Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
“Sometimes,” she whispered. Then she looked back at the water. “And then I remember who you are. Just Semyon. Like a brother to me.”
Like a brother to me. Why did that cut so deep?
The sound of voices behind us caught her attention. She looked terrified, her eyes wide.
“Why are you afraid?” I asked, a simmering anger building in my veins. My hands clenched into fists. I leaned in closer, so close our breaths mingled, and I could see the way she drew in a breath. “Who hurt you?”
“It’s them,” she whispered. “God, it’s them. The boys from school. Stupid fucking bullies.”
“Anya.” I didn’t like the fear in her eyes. She was too young, too innocent, too…
“Can you trust me?” I asked her.
She took in a shaky breath. “You’re the only one I trust.”
Pride swelled in my chest. I stepped behind a tree as two boys came around the corner.
“Did your mom dress you in those rags?” one sneered, gesturing at her clothes.
“I think she got them from the garbage bin.” Another laughed, pointing at her scuffed sneakers.
My hands clenched into fists so tightly my knuckles ached.
“Shut up!” she snapped, her voice loud and defiant, but they only laughed harder.
I wasn’t going to let this happen.
I stepped out from the shadows. “Excuse me? Do you want to repeat that again to me?”
My voice cut through their laughter, and they froze.
I stepped forward, my eyes locking with the leader of the group.
“We were just joking around,” he said, his voice shaky as he took a step back.
“Yeah?” It took effort to keep my voice calm, to stop myself from destroying him right here in front of everyone. Humans were so much more fragile than they knew. I knew exactly where to strike to make his blood flow in rivulets, soaking the earth while he cried for mercy. “Doesn’t look like she’s laughing. If you’re joking, be funnier.”
Their eyes darted between Anya and me. I was tall for my age, already built, lean and strong from training under Rafail’s watchful eye.
And unlike most, I didn’t care whose blood I spilled.
“We didn’t mean anything,” the boy mumbled.
I flicked the switchblade in my hand, and the blade sprang to life. The group scattered, muttering excuses as they ran.
“Then get the fuck out of here,” I said coldly, my voice leaving no room for argument. “You make fun of her again, and you deal with me.”
A part of me hoped they would. I’d given them fair warning.
“Semyon,” she said in a small voice. “That’s what I meant. You can’t just threaten them with a weapon.”
I met her eyes. “Wasn’t a threat, Anya.”
She swallowed and opened her mouth like she was going to protest, but then she just finished quietly, “Thanks.”
“Anytime anyone threatens you, Anya. Anytime. You come and tell me.”
So maybe I don’t like the idea of my wife at the bakery without me. Even with a guard. She’s not their wife. I’m the one that will watch her best.
So I set up my laptop in the corner of the shop and watch as she works. I try to concentrate. But how the hell am I supposed to run through encrypted data and try to identify the source of the email he got when Anya’s here? She’s moving through the space with confidence, tying her apron on with practiced ease. Flour dusts her fingertips as she prepares dough. She softly hums to herself while she kneads it. A stray strand of hair sneaks out from under her bun. Adorable.
Jesus. I have to focus.
She continues to hum, lost in her own world. I should be focusing more on pressing matters, but once customers start entering, fuck it. I ignore the laptop and sip on a cup of coffee instead.
I have to make sure they’re treating her well. My wife. She bags up a few rolls for an elderly woman who talks at length about her dog’s ailments. Anya listens patiently, even when the lady begins repeating herself. She hands a free treat to a small child in a stroller after the mother buys a cup of coffee. The blonde toddler waves chubby fingers at Anya in thanks. A middle-aged businessman in a suit grunts about the rising price of tea, but when I clear my throat, he thanks her and takes his leave.
Customer after customer comes in. For today, it’s just Anya operating the register, but she looks exhausted come midday.
“Break time,” I tell her, turning off my laptop. “Take a lunch break.”
Her jaw firms as she meets my gaze and clears her throat. “I don’t take lunch breaks.”
I feign shock, my brows shooting upward. I know she doesn’t take breaks. I know everything about her. She works her fingers to the bone and neglects her own needs, as if driving herself into the ground will finally prove to her what no one else ever has. “Do you mean to tell me you don’t take care of my wife?”