Torment | 18+ ✓

02

He seems to have acquired a tan and filled out his usually lanky figure with some muscle over the summer. But I don’t have time to admire his form before panic sets in, leaking into my voice. “How did you get in here?”

He frowns at my expression. “They let me in?”

They would never do that.

Ben sometimes uses his father’s food catering van, which the security guards must have thought was here for the engagement. This is bad. He’s in Morozov territory.

I promised not to stir any trouble, and if anyone were to find Ben in here, there’s no telling what they’d do to him. That’s excluding how incriminating it would be to find us both cooped up alone in this garage. Papa would shoot Ben himself. A shiver runs down my spine despite the sweltering heat.

I press my stained hands to his chest, like the stain on my conscience if anything were to happen to him.
“No. You — why are you here? You can’t be here, I told you to never come here no matter what. You need to leave.”

He takes a step back, confusion lacing his features. “Are you coming to the rink tomorrow?”

I’ve been in a bad mood because of the engagement. If it weren’t for Ana forcing me to get out of bed two days ago, I’d still be in a depressive mood. But that’s not the problem now. No, the problem is in front of me. Ben is still here, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I don’t know,” I say, “All I know is that you need to leave, Ben. Now. You need to go.”

He doesn’t seem in a rush to leave at all. Of course he doesn’t. He just thinks I’m another preppy Staten Island girl with petty family issues.

Except I’m not, and he’s two seconds away from having his brains blown out by one of Papa’s men. I’d never be able to live with myself if Ben were to get hurt because of me.

He sighs, gaze softening. “Because you haven’t been to the rink in a while, and I — I miss you.”

I swallow.

“It’s just . . .” I need to stay under the radar until my sister’s engaged. “I need to spend some time at home.”

His gaze is hopeful. “You’ll come tomorrow?”

“I—” Defeated, I figure the quickest way to get him out of here is to agree.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll come. Now can you go? Please.”

The sound of footsteps nearing the garage sets my heart racing. My hands work quicker than my mind does and I shove Ben into a storage cupboard. He shoots me a confused look before stumbling into the cramped space, hitting his head on the wooden board holding up my tools before letting out a groan. I shut the doors closed before Sergei walks in.

He glances across the area and my frame leaning against the storage cupboard. “Who were you talking to?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Myself.”

There’s soft shuffling as Ben fumbles inside the cupboard, his lanky figure no doubt cramped. Eyes wide, I fake a cough to conceal the noise.

Sergei narrows his eyes suspiciously.

“This ole’ guy over here,” I say, gesturing to the Corniche sitting in the middle of the garage. “Dusty as hell.”

Sergei raises a brow, but decides to let it go. “Alright. Well. Your Papa left you some food in case you get hungry. Wash your hands before you eat, please.”

I deadpan. Of course I’d get hungry. And of course I’d wash my hands.

Sergei turns. “And for God’s sake, if you drop food on the floor, do not pick it up. There is no such thing as a ten second rule.”