Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(14)
Author: K.A. Tucker

“Count your blessings” sounds an awful lot like “You should be happy.” I don’t feel blessed or happy. Relieved, yes. Standing out on that balcony of my new home, overlooking kittens running in the meadow, I felt a degree of comfort that I had yet to experience. But none of this overshadows the fact that I don’t have a life.

“But maybe I want to know who I was before I choose to start over,” I argue.

“Do you, really?” She pushes her chair out and stands abruptly, an annoyed air swirling around her. “The girl you were had her face sliced up, her teeth knocked out, her body violated. Do you want to remember all that? Because I’m pretty sure that brain of yours has decided it doesn’t want anything to do with the girl you were anymore. And if your brain is telling you that, then maybe you ought to listen.” She starts loading her arms with dishes, muttering, “Just give yourself a damn name and that will be your name! Who’s going to argue with you?”

Deep inside, I know she’s right.

Louder, she demands, “Now go home and start a fire. Your shivering is making me cold.” She stalks away, her arms full, her hip holding the door open just long enough for Felix the dog to scamper in behind her.

Great. First night and we’re already at odds. With a sigh, I tuck my hands beneath my arms and leave the porch, limping as quickly as my healing leg can carry me, her words weighing heavily on my spirit.

THIRTEEN

Jesse

then

“You remind me of a surgeon,” comes the accented voice behind me as I stand in front of the table, the various wrenches and socket sets lined neatly; boxes ready for the clamps and bolts and fasteners to the right, rags for my hands and the tools to the left, sealers and lubricants waiting to be grabbed. The Aston Martin manual open to the table of contents.

I’ve heard this before. The guys in shop class used to break my balls about it. I glance over my shoulder to see Viktor at the garage door, dressed all in black. “It helps the work go faster when you know where things are.”

“I see the hoist worked?” He eyes the seized engine now sitting on the ground.

“Yup. Easy.” It’s a good one. Not one an ordinary person would have access to. I don’t want to know where he got it.

He drops a notebook and pen on top of the tools. “Write down everything you need on here. The sooner you get the list to me, the sooner I can appropriate the parts.” He turns with the sound of the entrance gate opening.

An adrenaline rush hits me as the silver BMW pulls up. I can’t help but watch Alexandria’s long legs as she climbs out of her car, pulling her messenger bag out with her.

“Where have you been?” Viktor snaps.

“I had a midterm. I told you that.” Her tone is soft, but it only seems to anger him more.

“And I told you that I will not pay for these courses if they interfere with our lives.”

Obviously, Viktor isn’t too keen on the idea of her in school. That doesn’t surprise me. What’s going to happen when she actually becomes a nurse?

She dips her head and seems to force “Yes, Viktor,” through gritted teeth.

“Excuse me?” Ice slides into his words as he closes the distance. “Have you forgotten? Do we need to talk more about this when I get home later?”

She lifts her head, her jaw set defiantly. “No, Viktor.”

He pauses, his hand twitching at his thigh. “I don’t know what has gotten into you lately but I don’t like it, Alexandria. I didn’t marry a defiant girl and you are becoming defiant. Get inside.”

I turn away just as she storms past, her heels clicking fast and hard against the stone walkway.

“I give her everything she could possibly want and she is still not happy!” he mutters, and when I glance over, I realize he’s talking to me.

“They never are, are they?” It’s the only response I can think of. She definitely isn’t happy, I can say that much. I’m guessing he wouldn’t be either, if he knew what happened between his wife and me. Would he slap me like he did her? How would he react?

He smirks, as if that’s the answer he was hoping for from me. “I will be late. Remember the list.”

Five minutes later, Viktor already gone, the interior door at the back of the garage opens and Alexandria steps out. She’s still dressed the same, though she’s traded her heels for slippers and her white blouse is untucked and hanging out. All the flashy jewelry has been stripped off her body. “Are you hungry?” She holds up a plate and two bottles of beer.

My stomach grumbles at the sight. The last thing I stuffed into my mouth was a Hot Pocket at breakfast. “Starving, actually.” I hold up my filthy hands.

She smiles and points to the door she just came out of. “Inside and to the left.”

I follow her instructions into a mudroom that is separated from the rest of the house by a heavy door on the opposite end and is the size of Boone’s and my living room. When I return to the garage with clean hands, Alexandria has set up a blue folding chair next to the table and cleared some space for my dinner. She’s standing in front of the engine, her arms folded across her chest, a beer in one hand. “So Viktor hired you to fix this?”

I stroll over to the plate. “Yup. Last night, standing in front of the urinal.” Stabbing a piece of stew meat, I shove it into my mouth. “Wow,” I mumble around a mouthful. “Did you make this?”

“One of my duties as Viktor’s wife.” There’s no missing the bitterness.

“Viktor’s lucky to have a wife who cooks like this.” I wonder how often she hears that. Because all I’ve heard is ridicule. Sure, he kissed her. Once.

But so have I.

I feel her eyes on me as I shovel in hunks of meat and potato like a man starved. Growing up with a surgeon and a police officer for parents, I didn’t get a lot of home-cooked meals, and the few I did weren’t memorable. My mom may be a genius in the operating room, but in the kitchen she’s limited to a box of spaghetti and a jar of pasta sauce.

Before I can place the plate on the table, she’s diving for it. “Let me get that.”

“Thanks.” I try her name out on my tongue. “Alexandria.”

“It’s Alex. Call me Alex.” She pushes a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. “When it’s just us.”

“But not when it’s not?”

“Viktor prefers Alexandria.”

Of course.

She looks down at the plate in her hands. “Did you really enjoy that?”

“Yeah, it was fantastic. Why?”

“Because you left half of it.”

“No I didn’t. I ate the entire—” Oh . . . I grin sheepishly. I’ve been picking vegetables out of my food for so long, it’s second nature now. “I ate all the good stuff,” I offer, hoping she isn’t offended by the tidy pile of peas and carrots I left behind. God knows I’ve heard enough about starving children from my mother for the past twenty-four years.

She smiles. “So, not a big fan of vegetables. What about fruit?”

“Tomato sauce.”

“That’s not . . .” Her voice drifts off with a sigh, her eyes flickering with amusement. “You must have driven your mother nuts.”

“Maybe if she cooked more, I would have better eating habits.”

“You’re blaming your mother?”

“Exactly.” I suck back the rest of my beer and hand it to her. “Thank you. You don’t have to serve me, though.”

“I know.” She bites the inside of her mouth. “Viktor wouldn’t like me in here with you.”

“Aren’t you worried about being caught on camera?” And why is she telling me this at all?

“No. There aren’t any cameras in here. Or anywhere in the house. Viktor thinks that people can hack into them and watch us. There are cameras around the perimeter of the property, as well as an alarm system, though.”

“You probably shouldn’t tell people those sorts of things,” I warn. “You don’t know me.”

“You’re right. I don’t, but . . .” Those pretty eyes regard me for a long moment. “I feel like I do.”

I can’t keep my gaze from dropping to her mouth as I murmur, “I think I know what you mean.”

She stands across from me in front of the engine. “So . . . how long do you think it’ll take you to finish this car?”

“Not sure. Depends on how many distractions I have.” Like right now, I’d rather be looking at her than playing with this engine.

And I love nothing more than playing with engines.

Her beer bottle pauses at her lips. She clears her throat and begins to move away. “Well, I should probably get back to studying. I have another midterm next week.”

She misread my words. She thinks I’m trying to get her to leave. “Bring your books out here,” I suggest casually, testing the bolts on the manifold. They’re corroded. Not surprising.

“Yeah?” A hint of something in her voice pulls my attention up. Excitement, perhaps. Is it excitement about spending time with me or just a warm body in general? I wonder how often they have people over here. And how often Viktor is actually home with her. Something tells me she spends a lot of time alone.

“Yeah.” I scan the front of her shirt, the outline of her bra underneath just barely visible. “You may want to change out of anything nice, though. Things tend to get dirty out here.” That could be taken in an entirely different way. I don’t normally say shit like that, but she seems to bring it out in me.

She gives me a small smile. “Okay. I’ll be back.”

Even with her shirt hanging long, I can see her h*ps sway as she strolls toward the door. And then I remind myself that that’s Viktor’s Petrova’s wife, I’m in his garage and working on his car, and I don’t believe for one second that this place isn’t under some kind of surveillance.

I dive back into the engine, keeping my attention glued to it until I hear the door open again and Alexandria’s slippers pad across the concrete floor.

“Here.” I look up to find another beer in her hand. “It’s this or vodka, and you don’t like vodka much.”

“How do you know that?” I frown as I take the bottle. Our fingers graze and I temporarily forget my question.

“Because you looked like you were forcing it down at The Cellar.”

“You were watching me?” Now I can’t help but stare openly at her—changed into jeans, a fitted T-shirt stretched over what I’m guessing is a B-cup chest, her hair pulled into a bun, reminding me of Amber when she used to get dressed up for ballet on Saturday mornings. Except it’s Friday night and Alex can’t be mistaken for a nine-year-old. “You kept your head down the entire time.”

Her cheeks flush. “Well, how would you know unless you were watching me the entire time?”

Caught. I go back to my engine, a smile now affixed to my face. She has a confident streak in her.

“Viktor doesn’t let me drink,” she admits. Then she leans her head back and, closing her eyes, pours the beer down her long, slender throat.

A confident, rebellious streak.

“You don’t talk much. It’s too quiet in here. Do you mind if I put on some music?”

“Go nuts.” Inviting her in here might have been a bad idea after all. I can’t keep my eyes off her ass as she strolls over to the radio on the back wall. She punches in a few buttons and an alternative rock station comes on. “Thank God,” I mutter, turning my focus back to my task.

“What?”

I shake my head. “I was afraid you were going to put that trance shit on, from the club.”

“Oh, no.” She shudders. “I can’t stand that music. Or that place. The people there are all phony and vapid. I hate when Viktor makes me go.” She walks back over to stand near the engine, leafing through the manual. The silence lasts for only a minute before she asks, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

The hesitation swirling around her is palpable. “Why not?”

“Guess I haven’t met the right girl yet.” I broke up with Shyanne six months ago, after dating on and off for close to a year. It was never serious—not to me, anyway—and I can’t say that I miss her. I certainly don’t miss being accused of looking at or talking to or flirting with another girl every single day. And I never was—not knowingly, anyway. Which made it ironic when I found out she was screwing around with her brother’s friend.

“My husband is sleeping with that waitress, Priscilla.” Alex just throws it out there, so matter-of-factly, that I take a moment to process it. Not because I’m shocked that he’s doing it. I pretty much knew.

“I’m sorry.”

“I found out a few weeks ago.” She sets the manual down. “I was taking his dry cleaning in and I found her pink lipstick all over the collar.”