Page 31 of Wicked Mafia Beast
He drags that dark gaze of his over the outline of my face and then lingers his attention on my lips. "I usually only go to auctions on Fridays." With that, he turns and walks back down the hallway. "Keep up."
I blink at the empty space in front of me a couple of times before my feet start moving.
I keep up. Barely. His legs are approximately nine miles long, and my bare feet protest every step on the cold concrete, but I refuse to ask him to slow down or show weakness.
Rule number one of surviving captivity: Never let them see you sweat.
He shows me the kitchen first. Professional-grade range, six burners, double oven. A rack of copper pots hanging from a ceiling mount. A knife block with blades that gleam under the lights.
Mental note: Knives. Potential weapons. File that away.
"You cook," I say. It's not a question.
"Da."
Yes.
"What's your specialty?"
He glances at me, and I catch a flash of surprise before he shutters it away. "Pelmeni. Russian dumplings. My grandmother's recipe."
His grandmother. A family recipe. Another piece that doesn't fit the monster puzzle I'm trying to assemble.
I file it away and follow him to the bookshelves.
"Russian literature," I observe, scanning the spines. "Philosophy. Military history." My gaze lands on a lower shelf and I pause, a grin tugging at my lips. "Romance novels?"
His jaw tightens again. "Those belong to someone else."
"Sure they do." I drag my finger along one of the spines, watching his reaction from the corner of my eye. I don’t mean to sound sassy or exasperate either of us, but I’ve been in the equivalent of a jail cell for nearly a week. The interaction and taunting is the only way I know to keep my mind off the fact I was just trafficked. The second I close my eyes tonight the horrors of what I witness in that hellhole will come flooding back. The beatings women took. The “training” others suffered.I was lucky to be mainly left alone. Others didn’t get the same treatment.
My hair falls over the side of my face and I slip a look his way to find a muscle ticking beneath his cheekbone. "They do."
"Mhmm." I pull one off the shelf and flip it over to read the back cover, biting back a grin when his nostrils flare. "Let me guess. Your housekeeper? Your accountant? A very literate ghost who haunts the fourth floor?"
I hold my hands up when he looks like he wants to argue his point. "Whatever you say, Beast." I let the teasing drip from every syllable because annoying him is the most fun I've had in days. “I’ll keep your secrets, big guy.”
His eyes snap to mine, dark and sharp. For a moment I think I've pushed too far. Then his lips curve into something that's almost a smile, and the tension in my chest loosens by a fraction.
Okay. So he has a sense of humor buried somewhere under all that muscle and menace. Interesting.
"The typewriters," I say, nodding toward the nearest one. The gorgeous Underwood, positioned on its shelf like a crowned jewel. "What's the story?"
He doesn't answer immediately. His gaze moves to the typewriter, and I watch his expression soften by degrees, the hard lines of his face easing into something almost tender.
Holy shit. He actually loves these things.
His eyes narrow on me for a second and then his expression softens as if he’s decided to tell me a secret. "I collect them."
"Yeah, I noticed. Why?"
He pushes his dark hair back from his face with one hand, then casually unbuttons his cufflinks and pockets them before rolling his sleeves up massive forearms covered in ink.
I don’t get a good look at the designs before he pushes his hands into his pockets and starts speaking.
"The written word." He reaches out and runs a finger along the keys, the gesture almost reverent. "Books change lives. Stories save souls. Every great novel ever written started with fingers on keys like these." He pulls his hand back, and the softness disappears, replaced by the familiar mask. His voice drops a notch when he says, "No one knows about this. Not even my brothers."
Soft light from nearby lamps illuminates his beautiful eyes and reflects in the midnight pools…hurt? It quickly passes but his confession stays with me.
