Release: Davlova: Book One by A.M. Sexton

Author:A.M. Sexton [Sexton, A.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marie Sexton
Published: 2014-06-22T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The next day the pedalcart driver came by as arranged, but I wasn’t out front to meet him. After all, I had nothing to report to Anzhéla or Aleksey. I told myself that was the only reason. I told myself it had nothing to do with the giant bruise on the side of my face, from my hairline to my jaw, or my eye being nearly swollen shut. I sat alone, staring out of the window. My little room was high and near the back of Talia’s building, and I looked out over white roofs toward the city wall.

I hated it all. I hated the city. I hated the trenches, which I couldn’t see but could somehow feel behind me, and the desperate wretches who lived there. I hated the white district and the oblivious fools who filled it. And more than anything, I hated the fucking hill and every single person who lived on it.

Most of all, I hated Donato.

Every time I thought of him, my heart ached. I could barely breathe. I kept thinking about the yacht. About floating in the sea while anchored to him. About how good I’d felt while he made love to me in his bed.

And then I’d think about the night before, the hatred in his eyes, and the things he’d done to his slave.

How could Miguel and Donato even be the same man?

More than anything, I thought of Ayo, out of my reach on the far side of the wall. The butler had said he’d help him, but what could he do? Some calming salve on his rectum, an ice pack for his eye. But there was no serum or elixir that could soothe the worst of his injuries. Those were deeper, buried in his psyche, out of reach of any normal doctor.

They could’ve programmed the tears away, too. At the time he’d said it, I’d thought it sounded like an even greater cruelty, but I understood better now why it was something he might have wished for.

Early in the afternoon, Talia knocked on my door. She came in without waiting for me to admit her. “Get out,” I said, without turning to look at her.

“You missed your appointment. Anzhéla wants to know—”

“If I had anything worth telling her, then I would have kept it. Now get out.”

“Misha—”

“Get. The fuck. Out.”

She sighed heavily, obviously annoyed. “He’s asked to see you tonight.”

“No.”

“You can’t refuse to go.”

“I sure as hell can. He can find a new whore. I’m done.”

She hesitated and I sat stiff in my seat, trying to decide what I would do if she argued. Would I throw a fit like a recalcitrant child, or burst into tears? Those were the two most likely possibilities. Luckily I didn’t have to find out. She left without saying another word.

Outside, the temple bells rang at regular intervals, marking the passing of the day. The buzz of the afternoon market faded. I could hear children running through the streets, shouting to one another, playing games I’d never had the luxury of learning.

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