His dark eyes went wide with outrage. “You have the girl? What the fuck? Get rid of her.”
“I’ll send her on to Mira when I’m done with—”
“Get rid of her.”
His words stopped me cold. This was an order, and disobeying it would be really fucking stupid. It was the right thing to do.
I leveled my cool gaze at him. “All right.”
9
Oksana
It should have been hard to sleep in a strange bed under a Markovic roof, but staying alert around Vasilije was exhausting. I’d picked a luxurious looking guest bedroom with green-striped wallpaper, burrowed under the covers of the bed, and when I blinked, morning sunlight streamed from the window.
The house was quiet.
I grabbed a towel from the attached bathroom, wrapped it around my bare body, and made my way down the stairs. Vasilije had dropped my overnight bag in the closet by the garage when we came in last night, and I hoped it was still there.
I let out a deep sigh of relief when I spotted it, and gripped the strap with eager hands. I’d take every tiny victory I could, since I suspected my time with him would only get more difficult as it went on. If it went on. I ducked into the hallway bathroom and dressed as quickly as possible.
Even though the clothes weren’t actually mine, the off-brand pair of jeans and thin camel-colored sweater made me feel like myself. The woman I’d been while wearing Vasilije’s robe last night scared the hell out of me. I could tell myself I was only playing a role, but if that were true, why the fuck had any part of me . . . enjoyed it?
There was a simple note left on the table in the kitchen, scrawled in messy male handwriting, telling me to shower, eat breakfast, and be dressed to leave by noon. He wasn’t kicking me out. He had other plans for me, and I wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or trepidation. Not that I had time for either. It was already after nine, according to the clock on the security system display. There seemed to be one in every room of the house.
I rummaged through the pantry for something quick, and was surprised to find he had actual food in his house. He was twenty-four. I’d expected frozen dinners and beer to be the only staples he lived on. But he had fresh fruit. Bread. Even eggs and milk. I stared at the stocked fridge and tried to picture the mobster making out his grocery shopping list.
My stomach gurgled. I was starving. I had barely eaten yesterday, and wasn’t sure when my next meal would come, so I cooked up a few eggs and scarfed them down. I drank a huge glass of orange juice and ate two slices of toast while I stood by the sink, gazing out the window at the golf course.
I kept my mind empty.
Thinking about what I needed to do not only brought anxiety, but analysis of what had happened at the piano, and I wasn’t ready to go there. Do whatever you need to do, to get the job done, Oksana. Sacrifices will have to be made.
I scrubbed the dishes clean and put everything back just as I’d found it, then hurried upstairs to the green wallpapered room. There was generic shampoo and conditioner already in the shower there, which didn’t have a masculine fragrance like the stuff in Vasilije’s, as well as a hairdryer beneath the sink.
When I was showered and dressed, it left me ninety minutes to investigate and try to get to know him better. Less time, really. He was unpredictable and could show up without warning. I swallowed a breath as I stared at the door to his room, and scowled when I went inside and took in the unmade bed. A flash of dark, unwanted pleasure coasted through my body. He’d brought me to orgasm on that mattress with his head between my legs.
His gun and holster were gone. Did he always wear it, even at the dealership? How many used car salesmen were packing there?
The drawers contained clothes and nothing else. I surveyed the closet next, but there were only suits hanging on one side and casual clothes on the other. No safe. No backup guns. Nothing of interest, so my focus shifted to the office downstairs.
I had to be careful while digging around, though. The security system was sophisticated, and I couldn’t tell if it had surveillance cameras attached to it. I plopped down on the chair behind the desk and moved the mouse, waking the computer up. A login screen appeared, giving me the out I needed to search the drawers. If there was footage, it’d look as if I were searching for a password.
I knew I’d never find one. Vasilije wasn’t dumb enough to leave it around, but maybe there’d be something of interest in the desk—