The Enemy in My Bed by L.K. Shaw

Chapter 5

Mila

Death finally removesthe blindfold a short time later. To my surprise, he also unties my hands. My wrists burn from the rope that’s rubbed them raw. I can’t tell what mind game he’s playing with me. Which is probably his intent. I’m so tired. Tired of worrying.

Of fighting.

Of being scared.

I should be grateful I’m no longer in that room, but what if I’m going some place worse? My eyes dart around, observing the neighborhood we’re driving through. I have no idea where we are. I’ve always stayed in the Russian neighborhoods of Brooklyn, and never ventured into Italian or Polish territory. My mother warned me of the dangers.

I can’t withhold my curiosity any longer. He already refused to answer the question, but I’ll ask again, anyway. “Where are you taking me?”

He shoots a glance in my direction before returning his attention forward. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

As if that weren’t ominous sounding. Since it’s obvious no more information is going to be forthcoming, all I can do is sit and stew in my worry.

We continue winding through the city and soon enter a residential area with house-lined streets, each building nearly on top of the one next to it. I catch a few glimpses of Manhattan, here and there, with its tall skyscrapers reaching toward the heavens, which means we’re reasonably close to the East River.

Finally, the driver pulls to a stop in front of a single story home with a small but well-maintained bright green yard outlined with a short wrought iron fence. Its reddish-brown brick and white stone exterior stands out between the once gleaming two- and three-story houses on either side, but whose siding has faded and dulled over the years. The small house feels like it’s from a different era.

The back door of the vehicle opens and Death smoothly exits. For the briefest moment I consider trying to run but quickly dismiss it. Where would I go? I’m a Russian in an Italian neighborhood owned by the mafia. No one would help me even if I somehow managed to evade him. Besides, his threat to make me regret any attempts to get away still rings in my ears. I believe him.

My door swings open and Death reaches in for me. I jerk away from him. “I can get out myself.”

Ignoring me, he wraps his giant hand around my upper arm more gently than I expect and helps me out of the town car. The driver opens the gate of the house, and we walk up the short sidewalk and four steps until we reach the porch. Someone opens the door from the inside, and Death directs me to precede him.

The entryway is open and surprisingly well lit. I’m escorted further into the bowels of the house. My eyes land on the familiar looking suit-clad man—who exudes pure power—standing just inside the living room. It only takes me a moment to place him. This is the woman’s husband. Which must make him Death’s boss. With his presence, I assume the single gunshot from their confrontation means that Mikhail is dead. Bitterness rises up my throat.

“Welcome,” he greets me as though I’m a guest and not a prisoner. His fierce expression belies the word he spoke, although he seems far less angry than Death, who hovers at my side.

I won’t act like I’m happy being here, so he doesn’t get a response. He studies me, and I try not to shift under his steel-eyed inspection. It feels as though I’m being judged. As though he has the right. Will he be my executioner?

His gaze shifts to the man next to me and back to meet mine. Whatever he sees causes his brow to crinkle in the slightest, but then his expression clears. He nods at Death and then moves toward us, stopping when he reaches my side.

“No matter what happens,”—he pauses, not looking at me, and I can sense a struggle within him—“thank you for helping my wife.”

He doesn’t wait for my reaction, which is shock and confusion, but instead continues through the room before the front door is opened and he departs out it.

“This will be your home for the immediate future,” Death interrupts my stunned silence. “It is completely secure, so I don’t recommend trying to leave.”

I glance around. Even Mikhail’s property wasn’t as lavish as this house. It’s sparkling clean, with shiny hardwood floors, and decorated with plush, colorful area rugs. A stunning chandelier hangs above our heads, the crystals reflecting the light like diamonds.

Large French doors give me a view of a perfectly landscaped back yard with a flower garden that would have made my sister envious.

“Why did you bring me here?” I ask.

“Because I chose to.”

I’m at the whim of yet another man who likes to hold power over me. It will never end.

“Meals will be brought to you. There’s a bedroom down the hall, as well as a bathroom.” He gestures in that direction before his dark gaze returns to mine. “The windows are polycarbonate and completely secured.”

“Polycarbonate?” I don’t know this word.

“Bulletproof. Unbreakable. There is also a high tech security system,” he replies. “All that to say…no one leaves this house unless I want them to.”

I’ve exchanged one prison for another it seems, no matter how dressed up and pretty the picture presents.

“Is that everything, then?” I ask, anxious for him to leave.

Death studies me, as though he’s not sure what to make of my almost casual attitude. He closes the distance between us. I take several hasty steps backward, but he keeps coming until I hit a wall behind me and have nowhere else to go.

He lays his palms on either side of my head, caging me in. “Do you wish for there to be something else?”

Heat pours off his body. My eyes remain locked on his chest, and my heart pounds with fear inside mine.

“Do you?” he asks again in a low voice, leaning in so his breath ghosts across my face.

My nails dig into my palms. I hate that he taunts me. I’m like food he plays with before snatching it up and devouring it.

“No,” I finally reply, my voice shakier than I wish. “There’s nothing else.”

“I think there is, actually.” The look in his eyes ramps up my heart rate and sends my stomach plummeting. “You need a shower.”

Is his purpose to humiliate me? My face flushes and a burning starts in my belly. “If you would kindly get out of my way, I can take one.”

He chuckles, but it lacks real humor. “You still haven’t seemed to figure out how this works.”

These mind games he keeps playing are making me insane.

“Everything you do,” he continues, “comes with a price. If you want something, I need something in return.”

Of course he does.

“I guess we’re both going to have to endure my stench, then.” My mouth snaps shut, and I wait for the pain to come for my defiance.

A mocking grin crosses his face instead. “That is where you are wrong. You’re going to take a shower, whether you want to or not. Having privacy is another matter entirely. Are you going to clean yourself, or am I going to do it for you?”

“What do you want in exchange for giving me privacy, then?” I have to be sure I’m willing to pay the price.

“Answers,” Death says.

Always with the answers. “I don’t know that I have them.”

“For your sake, I hope you do.” He pauses. “Why were you at Mikhail’s compound?”

I weigh how much to tell him. His closeness makes it hard to think. “Revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”

“He killed my mother,” I say. Both she and Mikhail are dead, so it doesn’t matter if I tell him.

“Why?”

“Because he could.”

Death raises a brow. “Even for a Russian, Mikhail was calculating. Smart. He never did anything without a reason. That includes killing someone.”

I straighten as much as I can with him standing so close. “You asked me a question. I can’t help it if you don’t like the answer you get.”

That scary smirk crosses his face before he grabs me and practically tucks me under his arm. I kick and scream, but his hold doesn’t loosen. Not even when I pound my fists against his stomach. I go for his groin, but he merely catches my hands in his as he drags me down the hallway.

Panic spikes inside me, and my cries grow louder. I twist and writhe, desperate to escape his clutches. He’s too strong. The bright light of the bathroom makes me flinch. I only spot a giant garden tub before Death tears at my shirt. In a frenzied motion, I fight, but he easily overpowers me. In seconds, it lies in a ragged heap on the floor, and I wait for him to finish the job.

“What the fuck are those?” he barks.

I freeze, then yank out of his grasp, wrapping my arms around myself and backing up against the wall. It’s cold against my skin, which feels good compared to the heated shame washing over me. I can’t look at Death.

“Mila,” he snaps, and, against my will, my gaze darts maniacally to his. He’s staring at me in horror. He does have emotions. Such a stupid thing to be in awe about in this moment.