Nikolai: The Complete Collection

16. Justine

16

JUSTINE

T he chaotic scene in my living room is even more dreadful than the midday sun that pelted my shoulders as we trekked the two blocks from a parking garage to my apartment building. Parking has always been an issue in my location, but with it being the first day of a long weekend, it’s even more unbearable than usual.

The handful of Popov crew members left lingering in my kitchen this morning has grown dramatically. Every surface in my living area has a backside on it. Unfortunately, not all of them are male. A selection of women are nestled between the men, most void of essential clothing.

When two heavy-breasted ladies spotted Viktor upon our return, they squealed loudly before prancing over to greet him with sloppy kisses.

Their overzealous attention had me wondering if they were the cause of Nikolai’s wet hair.

He showered this morning, so why would he need to bathe again so quickly if he wasn’t undertaking strenuous activities during my absence?

A knot forms in my stomach when I recall the pretty, petite brunette with dazzling chocolate eyes and flawless skin who exited the bedroom Nikolai had his shoulder butted against. Although she was dressed more respectfully than the other females in attendance, I couldn’t control the awful thoughts that plagued me.

With my middle school years spent hiding from vicious bullies and then my college days haunted by similar unwanted attention, I can’t testify that it was jealousy plaguing me, but I’m reasonably sure that’s what it was. I felt clammy and hot, even though I was shivering, and I had a ridiculous desire to yank the brunette away from Nikolai.

If this wasn’t jealousy, the Pope isn’t Catholic.

I try to let go of my anger by thinking back to my dad’s laid-back attitude and carefree nature. I was just like him before unanticipated events altered my life course.

Life was good.

Life was easy.

I’d give anything to go back to that life.

Adulthood is already daunting, but when it thrusts you into an unknown world, daunting is too tame a word to describe it.

Everything changed with a simple smile. Not solely for me but my family as well.

It’s frightening how one humble mistake can cause the biggest ripple.

Four years ago, it was a smile.

This weekend, it was the accidental misplacement of an address.

Both blips are as significant as the other.

With a huff, I dump a loaf of bread on the counter with more aggression than needed. I don’t know what’s angering me more: Nikolai’s crew treating my private abode like a cesspool of desecration, or the sick jealousy playing havoc with my thoughts.

Considering that the churning of my stomach ramped up during my last confession, I’d say it’s the latter, which is utterly ridiculous since I have no claim to Nikolai.

It’s days like today I wish I didn’t get the smallest slice of my mother’s personality. She’s the risky rule breaker, the one who believes all rules have room to be bent. Although, I doubt even someone as unpredictable as her would have acted as unstable as I have this weekend.

After emptying one bag of groceries, I pivot toward the second. My heart rate spikes when I notice how deserted my kitchen is. It’s not slightly empty compared to my bursting-at-the-seams living area. Deserted— deserted .

The heat of so many bodies crammed into one space must be disgusting, so why aren’t Nikolai’s guests taking advantage of every area available?

“Because they can’t fuck in a kitchen, Justine,” I grumble to myself.

Striving not to let jealousy get the better of me, I set to work unpacking the rest of the items I purchased. With it being my first trip to the market in nearly a month, I have a lot of items crammed into two little bags.

I’ve nearly packed away all the groceries when a deep voice asks, “Did you get bacon? Nikolai loves bacon.”

I clutch my chest, startled someone snuck up on me unaware. I’ve been accused many times of having eyes in the back of my head, as I’m notoriously vigilant.

Once I settle my irregular heart rate, my eyes drift from the fridge to the only entrance to my kitchen. The gentleman seated beside Nikolai this morning is standing inside my swinging door. His veined arms hang loosely at his side, and a shy smirk is etched on his face. Although his eyes don’t house the same arrogance of his associates partying in my living room, his aura alludes that he is not a man to be messed with. I can’t tell if he is a friend or a foe.

When he stares at me, promptly reminding me that I failed to answer his question, I jingle a paper parcel, allowing the deli-wrapped bacon to answer on my behalf. I’d like to articulate a better response, but with jealousy clutching my throat, words are eluding me.

As I close the fridge door, the unnamed man enters the kitchen. “My name is Roman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Justine,” he greets, offering me his hand to shake.

I accept his gesture cautiously. His eyes are soul-baring, showing he’s a man who has lived many lives in one, but they also reveal that not all his memories are pleasant. Roman is a handsome man I’d guess to be mid-to-late fifties. His dark hair has a sprinkling of gray woven throughout, and his worldly eyes are green. He presents as a man who values fitness. Even the loose fit of his collared shirt can’t hide the ridges of his chest and stomach.

I brace my back on the kitchen cabinet. “Hi.”

Roman returns my greeting with a chin dip before advising, “Nikolai has requested that you stay in the kitchen or your room during the festivities.” His facial expression is more forgiving than his austere tone.

My spikes hackle as anger overwhelms me. “Why?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “Is he afraid I’ll interrupt him and his posse of women?” The viciousness of my tone leaves no doubt I’m enraged by jealousy.

Roman shrugs, sending my annoyance to an all-time high.

“Tell Nikolai he has no cause for concern. I have no intentions of participating in the festivities.” Or ever speaking to him again.

Spotting the scorn creeping up my neck, Roman asks, “If you could pick, how would you prefer to be seen by Nikolai? As a housemaid or a whore?”

The horrified expression on my face doubles as my stomach churns in contempt. He asked his question without remorse, as if it’s perfectly normal to sanction women in those two groups.

“Is there another option? Because those choices suck.”

I grimace, suddenly mindful I’m unleashing my anger on the wrong person. Although I’m disturbed by how women are viewed in the Popov family, Roman isn’t the cause of the rage disintegrating my veins. It’s the devil with the tempting blue eyes and an even more sinful body.

Thankfully, Roman doesn’t flinch at my snippy comment. He takes it in stride, not the least bit affected. “Not in this industry, there isn’t.” His tone is flat and missing emotion. “But I’m not here to argue the rights of women. I’m here to pass on Nikolai’s request.”

I roll my eyes, appalled by his nonchalant response. “Rights? They would have to have rights for us to argue about them,” I grumble, my annoyance too strong to contain.

“Love it or hate it, whores belong out there. Housemaids belong in here,” Roman retorts, nudging his head to my swinging kitchen door, his tone simmering to a slight sneer.

Following his gaze, I realize what he is saying is true. It might be unjust and vile, but I don’t belong out there. None of the women in my living room are appropriately dressed, and the ratio of men to women is one to five. I didn’t survive a second in that environment years ago. I don’t see it ending any differently this time around.

My attention strays back to Roman when he adds, “Besides, no one will be game to touch you in this domain, so it’s safer for you to stay here.”

“What if I want to be touched?” I snap before I can leash my spiteful tongue.

I’m far from wanting any form of contact, much less a sexual exchange, but the bitter jealousy eating me alive spoke before I could shut it down.

I’m not expecting Roman to reply to my snapped comment, so you can imagine my surprise when he says, “Then I suggest you choose wisely, as any man you touch will be buried in a shallow ditch within minutes of your exchange. Nikolai has never placed dibs on a woman before you.”

If he’s hoping his statement will fill me with gratitude, he needs another tactic. I’m more annoyed now than when I was plagued with horrible thoughts on the many ways Nikolai and the brunette entertained themselves while I was away. Being treated as a commodity catalyzed my family’s downward spiral. If I hadn’t attracted the eye of a man who chose fear over respect, my brother wouldn’t be rotting away the best years of his life in a high-security penitentiary.

The hairs on my nape bristle when Roman leans across my body to secure a bottle of beer from the fridge. “If you truly want to get out of this situation unscathed, keep your head down and your ears closed. A blind mute has never had a problem with the mob.”

Stealing my chance to reply, Roman exits the kitchen as stealthily as he entered it.