Page 103 of Untamed Beast
Leks pushes a plate of pasta towards me over the kitchen counter.
“Eat.”
I want to be strong enough to refuse, in protest at how I’m being treated, but my stomach gives an embarrassingly loud rumble. I devour the food. He gives me another helping and I scarf that down too. Whatever drugs he gave me to get me here must have knocked me out for more than just one night.
I narrow my eyes at him, feeling more awake after the food.
“I told you, I destroyed every single one of the devices.”
“Which is clearly a lie.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on the fact that your father knew, to the letter, the paintings that we were planning to flag to Zakharov as forgeries.”
“Which has nothing to do with me!”
My denials sound hollow, even to my ears, but I have nothing else to give Leks. I destroyed every one of the devices. If information got back to my father, it wasn’t from me.
He gives a heavy sigh, like he’s disappointed in me.
“If you’re not on board with the plan to bring your father down, I can understand that. You didn’t have to be involved. But don’t act like you’re on my side and then double-cross me.”
“I didn’t.”
“I trusted you.” Another heavy exhale. He’s acting so hard done by, when I’m the one who is kidnapped in this situation.
“You seriously think, after everything you’ve told me, that I would be providing my father with information?”
His gaze settles on me, heavy and absorbing.“That’s exactly what I think, Natalia. You’re a little traitor who distracted me with this,” he waves a hand in my general direction, “and some sob story about how much you loved your brothers to make me trust you.”
I open my mouth to protest that but he holds up a hand to stop me. Fine. I shut my mouth. There’s no point trying to reason with him, anyway.
“I don’t want to hear excuses.” His voice is harsh, with no space for argument. “Unless you’re about to confess, I suggest you stay quiet.”
I want to point out how unfair that is, but something about the tension in Leks's voice, like a string about to snap, gives me pause. He’s decided that I’m guilty and he doesn’t want to hear anything else.
So I stay silent for the rest of the day. Wherever we are, we’re high enough up in the mountains that the air has a cold bite to it. Nothing like the New York late-spring humidity that’s set in.
Leks wraps a scratchy blanket over my shoulders.
I shrug it off.
I don’t want his help.Not if he’s refusing to tell me where we are or what’s going on.
I pace around the tiny, 70s-era cabin. Eventually I dig out an ancient VHS player, find a videotape with some hand-written label scrawled on it, and flop onto the couch. There doesn’t seem to be much to do here except nap and look at trees.The ancient TV hisses to life to play an episode ofGolden Girls. At least whoever’s cabin this is has good taste in sitcoms.
The next morning, I wake to find him sliding out of my bed again. There’s only one bedroom, but if he’s acting this mad at me, I feel that he should at least put the effort in.
I close my hands around his wrist as he tries to leave. My body does crave his touch, even if he’s being ridiculous right now.
“Are you seriously trying to pretend you slept on the couch?”
There’s no amusement on his face. He gives me a withering look that threatens to fry me into dust. There are dark shadows under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept at all. He tugsaway from my hand like he wants to leave this conversation, his forearm muscles flexing, but lets me pull him back towards the bed.
“Please. Leks, I want you.” I soften my voice and try to remind him that he wants this too.
“You want me,” he repeats slowly. His hand comes to my chin, but his touch isn’t tender. It’s mechanical. He lifts my face, peering into my eyes.
