Fractured Souls (Perfectly Imperfect #6)

She watches me for a few moments, then leans forward so her mouth is right next to my ear, sliding out of my hold in the process.

“I killed a man,” she whispers. “That night, I escaped. I killed my client.”

I bite down to hold my rage inside. “Good,” I say through gritted teeth.

“I don’t regret it. I should. But I don’t.” Her arm comes around my neck as she presses her cheek to mine. “Does that make me a bad person?”

“No. You defended yourself from a sexual predator who violated you in the most terrible way. In fact, you did him a favor.”

“A favor?”

“Yes. Because if you hadn’t killed him, I would have. And believe me, whatever you did wouldn’t even come close to what I would have done to him.” I squeeze the back of her neck lightly. “Come show me what you prepared. It’s the first time someone has cooked for me.”

Asya leans back, her face right in front of mine again, and places her hand against my cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

Chapter 5

I put on the pajamas Pasha bought for me and look at myself in the bathroom mirror. The top is not that bad, maybe a size or two too big. The bottoms are a different story. I had to roll the waist and cuff the legs more than twice to make sure they’d stay on and I wouldn’t trip while walking. I checked the label and saw that it’s size medium. I usually wear extra small.

The rest of the clothes he got lie folded on the long counter next to the sink. All of them are mediums, too. Either Pasha has never shopped for female clothes, or he can’t guess sizes that well. I noticed two empty shelves in the cabinet at the other end of the bathroom, so I put the clothes there. I don’t want to intrude on his space any more than I already have. I still can’t believe he’s let me stay.

When I exit the bathroom, Pasha is stepping out of his closet, wearing dark gray pajama bottoms and a black T-shirt.

“I’ll leave the door open,” he says. “If you need anything, I’ll be in the room across the hall.”

My body goes rigid upon hearing his words. Wrapping my arms around my middle, I nod and head toward the bed.

“Asya? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I climb in bed and turn to face the wall, pulling the blanket all the way up to my chin.

The room falls silent for a moment, but then I hear the sound of bare feet approaching.

“What’s wrong?”

I grip the blanket in my hand. “Can you sleep here again?”

“Here? In this bed?”

“Please.”

He doesn’t say anything. I squeeze my eyes shut, hating myself for asking him. He probably thinks I’m a weakling. As if usurping his life and his space is not enough, I’m asking him to keep sleeping in the same bed with me. I open my mouth to tell him I’ve changed my mind when the bed dips behind me.

I slide my hands under the pillow, hoping it will stop me from turning toward him and snuggling into his chest. This inexplicable pull I feel toward him confuses me, but it also makes me feel disgusted with myself. I’ve been assaulted and used in the most degrading ways, so what I should be feeling toward Pasha and any other man is loathing, fear, and repulsion. Instead, I’m attracted to him. But the entire time I’ve been here, he hasn’t once tried anything, hasn’t touched me in any way that could be considered sexual.

It’s because you’re filthy,the voice in my mind whispers.Spoiled goods no man would ever want to touch. How many dicks have been inside your pussy? Too many to count?

I turn my face into the pillow. I need it to stop!

You know what you are? A slut. A dirty, filthy whore.

Pasha’s thick arm wraps around my waist and pulls me into his body until my back is pressed to his chest.

“Talk to me,” he says into my hair.

A shudder passes through my body because of his closeness, and it’s not a bad shudder.

“Why didn’t you call my brother and get rid of me?” I ask.