Midnight Purgatory

Chapter 3 Episode 3

Then again, what did I expect? It’s not like I know everything about this man. But also, I’d be lying if I said I knew nothing about him.

I know he likes to entertain women. Mostly blondes with the superhuman proportions of a Kardashian. But it’s not the only piece of information I have.

I also know that he likes to toss around a football on the front grounds of his property with a younger man that looks too much like him to not be his brother. I still remember the first time I saw them playing. My head was first turned by the shirtless, sculpted perfection of Uri’s abs. But it stayed turned because of the way he interacted with his brother. Not the usual no-nonsense, don’t f**k with me vibes that he always exudes even from a hundred yards away. But something more relatable.

He looked like an average guy. Well, that is, if the average guy is over six feet tall with impeccable biceps, washboard abs, and a face that could make the angels weep. More to my point, he looked like a big brother having fun with his younger brother.

It reminded me of the way Ziva and I used to be with each other. Comfortable. Easy. Effortless.

It made me sad and envious and needy all at the same time. That was the real reason I was maybe slightly too interested in Uri Bugrov. That was the real reason I couldn’t totally hate him.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the reason I just accepted this invitation into his home.

Because I wanted to see if there’s a human behind the flawless mask.

I obey before I even realize what I’m doing, taking a chair facing the windows. I scowl at my submissiveness, but it’s too late to muster up some backbone, so I just sigh and sink into the seat. He wasn’t wrong—my leg does hurt.

“You have a nice house,” I remark.

He doesn’t smile like most people do when people compliment their homes. He just nods apathetically. “I do.”

“One of my finer qualities.”

He’s not looking at me. He’s rummaging through a cabinet nearby. I clear my throat awkwardly as I look around in search of something to talk about. I’m not the greatest with tense silences. Or awkward silences. Or really, silences in general.

He frowns as though he finds my question offensive. “I have staff. Some of them live on the property.”

Maybe the guy I’ve seen him play football with is not actually his brother. Maybe he’s just a friend? A coworker? Secret lover?

Now, wouldn’t that be a plot twist?

I glance around the room and notice that the maid, Mariska, left the door to the cabinet she was cleaning open. I can see a frame peeking out, half a photo, a few stoic faces.

Before I know it, the cabinet door is slamming shut. Uri’s blue eyes skewer me impatiently. “I don’t talk about my family. Don’t ask me about them again.”

Whoa. What the hell was that?

Then again, I remember people asking me about Ziva right after the funeral. I told them all to f**k off. Coming from Shylyssa, those words had more bite than intended. But they got me what I wanted: solitude.

“Okay,” I croak. “I won’t.”

His eyebrows arch like he’s going to say something else. Then Mariska walks back into the living room with a hefty-looking first aid kit.

He takes it from her. “Thank you, Mariska. Take the evening off, please.”

She gives him a self-conscious smile and backs out of the room. And all I can think is, No, Mariska, don’t leave me alone with him!

Though I haven’t yet decided if it’s because I can’t trust him…

Or because I can’t trust myself.

I glance down at the cut on my thigh. It’s mostly stopped bleeding, but it does look like a pretty gnarly tear. Uri sits down on the carved, glass-topped coffee table in front of me and opens up the first-aid kit.

“Put your leg on my lap.”

“Excuse me?” I nearly choke on my own tongue while he regards me with a raised eyebrow.

“Your leg,” he says with emphasized slowness, like I’m stupid. “On my lap. Unless you’d like me to try bandaging you up from a distance.”

I gulp. “Um, right. Yeah. Okay…”

Gingerly, I raise my leg and place it over his knee so that my foot dangles onto the coffee table behind him. The heat of his body soaks into my skin. He examines the wound for a prolonged few seconds before he takes a double handful of the fabric of my too-thin tights…

… and rips it apart like the Incredible Hulk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I balk as my leggings peel apart uselessly like wilted flower petals.

“I need to see the wound properly and the fabric is getting in my way. Plus, it’s already destroyed, so I haven’t done anything to you that you didn’t do to yourself. Now, stop fussing and let me take care of this before it gets infected.”

My jaw snaps shut but the heat spreading through me is no joke. I could really use a cold shower right about now.

For more reasons than one.

His fingers graze against my inner thigh and I draw in a breath. When he raises his eyes to mine, I find myself unable to look away.

Aaand cue the blushing. I’m disappointed in myself for not lasting that long. But I suppose it was a losing battle from the start.

“Y-you really don’t have to do this,” I blurt.

He doesn’t raise his head from where his fingers are kneading at my skin. “You’re in my house, pants ruined, with your thigh draped over my leg. We’ve come this far. No point in turning back now.”

I look down and nod, hoping that he hasn’t noticed the blush. Oh, who the hell am I kidding? Of course he’s noticed. My usually pale skin goes from borderline anemic to blotchy sunburn in a matter of seconds. Subtle, it is not.

I stay silent while he cleans the wound with a cotton swab to remove the debris. For such a big, brutish man, he’s meticulous and gentle.

“Dealt with a lot of bloody wounds in your lifetime?” I joke.

“Many. I don’t usually stick around for the bandaging part, though.”

“Ha-ha,” I say awkwardly. “Bringing new meaning to the word ‘ladykiller.’”

He doesn’t so much as crack a smile. He does, however, keep cleaning my bloody thigh.

My heart rate rises so fast that my palms start to sweat. All those mob rumors came racing back into my head. It’s not like they’re that hard to believe. I mean, the man lives on a fenced compound bristling with every type of security known to man. It’s beyond me now why I thought trespassing here was a good idea.

Uri pulls back suddenly and I jump in place. He freezes, turning his eyes on me. “You can relax. I’m just getting the disinfectant.”

I clear my throat. “Right. Of course. Knew that.”

He reaches into the kit and comes up with a bottle. “Are you scared of me, Alyssa?”

“Who, me?” A shiver runs up and down my spine. “No. Never.”

Uri smirks darkly. “You’ll have to do better than that if you want me to believe you. I can smell a lie a mile away.”

Is it just my imagination or has his grip tightened around my leg? Is this meant to be a threat? A power play? Am I a dead woman walking? Was my ladykiller joke a little too on the nose?

Stay calm, I tell myself. Don’t let him see that he’s getting to you.

“I might be a little scared. I mean, look at where you live. Look at how you live. It’s intimidating as hell. And yes, so are you—but if you smiled more, that might help.”

“What makes you think I’m trying to help?”

A stab of pain in my leg takes away whatever retort I was getting ready to deliver. I look down only to realize that he’s applying the disinfectant.

“A little warning would have been nice,” I snap.

“Pain rarely comes with a warning, narushitel.”

His hand brushes against my thigh and the heat rises up again. Great, that’s just what I need. More heat to really kick up the sweating another notch. He seems oblivious to the mental conflict raging in my head. Most people have an inbuilt fight or flight switch. Me? I have a flight or freeze switch. Tonight, it’s stuck on freeze.

I grit my teeth. “This is taking a while.”

“That’ll teach you to climb other people’s fences.”

I scowl. “There’s no reason for your fences to be that high. Or that sharp.”

“Considering a nosy neighbor tried to scale it tonight, I’m inclined to disagree.”

“Then why were you trying to scale my fence?”

There it is again—the freeze reaction. Because I needed to retrieve my giant purple dildo, that’s why.

“I… um…” Just tell him the truth. It’s a simple enough fix. “I just needed something.”

“No one takes anything from my estate unless they have my permission first.”

When he says it like that, it does sound stupid. I’m having a hard time remembering why I thought I was Jason freaking Bourne instead of just going to the gate and asking nicely like a normal person.