asked myself the same question, and the simple fact is, you amused me, koshenya,” he said.

“And now I don’t?” I asked, for the first time not cringing at his use of that god-awful nickname.

“Never think it,” he said, his lips curling in a gentle smile, his eyes going soft. “You do, very much. And you could for so much longer. You have no idea, do you?”

He looked at me, questioning, and I shook my head. “No idea of what?” I asked.

“No idea how much you make a man want to break you,” he said, his voice soft, flowing like honey as he leered at me.

But his words, his voice only made me realize something I hadn’t before. Ioan had never wanted to break me. He had done it more effectively than a thousand Markovs ever would, but he hadn’t wanted to see me broken, suffering, and I knew that with all my heart. I wasn’t my mother, and Ioan wasn’t like Markov, any of the others.

“Not all men,” I said to Markov.

He huffed. “My naive little one,” he said, tsking softly. “You think he’s different, but your protector is the same as me. He hides it, tries to, but think of it. Where’s the spirit that made you fight so hard against me?”

I said nothing, but he waited, watching me, clearly amused. Still, I stayed quiet, but he finally spoke. “Nothing to say? No angry words to hurl, no punches, no kicks? And why is that?” he said, smiling deeper now. “It’s because of him. Ioan fucked the fight right out of you. Now look at you, docile, broken, a shell of yourself.”