Page 11 of The Red Room
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” He brushes the hair from my face and behind my ear. Our lips are inches away from each other, and I can taste the tang of vodka on his breath. “I should be the one apologizing.”
Apologizing?Him? He wasn’t the one who pushed me to the ground, asked questions that were none of his business or caused issues for his family or club. Why in the hell would he apologize?
“You? Why would you apologize?”
Nik flashes the signature grin that will surely haunt me for the remainder of the night. “Because I didn’t do this sooner.” He brings his palm to the back of my neck, slowly bringing me closer to him. Everything around us fades to static. The car’s low rumble. The chattering coming from the sidewalk. The muffled music of the club. All of it is white noise when our lips are on the verge of colliding.
“Nikolai.”
He stops short and lowers his head in a huff. “Da?”
Dimitri places an arm on his shoulder apprehensively. “Viktor says he needs to see you. That it’s urgent.”
Nik sighs and rubs his thumb on my cheek. “Little brothers,” he says and shakes his head. The scent of him fills the air, replacing the smell of soon to be wet pavement and the rains looming overhead. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
I bite at my bottom lip, the same spot his mouth should be right now. “I’m—I’m not sure.”
He continues to stare at me, his eyes unyielding. “Come. I promise to make it worth your while.”
“Okay,” I finally say and nod.
“Okay.” He stands upright, smooths his shirt down each strong arm, and takes my hand in his. When Nikolai Vostik kisses it, fires erupt in my palm like an explosion will start at each knuckle and work its way up my wrist. “I will see you tomorrow, Natalia.”
With that, he follows Dimitri to the front of Völk, and as I plop down in the seat of the black sedan, I stare out the passenger window waiting for him to look back.
FIVE
One day before the full moon
I wake upin my studio apartment, groggy, and with the taste of Vostik still on my tongue. It’s bright out, bright enough to highlight my poorly decorated walls and kitchen, which doubles as a living room, dining room, oh, and a goddamn laundry room, too. I really need to move.
Courtney is sprawled on the futon. It was as far as I could get her by myself when we barged in last night. One of her legs hangs over the back while the other is planted on the floor. If I’m being honest, it reminds me of my last OBGYN appointment, but luckily enough, she still has her clothes on. I watch her for a moment, noting the way her fingers and toes twitch. A bad dream? The incoming of a hangover? I’m not sure, but none of it seems to disrupt the soft snores breaking from her partially open mouth.Yeah, she’s out all right.
It was hell getting her onto the damn couch by myself. Helping her find a comfortable position when her body was as limp as a sandbag? Nearly impossible. Her head is still where I left it, propped on a pillow and tilted to the side. Didn’t want totake the chance of her choking on her own vomit in her sleep, though I obviously didn’t care enough about the dirty carpets of my four-hundred-square-foot apartment to leave a trash can on the floor in case she did.
It's quiet in the loft, well, besides the sirens fading down the streets, and the slight snores from my otherwise indisposed friend sleeping off a few too many. I’ve never seen her get carried out of a bar before, and something tells me she might need to take it easy the next few nights. Maybe longer. “Come,” Nik had said. “I promise to make it worth your while.” Will he be disappointed if I don’t? Maybe, but by now I’m used to disappointing the people in my life. Why should Nikolai Vostik be any different?
A fresh pot of coffee brewing, I brush my teeth until the tang of that terrible vodka is gone—two times and a swish of mouthwash to be exact—and I reenter the living room to find Courtney no longer the living dead, but awake and swiping on her phone.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” I say and smirk.
She looks up at me, dark circles resting under each bloodshot eye. “I’m never drinking again. What the hell happened last night?”
I pull my only two mugs from the cabinet and take turns filling each. “We were hanging out at the bar with Nik and Viktor, you took a shot, and then—” I place my hand at my forehead and pretend to faint like some terrible low-budget actress. “You were out.”
Courtney winces and rubs her temple. “Is that why my head is fucking killing me?”
“Oh, you didn’t fall on the ground.” I blow away the steam lifting from my mug and sip. “Nik caught you.”
Her mouth hangs open. “Nik? Nik caught me?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Not Viktor?” She scowls in annoyance.
An unintended chuckle escapes my mouth, and I do my best not to spit coffee on the countertop. “No. That asshole stepped aside like you had the bubonic plague.”
She shakes her head, letting disheveled black hair bounce on each shoulder. “My hero. I fucking knew he was a prick.”