Lying and Kissing(27)

He wanted me because he thought I was an innocent. I was an innocent, in some ways, probably far more innocent than he suspected. And, at the same time, I was lying to him, preparing to betray him. I’d seen that flicker in his eyes- that need for me that no man had ever shown. And I’d felt myself waking up, big chunks of ice that I hadn’t even realized were there cracking and splintering inside me as I was roused. Now that I was alone, I could feel myself shutting down again, closing up.

I couldn’t process it, standing there in a bathroom. I needed time alone to figure it out. But it was almost as if I’d briefly come back to life, after being frozen for—

For three years?

I stared at myself and shook my head. I didn’t like the implications of that. I couldn’t handle the idea that he might be that important in my life.

I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. The woman next to me, thrusting her make-up bag into her purse so fast that a lipstick went skittering across the floor. She almost ran out of the room. And I realized that the other women had left, too. I seemed to be alone.

And then, in the mirror, I saw the blonde from the dance floor step into view behind me. I had time to blink in surprise, just once, and then she grabbed the back of my head and rammed my head into the mirror.





My forehead struck first. There was a cracking sensation that I prayed was the mirror and, an instant later, white-hot pain flooded my brain.

She still had hold of my hair. She used it to yank me backward and I stumbled in my heels.

“Blyadischa!” she yelled. Whore. Something cracked against my cheek and I fell sideways, landing on my knees. My face burned and I thought I tasted blood. She’d slapped me, with the full weight of her oversized rings.

Tears sprang to my eyes. My head throbbed so hard I couldn’t think. Why does she hate me?!

“American shalava!” She was calling me a slut. She’d been glaring at me all night, ever since she’d first seen me with—

Oh no.

She kicked me, then, aiming for my breasts but fortunately hitting me in the shoulder. I sprawled backward, almost going full-length on the tiles. My brain was trying to catch up with what was happening. I’m being attacked. Things like this don’t happen to me. I’d never been in a fight in my life. Part of me wanted to curl into a ball and pray that, if I just took it, she’d run out of steam and stop.

But she wasn’t even close. Hitting me just seemed to make her madder. “Yob tebye suka!” she screeched, almost hysterical. She grabbed me by the hair again and I had to scramble onto my knees or she would have ripped it out by the roots. She half-dragged me forward, into a stall.

Don’t panic. A voice from my past, one that was meant to cut in at times like this. I just had to listen to it.
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She rammed my head into the toilet bowl and there was a sudden roar, deafeningly loud. Freezing water filled my ears and nose. I clamped my mouth shut.

The woman screamed something, muffled through the water. I tried to lift my head but her hand was shoving my head down, holding me under. My hair was being pulled around by the currents, wrapping around my face like seaweed. My lungs screamed for oxygen.

Panic won’t help you. The voice had an accent. A Texas drawl. Rick Espiano, my unarmed combat instructor, back when I’d done my basic training. I hadn’t been good at it, not like Nancy.

But I do have a good memory.

Don’t panic, I heard Rick say, as fear clawed at my mind. Just think. What do you have? What can you use?

I drove my foot back, hard, and felt it connect with something. There was a muffled scream and my head was released.

I pushed myself up, vision half-blocked by my tangled, soaked hair. I heaved in a huge lungful of air, tossing my head to try to clear my eyes.

The woman was staggering back from me, gripping her bare thigh with both hands. There was a satisfyingly large red mark there.

She came at me again, nails ready to slash like claws across my face. But my memory had kicked in, now. I ducked under her arm, my shoulder against her thigh, and used her own momentum to throw her over my back. She screamed and I heard her land hard. When I turned around, she was sprawled on the floor, groaning.

Luka’s head bodyguard put his head around the door, saw what was happening, and ran in. Luka was right behind him.

My legs wouldn’t hold me anymore. I sank to the floor, my back against a sink. My hair, face and shoulders were soaked with water—thankfully, the place was classy enough that the toilets were clean. But I could feel tears running down my cheeks, no doubt taking my make-up with them in long, ugly streaks. My hair was over my eyes and, when I tried to sweep it back out of my face, it stuck to my hands in wet ropes. I sobbed.