The Master (37 page)

“Leave you alone? Not until you talk to me.”

Would he follow me onto the bus? If he did, he could find out where I went to school. Maybe I should try to put him off. I stopped, telling him, “If you go now, I will meet up with you
later. I’ll swing by the hotel.”

“Oh, really?”

“I can be there at five, and we’ll talk all of this out.”

He blinked down at me. “You’re . . . lying.” A breath left him. “And you’re fucking
awful
at it.”

“Ugh!” The bus was already at the stop. I took off running to catch it, careening inside the doors. I wanted to scream when the bastard climbed in right before they closed. So much
for a period of calm to get my mind straight for my last exam in college. “Isn’t public transportation beneath you?” I demanded, tapping my card pass.

He gazed around at all the eyes on him. With his expensive threads, he stood out like a Russian billionaire on public transportation.

“Where’s your pass?” the driver barked.

Sevastyan looked at a loss. “I don’t have one. But I’m not getting off this bus.”

“If you pay in cash, you don’t get change.”

Pulling out his full money clip, Sevastyan peeled off a crisp hundred. “I hope this will suffice.” He’d just handed away almost as much as I’d made slaving over a huge
mansion.

The driver said, “Enjoy the ride.”

I hastened toward the back, wishing there were more people. I sat by a window, putting my pack next to me.

He moved it to his lap and sat. “I need to speak with you—in private.”

I yanked my bag from him. “And I need you to
not
be here. We both crapped out.” Rain began to patter the roof, then pour.

“You’re not even interested in what I’m offering?”

“Go. To. Hell.”

“Please talk to me, Katya.” Determined to ignore him, I stared out the window. “So stubborn. You’ll find that I am too.”

For the rest of the way, I refused to speak to him. When the bus slowed, my face fell. At the stop for my next bus, the one that took me close to campus, everyone was crowded under the shelter.
I’d have to wait in the rain.

I rose and trudged through the doors to the street.

He followed me into the downpour. “You’re waiting for
another
one of these?” he asked, aghast.

The temperature had dropped. I began to shake from the wet cold. “F-feel f-free to leave.”

When the bus pulled up, he said, “Enough of this.” He waved for his Bentley, because apparently Vasili had been following us—

Sevastyan snagged my upper arm, forcing me toward the car.

“Nooo, I need to get on that bus!” Though I kicked at his leg, he was dogged, and in seconds, I found myself in the backseat.

The divider was down, so he told Vasili, “Follow the bus.” To me, he said, “See how much easier this is?” He turned on the heater.

“You can’t do this to me!” At least we were heading in the right direction. Once we closed in on the campus, I’d dart out of the car. “Y-you kidnapped me off the
street?”

“You forget I’m in the
mafiya
. Taking people off the street is a matter of course.” Was that a joke? Or a threat?

I hit my limit. I was
sick
of men threatening me, manhandling me, ignoring my wishes, stealing my life’s savings—and my underwear—and planning to kill me. “Stop
this car.”

“I’ll take you wherever you want to go. Tell me the address.”

I screamed, “
Stop this motherfucking car!
” Undaunted, he said, “Where are you so desperate to get to?”

“What the hell is this, Sevastyan? You were cruel and disgusting to me, not twenty-four hours ago! So why are you stalking me now?”

“I made a mistake yesterday.” Did he think he could just erase it, and we’d go back to the way we were? “Katya, I was in your apartment.”

“
What?
” I couldn’t be more horrified. I pictured the pots on the floor and the pitiful cot. “How?”

“We canvassed out from where the cab dropped you, paying people for information. It led us to Shadwell. For a price, he let us in.”
I bet he did.

Wait, I’d walked blocks from the Seltane to catch that cab—specifically for this reason! “How could you know which taxi drove me?”

“By tracking your phone all over town. You were smart to ditch it, but ultimately it led us to the cab you’d taken.”

Burn.
Foiled by my own attempt at cleverness. “You had no right to be there.”

“No wonder you knew about those shithole apartments. You’re living in one yourself. You would prefer to be there? Instead of with me?”

“Yes! Because I paid for it. Because I didn’t have to beg some sick Russian hobbyist to give me my ‘donation.’ ”

He seemed to stifle a wince at that. “You had money. Thousands. Why not find a better place? An extended-stay hotel? Anywhere but there?”

“You’re really going to do this? Then listen up, Sevastyan. I couldn’t stay in a hotel because Shadwell—the guy you paid for entry to my apartment—stole all my
money out of my hiding place. Seven grand. Gone. My mother’s rosary too. Even your money clip. Oh, and my thongs! He’s been shaking me down for months, shaking down
everybody—making a fortune, and using the women as his personal harem. And now he was coming and going in my place as he pleased?” I leaned in, drawing my lips back from my teeth.
“Even so, I stayed the night in my locked bathroom—rather than ask
you
for help .”

That muscle in Sevastyan’s jaw ticked overtime. “Did he . . . you . . . ?”

“I wasn’t weak enough—yet. I paid him to leave me alone.” But my rosary and ID were gone for good.

The full import of what I’d lost was starting to hit. I
was
about to lose my ever-loving shit.

“You’ll have your rosary and your money back.” He said something in Russian to Vasili, but I heard “Shadwell.” Oh, the plans going on behind Sevastyan’s
eyes.

I could almost feel sorry for Shadwell, that preying, stealing serial rapist—

No. Actually I didn’t feel sorry for him at all. Maybe I was an ideal match for a mobster. My supe was about to get a horse’s head in his bed.
Okay, muy bien.

To me, Sevastyan snapped, “You could’ve been raped last night! Or killed! You never thought about calling me?”

I gave him a palms-up shrug. “Oh, so sad, no phone. I didn’t toss it solely because I was suspicious of you tracking me. Uncle Anthony wouldn’t stop burning up my number. You
see, he stole even more of my money and was trying to coerce me into a date with some French businessman, so I could—as you so eloquently put it—suck and fuck.”

Sevastyan grated more Russian to Vasili. Anthony gets a horse head too!

“You’re never going back to that apartment, Katya. I’ll burn it to the goddamned ground first.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

His gaze flicked to my full backpack. “You’re about to disappear.” He swallowed, as if I’d just presented him with a ticking bomb. “I’m asking you for one
conversation. Or simply give me the honor of assisting you now.” He opened his briefcase, revealing stacks of bound bills. “I
owe
you money. Please collect what is already
yours.”

“I don’t want anything from you. I’ll take my three hundred and sixty dollars, and I’ll start over. I will go round and round and fucking round!” I knew I
wasn’t making any sense, but I couldn’t focus my thoughts. “I’m so sick of men! I was nothing but good to you—for you—and you drove me away!”

In a low voice, he said, “You group me with Anthony and Shadwell?”

“You’re
worse
! I never believed in them!” I couldn’t stop shaking. “I’d made the decision to tell you everything, but you would rather be cruel and
hurt me than listen!”

He leaned forward in his seat, fists clenched as if he was barely preventing himself from touching me. “Let me help you, please. I want to protect you. I understand that I handled things
badly. But I don’t know my way around a situation like this.”

Gazing past him, I said, “Like what?”

“You told me your pride burned bright. It should. Yesterday, mine took some deserved hits. I comprehended that I loved another more than myself—and that I want her far more than she
does me. She’d given her heart to someone else, and it made me crazed with jealousy—an emotion I have limited experience with. I didn’t know how to handle it, so I lashed out and
hurt her.”

Love?

He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “I thought I’d treated you well. I thought I’d pleasured you and indulged you—but you still wanted Edward. Then last night, I
realized it didn’t matter if you loved someone else. I
need
to protect you. You could tell me to go to hell, but I would still do it.”

And all it’d taken for him to have this epiphany was screwing Ivanna. Something in me snapped.

With a screech, I dug stacks of money from the briefcase and threw them in his face. “Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you booked my friend!”

His lips parted on a breath. “You’re jealous, finally! You
do
give a fuck about me! Now you know how I felt when you cried out for another man!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the water tower near campus. “
Stop!
” We’d passed my classroom! “Stop here!” I could still run and make it on time.

“Tell me what’s here.”

“I will—just stop!”

He called for Vasili, and the car slowed.

I lunged for the door, but Sevastyan snatched my hand. “Where are you running?”

Eyes wide, I cried, “To get the grail!” I yanked open the door, stumbling out into the rain, almost falling before I righted myself. Money flew out after me, crisp hundreds flying on
a stormy breeze.

Without a look back, I ran to finish my degree.

G
et it together, Cat.

As I waited for Ms. Gillespie in her classroom, I gazed out the window, catching my breath after my frantic sprint here. The clouds were so dark, the day looked more like night.

My thoughts raced. Too many things had happened to process. Over the weekend, I’d recognized that I loved Sevastyan. I’d been happy with him, happy to make new friends. He’d
basically proposed. Last night I’d been barricaded in a bathroom, all my hopes in ruins. And now my whole life was in turmoil. What did Sevastyan want from me? Did he expect me to contact
him—

My jaw dropped. His car pulled up and stopped across the street! How the hell did he find me? I’d hauled ass over more than a mile, skirting between buildings and over the quad.

He stepped out into the drizzle, scanning for a moment before his gaze settled on me. From his vantage, he could see into my second-story classroom. Could see
me
under bright fluorescent
lights.

What must he be thinking about this? Would he bust in? Or would he hang out while I took my test?

He took out his phone and texted someone. A instant later, a chime sounded. I stilled.

That was
my
text chime. From
my
bag.

I opened the pack and fished it out. He’d slipped the phone in so he could track me! Maybe when I’d been looking out the window on the bus? Sneaky Russian!

He was giving me a brows-drawn look. I must like pain in all its forms, because I pulled up the message.

M Sevastyan:
I don’t know what you’re doing. I hope you do well. I would never be unfaithful to you.

Damn him! Did I dare believe him? Maybe he’d booked Ivanna to get information on me. But why hadn’t she called me back? I checked the rest of my messages. Several were from her
number, not two hours after I’d ditched the phone.
Mierda!

Despite her long red nails, she’d attempted to text:
takked ti Sev!!1 U lnded hom!

Landed him? Even if he hadn’t been with Ivanna, Sevastyan and I still weren’t good. Not in any way. He’d been horrible to me. Because of him, I’d nearly lost my mind last
night—and today.

I texted him back:
you broke my heart yesterday

When he read the message, his head jerked up, disbelief in his expression. Without looking away from me, he replied:
let. me. mend. it.

We stared at each other as my chest twisted and twisted.

“Hi, Cat, are you ready?” Ms. Gillespie said as she breezed into the room.

I turned from the window. “Ready as ever.”

“You’ll have forty-five minutes.” She handed me the exam.

I settled into a desk. I could do this! Yet as I stared down at the page, the text swam before my eyes. Were my eyes watering again? I never cried in front of other people.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I-I’m fine.”
Get it together!
“Ready to get started.” My gaze slid to the window again. Sevastyan was still out there, watching me.
Hey, no pressure.
If he caused me to tank my grade, I would have to murder him.

I read, “Question number one,” and I thought
Rule number one
. I was at the end of my odyssey. Would I choke at the finish line . . . ?

Forty-five minutes later, Ms. Gillespie said, “Time’s up.”

I gathered my stuff, then trudged up to her. I couldn’t remember my answers. I wanted to go back over the test—and make sure I hadn’t written MURDER over and over—but she
looked expectantly at me.