Beautiful Russian Monster: Chapter 16

I opened my eyes, but from the dim light in the room, I was unable to tell what time it was. Sensing I wasn’t alone, I lifted my head. Viktor was sprawled in a chair, watching me with an inscrutable expression.

“What time is it?” I felt so sleepy I could barely form the words.

“Almost 6 p.m.”

Too tired to speak further, I made an encouraging noise.

His voice was low but steady as he offered me his version of an olive branch. “I thought we could get dinner at the market.”

That woke me up. “Since it might be our last night alive?”

“But only if you stop saying that.”

I reached over to the nightstand and fumbled around before turning on the light. I squinted at him. “Deal.”

He motioned with his head. “Go get ready. You’ve got five minutes.”

That technically meant I had about fifteen minutes before he started making grumbling noises. I hadn’t come to any kind of terms with the prospect that I might die tomorrow, but that didn’t stop me from blurting my outrageous request. “Is this going to be a date?”

His neck muscles tightened. “I’m sorry about earlier. I overstepped my bounds.”

“Says who?”

He stood up and walked over to his bag, avoiding my attention. “It won’t happen again. Come on, get moving.”

I lay there for another fifteen seconds so I could remember the moment when he lowered his mouth to mine. I had been so certain he was going to kiss me, and it had been pure torture when he moved away before our lips touched. Maybe it was the realization that I might only have hours to live, but I felt a boldness I’d never felt before. “I don’t mind—if it does happen again.”

He gave me a sideways look that told me he had made up his mind up on that matter. His reaction didn’t daunt me. I knew he felt the same intensity I felt. I would never force him to act on that, but before the night was done, I would get him to at least admit it.

I sat up and stretched my back, wishing for a yoga mat.

He motioned with his head toward the bathroom. “Let’s hustle.”

Viktor took me to the Chinatown Street Market, one of the best night markets in Singapore.

I looked around at the vibrant maze of lights, shops, and food options.

I stood and lifted my nose to the air, inhaling deeply. “I love Asian night markets.”

He put a big hand on the back of my neck, and we moved forward into the crowded eating area. “Stay close.”

People milled around everywhere. Parents carried their children or pushed them in strollers. Hawkers called out to each other, and the occasional shop blasted music from small speakers.

My stomach growled as I eagerly looked at all the food boards. “What do you feel like eating?”

“Pick a place and order. I’ll eat whatever.”

I twisted around to look at him.

He was scanning the crowd like my bodyguards used to scan. He was on high alert, working to read everyone. I had lived a life with enough security to know there were ways I could make his night easier.

I picked a busy outdoor food place that was tucked near the end of the street with tables against a long brick wall. I walked to a table near the back that had the best vantage point of the street but was mostly obscured from the bustle of people.

A man with a long apron handed us a picture menu and put down a small dish of pickled ginger. “Two Tiger beers, please, and two bottles of water.”

We sat down at the small metal table, and I watched as Viktor slowly assessed the crowd behind me.

I leaned forward. “Are we safe?”

“Enough.”

I looked at the menu. “What do you want to eat?”

“You order. I’m not fussy.”

The waiter came over and, just by looking at the pictures, I pointed and ordered multiple small dishes for us.

When the staff walked away, I said, “My grandparents would love this place. They love to support quaint, out-of-the-way mom-and-pop shops.”

Viktor leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “Tell me about your grandparents. Have you always lived with them?”

“For most of my life.”

“Your parents?”

“Somewhere living the high life in the Mediterranean. We parted ways when I was four.”

He didn’t break eye contact. “You said your night terrors were about them.”

“You really like to jump into it, don’t you?”

He leaned back. “Too much for you?”

It was a subject I rarely talked about with anyone, but I was acutely aware that if I answered his tough questions, I could ask my own. “My parents lived a very posh bohemian lifestyle in the Mediterranean, with a party crowd. They used me as a bit of a pawn to get my grandparents to fund their lifestyle.”

“What happened?”

“They got particularly wasted one weekend, and they forgot me at a resort with hotel babysitting while they sailed to another country on someone’s yacht. The hotel reached out to my grandparents. They were there within a day. I haven’t seen my parents since. My dad calls my grandmother, but I don’t talk to him.”

“Sorry I asked.”

I wanted to turn the conversation away from me. “What was your childhood like?”

“You really want to talk about my childhood?”

“You started it.”

“My parents were simple and hardworking. They just wanted to live safely in their corner of their world.”

“Was this corner in Russia?”

“Yeah, I grew up in a small northern farming community in Russia.” He let out a long breath. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I was young and dumb and so ready to see the world.”

“You joined the military?”

“I was part of a mandatory conscription.”

“And?”

“And after two years, I signed up for more.”

“Tonko said you were special forces.”

“Tonko talked too much.”

“He also told me what Pushka meant. He said you were feared.”

We made eye contact briefly before he went back to scanning the crowd past my shoulder. “That was a long time ago. My military days are behind me.”

And yet he had a presence that could still invoke fear. He also exuded a strength and resilience that I hadn’t encountered before. “Have you ever been married?”

He gave me a frank look. “No.”

“Not even close?”

“My jobs have always been hard on relationships.”

“Do you see your parents a lot?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He took another sip of his beer. “My older sister lives on the same farm as they do, and my older brother’s farm is close by. They have their grandkids and their garden. That’s all they want.”

“You have two siblings?”

“I also have a younger brother.”

“Where is he?”

His eyes went a bit frosty. “No clue.”

I got the sense that subject was completely off-limits. “I bet your family misses you.”

“Maybe.” His eyes went back to scanning behind me. “I don’t really fit there anymore.”

His admission surprised me. “That… that must be hard.”

“I think everyone in my family came to terms with it a while back.”

I leaned forward on the table, feeling hungry for more details about him and his life. “Where do you fit now?”

“My turn to interrogate.”

I smiled as I leaned back and crossed my arms. “Take your best shot. I’m an open book.”

“Why do small spaces scare you?”

I swallowed hard. “Except about that.”

“You don’t get off the hook that easy.”

I hesitated. This was something I didn’t talk about with anyone except my therapist.

He waited and then, as if he could sense my inner conflict, he spoke with a surprising gentleness. “It’s okay. I was just teasing you.”

The truth blurted out of me. “They used to lock me up.”

“Who did?”

“My parents.”

His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. “Keep going.”

I choose my words carefully. “They were into some hardcore partying and I was a toddler, and half the time we were on a yacht. I think they were trying to keep me alive—you know, like trying to prevent me from stumbling over the edge of the boat when they were all out of their minds.”

“They sound like parents of the year.”

“I just remember it being so dark and hot in these tight closets and benches. I would scream and cry, but no one would come. They would lock me up for hours, and I would scream until I lost my voice. Now I can’t do anything small. Closets, tight spaces, anything that resembles getting locked up completely triggers me, and I get these panic attacks. There was a time when I couldn’t even do a plane, but I managed to get past that—thank god.”

His tone was measured. “Where did you say they live?”

Pure rage—a promise to hurt on my behalf—flickered in his gaze like a white-hot light.

The thought of what he might do to my father maybe didn’t horrify me as much as it should have. Instead, the sentiment made me feel a bit wobbly inside. “Thank you, but it was a long time ago, Viktor.”

He blinked.

“I’m not even mad anymore. It’s over with.”

“They don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

“No, but I deserved my forgiveness. I had to let that shit go. It’s over with. I really want to move past that narrative.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t want to be scared anymore. I’ve spent way too much of my life being scared.”

He leaned forward. “You seem pretty brave to me.”

I flushed. “You have to say that.”

“No. I don’t.”

“I’m not scared of you,” I added.

“I noticed. So where are they?”

I knew what he was doing, and there was no part of me that wanted Viktor to get tainted by my past. But the part about him wanting to step up and protect me made my heart do a slow backflip in my chest. “What drives you to protect the way you do?”

“That’s not what this is about.”

“What is it about?”

He swallowed and stared into my eyes. “It’s about that little baby girl.”

“She grew up.”

He sat back in his chair. I could sense that he was warring with his own emotions. “I made you get into the closet on the cargo plane.”

“I survived.” I spoke with heartfelt emotion. “I survived this entire trip because of you and how well you’ve taken care of me, and I’m about a hundred times closer to saving my grandfather because of you.”

He looked pained. “I regret getting you involved.”

The waiter chose that moment to bring out our dishes. He made a big ceremony of introducing to us each one and making sure we were settled.

When we were left alone, I took in that moment. The warmth of the evening air, the glorious food in front of us, and most of all, the man who made me feel safe and, in some weird way, cherished.

“I regret none of this.”

“Can we look around a bit?” After dinner, we slowly walked by the rows and rows of shops in the market, and I was spellbound. Everything a person could possibly want was for sale.

“What do you need?”

I lifted my chin. “I don’t need anything.”

“Then why do it?”

I lifted my hands to the market in front of us. “Because all of this awaits.”

He shook his head, but he was biting back a smile and I could tell he was going to give in. “You have ten minutes.”

“Twenty.”

His smile was wide. “Fifteen. My final offer.”

“As a token of appreciation for your generosity, I’m going to go on a quest to buy you something.”

“No.”

I ignored him. “Nothing big. Something simple but symbolic.”

“Symbolic of what?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“The clock is ticking, Blaire.”

I was almost skipping as I approached the first booth. “Don’t rush me.”

He didn’t rush me. He was the most patient man alive as I flitted from booth to booth, inspecting everything from hand-carved mirrors to knockoff purses. He stood off to the side, his feet planted and arms crossed as I inspected table after table of stone jewelry and went through every T-shirt hanging on every rack.

When he wasn’t looking, I bought him a little gift. A tiny silver keychain in the shape of a gun. I was about to take pity on him and let him take us back to the hotel, but then I saw it. The negligee on the mannequin was so exquisite that I didn’t at first believe it was for sale, but the saleslady assured me it was. It was made of a high-quality translucent silk organza and was a sexy, feminine cloud of perfection.

“Would you like to try it on? I have a changing screen,” the woman told me.

I studied the shoulder area of the garment. It was fitted at the shoulders and flared out in the most beautiful cut I had ever seen. As a buyer, my second question when buying clothes was always, does it feel good to wear it?

I looked back at Viktor, who was looking down the aisle of the market. “I’d like that.”

She reached up and unfolded a tall, hand-carved change screen and set it up against the back wall beside her booth.

Viktor’s full attention was on something down the aisle. I waited as she set up a mirror for me on one side of the screen.

“No one can see you here.”

I felt exposed, but she was right. No one could see me, and I would be quick. I shimmied out of my clothes. Keeping my underwear on, I pulled the garment over my body. As a professional buyer, I was always on the lookout for the unicorns amongst the horses. Sometimes, not often, I would find a single article of clothing that was so stunning, it made anyone who wore it feel like a million bucks.

This piece didn’t disappoint. I stood and stared at my own reflection. This translucent negligee was completely risqué, but instead of being tawdry, it had a delicate and feminine magic that made me look more beautiful than I knew I was.

Any naked female shape beneath this design would take on that magic. That’s how good it was.

“What do you think? Do you like it? Want to buy it?” The shopkeeper asked hopefully on the other side of the screen.

Not only would I buy this piece, but I needed to get as much information about the designer as possible. This was something that would easily become a bestseller at Au Revoir. I didn’t know how well it would travel in my knapsack, but I was determined to get this home. Perhaps I could get the hotel to mail it back to my address. By the time it arrived in Vancouver, I would either be dead or I would back home and at work.

I was putting on my runners when I heard the first shout. I stood up straight and looked over the change screen, but I could see nothing. Viktor was gone. Where did he go? Did he go and buy something?

I moved around the screen toward the shop clerk, but my gaze remained on the aisle. “I’ll take it. Can you tell me anything about the designer?”

“It’s my daughter. She created it.”

“I would love to see more of her designs. Do you have any contact information for her? Maybe a phone number?”

She beamed. “I have her card.”

“Oh, that’s perfect.”

A faraway female scream, followed by a tremendous crash, made both of us pause.

I walked to the center of the aisle and checked both ways, but I saw no reason for the screams, nor could I see Viktor. Other shopkeepers stood in the aisle to investigate. The alarming shouts had ended, and now there was nothing but silence.

As if the entire market was collectively holding its breath.

A trickle of alarm went down my spine. Where is Viktor? “Can I please pay?”

The clerk carefully folded the delicate fabric before sliding it into a brown paper bag. “If you pay in American, it’s forty dollars.”

I handed her a hundred. “The tip is for your daughter. Tell her this is worth much more.”

“Thank you.” The woman beamed at me. “I’ll tell her.”

“I’ll be in touch.”

More shouting made me pause. We both listened. This time, several men were yelling over the crashing and banging. The sound echoed around us. I wasn’t sure where it was coming from, even when that shouting was followed by a rush of panicked screams. Okay, now I was really starting to freak out.

The tight narrow aisles of the market made it difficult to see the source of the panic.

“Viktor,” I called out.

There was another crash, and then the overhead string lights in one corner of the market went dark. More screams, and a crowd of people burst around the corner and scattered in all directions.

Then I saw them. Viktor was battling furiously with a man dressed all in black, whose face was covered by a black balaclava. Their movements resembled kung fu, all measured twists and high, precise kicks. They were moving so fast, ducking and hitting, using everything around them to damage each other, that it was hard to keep up. A heavy cooking pot, a mirror and dangling scarves all became makeshift weapons. The masked fighter threw a table at Viktor, but Viktor ducked behind a pole and the full weight of the table crashed against the pole, bringing it down with sparks and strings of lights. Now the man had part of a light cord wrapped around Viktor’s neck from behind, but Viktor did this crazy flip, and then he was choking the man.

Someone’s booth got completely destroyed when Viktor’s opponent ran along the wall and kicked out a pole. It was a flurry of limbs, and the man was using part of that pole as a weapon. He was distracted when the roof of the flimsy booth crashed around him, but he swung from an overhead beam and landed on his feet. Viktor did this dive-kick thing and took him out from below the knees before twisting the guy between his legs. He almost had him pinned before the guy did some crazy twist and half ran up another beam before flipping himself over Viktor’s head.

I stood there, frozen, unable to process how violently and quickly they were moving. One wrong move and it would go very badly for someone. I was terrified for Viktor.

I looked around in desperation, trying to think of some way to help him.

But before I could think of any options, the crack of gunfire echoed into the air. Everyone froze, including Viktor and his assailant.

And then the man took off in the opposite direction.

Viktor looked wildly around before settling his gaze on mine. Then he was running toward me. Not a jog, not a saunter. He was sprinting.

A cry ripped out of me when he grabbed my hand and roughly yanked me behind him. “Run, Blaire.”

I struggled to keep up with him. I pumped my legs hard and my breath was stuck in my ribs, but I felt like I was being towed behind a horse. Viktor was dragging me through aisles and around corners while my bag flapped behind me.

I felt myself trip and lose my balance. I pitched forward and staggered awkwardly before landing hard on my knees. I could feel the pavement tear at my skin, but Viktor’s strong hold kept the rest of me off the ground.

He spun around and lifted me back to my feet like I weighed nothing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I winced as I gingerly put weight on my legs. Everything below my knees was throbbing in a generalized pain.

He looked too serious. “Blaire, we have to run.”

I didn’t think I could move my body that quickly again. “I can’t.”

He kept looking above us. “Wrong answer.”

“I’ll try.”

“Stay close to me.”

My whole body hurt as I scrambled after him, but we finally got past the high, ornate market gates and burst onto the street. A long line of cabs waited.

Looking over his shoulder, he hustled me toward a cab. “Go, go, go.”

We clambered in, and I tried to quell my shaking body and panicked breaths.

“Drive,” Viktor ordered the driver.

We didn’t speak. I hunched fearfully down on the seat and listened as Viktor gave the taxi driver instructions.

“Turn here.”

“Go left, all the way to the lights.”

“Keep going.”

He made the driver do circles around the city before finally dropping us off near our hotel.

When we got out of the cab, my body had stiffened up so much I was limping.

He tucked me under his arm. “Almost there.”

In the hotel room, he led me to sit on the side of my bed before he drew the curtains. He stood between the curtains and stared into the darkness. The thought that he was looking for some sightless enemy made me really scared again.

“Are we safe?”

He moved through the dark and kneeled in front of me before he reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.

“We’re safe.”

My hands flew to my mouth when I saw the state of his face. He had a bleeding cut above his eye, and one of his eyes was starting to swell. There was also a large gash across his cheekbone that trickled blood before he had smeared it away.

“Viktor.”

He avoided my eyes. “It looks worse than it is. Tell me where it hurts.”

I looked down at the two scrapes on my knees. They stung, but they weren’t even bleeding anymore. “I’m fine.”

I watched as his big hand gently touched the top of one of my knees with care. Why was he worrying about me and my tiny scratches?

I took another look at his injured face and then promptly burst into tears.