Sasha: Chapter 2

The smile on my face felt genuine.

Not sadistic. Not sarcastic. Fucking genuine.

It should have been my first clue. I ignored it. Second clue, the strain in my pants. I never got hard from just looking at a woman. She was so damn beautiful that it almost hurt to look at her.

She fixed those deep gray eyes on me, and it was like a punch to the gut. My world spun as I watched her cheeks flush and spread down her neck, and reluctantly I pictured whether her ass would redden with the same color.

The moment her soft mouth molded into mine, the world stopped spinning and one word came to mind. Mine. That should have been my final clue. I should have ended the kiss. Or maybe set the world on fire right then and there, then saved myself years of headaches.

But I didn’t. Hindsight was a bitch.

The woman had bewitched me. I pulled the bike in front of the Berkeley dorm. Branka Russo. I had kept tabs on her since Mia’s death. My promise to keep. I knew Branka’s grades, address, bars she frequented, favorite dish, her favorite color, her favorite song. I checked on her social platforms to ensure nobody was bullying her, checked her Pinterest to see what she liked. Overboard, yes. But it was the least I could do after failing Mia.

The moment I turned off my motorcycle, she released her tight grip on me and I regretted not taking the long way here.

A very long, roundabout way.

I helped her off the bike. “Thank you for the ride,” she retorted, her tone sassy and suggestive.

“Don’t play with fire, kotyonok,” I warned, fighting the strain in my pants. I couldn’t quite decide whether she was a kitten or a tigress. Either way, the nickname suited her. She had claws.

She rubbed her jaw, pensively as if she considered my words but the way her eyes shone with a challenge betrayed her.

“Moye Serdtse,” she started sweetly, although she butchered the pronunciation. My heart. The corner of my lips tugged up. I couldn’t give her my name and risk her recognizing it. But I’d have her call me her heart for this short while. “Playing with fire is my hobby.”

She strutted away from me and the strain in my pants demanded I go after her.

I didn’t.

Because I recognized the little girl. Fuck, she looked just like her older sister. A reminder of another failure.

Branka Russo was a mirror image of her older sister. I still remembered Mia’s battered face from that day. I’d gotten back to the barracks to find men with their hands on her. Grabbing her. Ripping her uniform.

Against her will.

I lost my shit. Reporting them didn’t even occur to me. I smashed their skulls and blew out their knee caps. Truthfully, if the commanding officer hadn’t pulled me off them, I would have killed them then.

But none of it mattered because I missed the most important sign.

I entered Mia’s quarters with a bag of pastries in my hand. The shower was on, the pitter-patter of the water running. I left the bag on the only table in the room and headed for the bathroom.

I knocked on the door. “Mia,” I called out.

No answer. I knocked again, then pressed my ear against the door.

It was then that I heard soft sobs. “Mia, I’m coming in.”

I waited three heartbeats for a protest before I pressed down on the handle and attempted to open the door. It was locked. I rammed my shoulder against it. Hard. It didn’t take long for the door to give way to my frame.

Taking a step into the small bathroom, I found Mia sitting in the shower, still in her uniform. Her clothes were soaked. No more blood and ripped clothes, but I saw the bruises that her uniform hid when I found those three fuckers on top of her. It mirrored the bruises, cuts, and gashes on her face. The old scars I spotted that day hit me right in the chest. She hid those from everyone but that day, as I carried her to the infirmary, I got a glimpse of them. I finally understood why Mia Russo refused to go swimming.

I stepped into the shower, uncaring of my own uniform. I wouldn’t wear it much longer anyhow. After the shit I’d done, I’d probably face a court martial. If I was lucky, a dishonorable discharge.

I lowered myself onto the shitty tiled floor. Everything in these barracks was shitty. But hey, we were serving our country. Except that some of these men were no more honorable than the men of the underworld.

Mia refused to look at me and my chest tightened. I should have kept a better eye on her. From the moment I spotted her, I got a distinct feeling she didn’t belong here. When I learned who she was, I knew she didn’t. We got to know each other over the last several months, and slowly I learned there was so much more to Mia Russo than met the eye.

We even had a few things in common. Parents that failed us. Fucked up childhoods, although Mia’s was worse than mine. A lot worse than mine.

Turning my head to the side, I watched her. She had a long gash down her right cheek, both her eyes were blackened and her nose was broken. But even with that, she was a beautiful woman. A broken woman but beautiful nonetheless. Those gray eyes. She didn’t smile often, but when she did, her eyes would light up like she had just gotten the best gift. Thick auburn hair against her petite frame. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how she survived boot camp.

“Mia, look at me,” I demanded. My hands shook with the need to go find those assholes and beat them all over again.

She couldn’t even look at me, staring blankly in front of her.

“Mia, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

She blinked, then slowly turned to meet my gaze. “I can’t go home.”

“You don’t have to,” I assured her. “You can come to New Orleans. I can set you up there.”

Her face crumpled up.

“Branka’s there alone,” she murmured. “She can’t stay there.”

“We can get her and you can keep her with you.” A soft sob escaped her, the look in her eyes reminding me of gray skies right before a storm.

She shook her head, a single lone tear sliding down her bruised cheek. Or maybe I was imagining it and it was all just shower water. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“Will you keep my sister and brother safe?” she whispered the question. “Promise me you’ll keep them safe.”

“I promise.”

She took my hand and squeezed. “Don’t forget your promise, Nikolaev.”

Fuck, I failed her.

Anger rushed through me as I watched Branka disappear from my sight. And my life.