Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.- Good morning, Kira! came a friendly voice.I opened my eyes, smacking my dry lips sleepily. The light from the window was dim and grey, it was rainy and smelled of a young doctor: not a wolf, but rather a human one. Maybe he was a half-breed?- I hope you remember me. We already met yesterday. My name is Pavel Alekseevich. I am your physician.Soft fingers touched me, unplugging the IV and the wires leading to the monitor. The skin responded to the touch with painful sensations, and I flinched, instinctively shrinking. I didn't want to be touched.- I asked the nurses not to tease you anymore, - as if not noticing my reaction, the doctor continued, - so that the body itself begins to tune in to normal work.Slowly, but I delved into what he said, and pain immediately woke up in my body. Not strong, but aching and, most importantly, growing. In addition, I felt weakness and unpleasant numbness due to the fact that I had been lying in one position for too long.
The car was rocking. An empty stomach twisted painfully, especially when the SUV, rushing away from the city, ran into a bump or pit.The long-sleeve top, jeans, and comfortable loafers the nurse helped me put on were brand new and free of any fragrance other than store-bought, which of course meant nothing to me.Husband ... Boris was sitting next to me in the back seat, occasionally throwing glances at me that I could not interpret. He did not say a word to me all the way, and the farther we drove away from the city in complete silence, the more anxious I became.In the hospital, even blocking the fact of memory loss, I did not seem to fully understand what it meant, but outside the hospital walls, where they could help me, the emptiness inside began to press in a completely different way, and it seemed to me that I was simply being torn apart and at the same time shaking from side to side.I didn't know what to expect, what to think. Apparently, my husband was a wealthy and authori
Night closed over the house, and the darkness into which the bedroom plunged began to torment me. Questions grew in my head like mushrooms after rain, but there were no answers to them. Words couldn't express how awful and painful it was.Falling asleep from time to time, I seemed to see a screen in front of me. Because of her, I heard voices: familiar and not very, pleasant and not very. I think I even heard my own voice and laughter. However, no matter how I tried to penetrate behind the screen, to see what my subconscious wanted to show me, the hand passed through it, as if I were a ghost and life in all its manifestations was no longer available to me.Maybe that's how it was, and partly ... But what kind of "partially" is there ?! Having lost my memory, I ceased to exist. She didn't die, but she didn't live either. She breathed, but not fully. Loved ... Probably loved, but without a heart. It turns out that this was also possible.In the morning I stood under a hot shower for a l
The sound of the rain lulled me to sleep, but the darkness that unleashed the tentacles of emptiness drove away sleep, along with the smell of blood that followed me into bed.Out of the corner of my ear, I heard female moans coming from somewhere in the corridor, but my consciousness refused to process them, and concentrated solely on the sound of a shot that sounded in my head.The wound under his chest throbbed like a living thing, but it was nothing compared to the pain in his lower abdomen. The appendages were whipped like a mixer, and a red-hot poker was driven into the crotch.It became wet between my legs and I swayed to the bathroom. Urine was brown and with it brown clots came out of me. The body was trembling.Somehow I got back to bed and, swallowing tears and excruciating screams, I crouched under the covers, dreaming of falling asleep, not feeling pain, not smelling blood and violence, not hearing the sound of a shot, not feeling myself passed through a meat grinder piec
The courage caused by a tiny memory left with the doctor, and apathy surged through me. It was not so much caused by his words about infertility, but by the simple fact that nothing could last forever.Alyosha brought me more coffee. Boris disappeared somewhere: either he closed himself in his office, or he left home altogether. To be honest, I didn't care. Oddly enough, I was glad to be alone, to digest, so to speak, the doctor's visit and in general everything that had happened since I returned home.Home ... Anyway, neither this word, nor the word "husband" somehow did not fit in my head, and somewhere there was a tapping, but a feeling of foreignness drilled through.I tried to think soberly and rely on my feelings, since my memory refused to help me, but that was the problem: there were no memories, and the sensations were very contradictory, confused and exciting.Anxiety rolled over me, then let go, but something else did not take its place, and the muffled emptiness inside beg
The long-awaited rays of the sun enthusiastically dried the puddles in the territory adjacent to the house. The wind was fresh and dampness was constantly rising from the earth, but the sun and spring were doing their job, and I didn’t feel like sitting in the room at all. In general, I wanted to wear something beautiful, heels are a must, so that it would be more fun to walk and listen to their perky knock.Boris said that I didn’t really like to dress up before and in general I wasn’t interested in anything. I had to take his word for it, for lack of my own memories.However, having listened to the advice of the doctor, I decided to give up forcibly fishing out of my head at least something and give myself a calm and even opportunity to remember everything as the blank slate of my life was filled with new events and memories. And I decided to start with the wardrobe.It was probably stupid to be puzzled by this, especially considering that I didn’t even remember when I was supposed
The massive figure of Boris blocked the entire doorway. Silently and surprisingly graceful for his size, he walked into the room and seemed to absorb all the light in it.Glancing over at the doctor who was kneeling in front of me, still holding my hands, he stopped behind him.- How is my girl? he asked casually.Pasha cast a sidelong glance at the shadow that flickered in the corridor, judging by the smell, belonged to a wolf with a scar, and got up from his knees.- He is recovering faster than could be predicted, - he answered just as casually, turning to face Boris. “You have it, Boris Sergeevich, a fighter,” he added, looking directly at him."That's right," the husband chuckled, putting his hands in his pockets in a relaxed way.I sucked in the air, confidently filled not only with the smell of a wolf, but also with the smell of the threat hidden in the words and movements of Boris.I didn't know what to think, what to do. What did it all mean? Husband with sharp, wolf hearing
The night, saturated with the smell of blood and fear, tormented me, mercilessly dragging me through all the circles of hell again and again.I was afraid to sleep, I was afraid to lie in the dark, but I was also afraid to turn on the light so as not to give out that I was not sleeping, which means that something was wrong.Through the sound of the rain, I occasionally heard footsteps outside the door. Uncertain and cautious, they most likely belonged to Alyosha, in the role of a faithful nanny I now doubted, as I doubted everything in general.Pasha... The young doctor who took care of me paid with his life... For what? For silence? But about what?"You mustn't believe..." I heard him say over and over again.The answer was obvious: I shouldn't have believed Boris.Even then, in the hospital, Pasha did not want to let me go home, he wanted me to stay there, perhaps to protect me, to tell the truth about what happened to me, or rather, who did this to me.Boris told me that there were
Casino "Queen of Spades" was one of the first in the city, which worked legally, and was rightfully considered its pearl.It was located in an old building in the center and, along with the gaming halls, included hotel rooms on the upper floors and a restaurant on the ground floor, at the entrance to which my father, the then owner of the city, was shot.Boris once invested a lot of money in updating the casino, while retaining the charm of that era and leaving even the name, probably thus perpetuating the moment of his coming to power.It is strange that Boris was from a rich and influential family, but he strove for power so much, and Grisha, who was probably found in cabbage with a clip instead of a rattle, did not strive for power even when it was brought to him on a silver platter.It was a bit of a revelation to me that Rosa visited the casino, but on the other hand it was her own business, thanks to which I had a powerful lead. However, Grisha probably also thought about someth
Summer twilight was gathering over the residence, and cigarette smoke ghostly spread in the scattered patches of light from the lanterns. In the vault, I found some documents, among which was my passport with the name Angelova.It was a strange logic to hide the documents along with the weapons, but I didn't find fault when I looked at the DNA test results sheet. Of course, there were no names on it, but it was not necessary to guess for a long time who the samples belonged to.Why did Boris drive his brother away? I thought the blood mattered to him. Or was the rejection of the brother due to the fact that he was a half-breed? To Boris, half-breeds were trash. Only I, my beloved wife, was an exception, and, probably, Grisha. And that was only because he was a very useful servant.I wonder if Boris's parents were still alive? Or did he also kill them, like my father, so that they would not get in the way while he was building his empire?How is my queen doing? - Grisha quietly slipped
The sun had long since turned away from the windows and balcony of my room, and I blinked sleepily, not orienting myself in time.There was a taste of rotten eggs in my mouth, and I was very thirsty. I reached out to a bottle of water that had come from somewhere on the bedside table and, sitting up, took a few sips.I felt rested, but my head was porridge. The pillowcase on the pillow was dirty with make-up that I hadn't washed off before going to bed, and the only clothes I had on were panties. This discovery was the turning point for my sleepy memory, and I tightened my grip on the bottle, preparing to throw it at whoever opened the door, but it was only Martha.- Good morning! How did you sleep? she asked cautiously, looking warily at the bottle in my hand.- Where is this monster? I squeezed out.- Grigory Georgievich washes a motorcycle, - Marta immediately answered, holding back a smile.There were too many rough words on my tongue, and I, taking pity on the girl's ears, kept s
In my life I have seen quite a few horrors: I saw how my brother was shot in cold blood; I saw how the doctor's throat was torn open with claws; I saw severed heads rolling on the floor with grimaces of pain, but what lay in the box could not be compared with them.- It's a doll! Astakhov reassured me. - Just a doll, Kira!I clung to him, shuddering from crying. A doll... A little boy's doll was lying in the ground, judging by the smell taken from the cemetery, and from that it smelled of death.When Astakhov was pulling me away, I caught the box and it fell to the floor. The earth crumbled, and the doll began to cry so loudly that I could not hold back the second painful scream.What kind of sick bastard did you have to be to do that?- What have become, bl * d! - lifting me in his arms, Astakhov shouted to his scumbags. - Bring the courier back! Fast!He carried me to my room and sat me on the bed. I was trembling. I still smelled the nauseating smell of the earth. A child's cry rum
I stood under a hot shower for a long time, washing away the smell of the wolf and the feeling that I had been dumped in the mud.I really considered the option with sex seriously. The old, proven method could (and would have turned out!) to be very effective with such a self-confident character as Mikhail, but apparently my inner chameleon went on vacation or hibernated, and I did not feel the slightest physical response to the caress of an attractive man.His every kiss, every touch disgusted me, and even the name of his son could not start the desired mode in me. I once considered myself a fallen woman, and I was for the most part, but, apparently, in my short redemption, I managed to rise a little, and at the last moment I backed up, using a trump card that, in fact, I wanted to save .Hearing about my father and that I was ready to meet him, the young lawyer quickly realized that he underestimated me and removed his ugly little hands, but even under water it still seemed to me th
Rosa served me lunch in the dining room, honoring a vase of strawberries with the most honorable place on the table. I placed my laptop out of sight and jabbed blindly at my plate with my fork, trying to focus on the news that was all about starting a recycling plant and opening jobs. Somewhere I even came across an interview with the deputy mayor, but I did not read through it. Everything was clear there anyway: it was worth taking something important from people, and from wolves, and half-breeds too, and then returning it, and they, consider, were in your pocket, overflowing with gratitude.It warmed me strangely that I now had power in my hands, and that with its help I had done a good deed by providing jobs, but I also could not help but notice that with such a gesture I exposed myself even more. Gratitude is gratitude, but even the simple inhabitants of the city's slums couldn't help but wonder who was now at the helm, not to mention the mayor and all his many hangers-on."What i
Astakhov left, leaving behind acrid smoke and a taste of bitterness in his mouth. Night fell imperceptibly, and the rain fell, ruthlessly filling the dimly lit room with the thoughts I had promised her when I returned here. And all of them, of course, were about Nikita.At some point, they became unbearable, like the smell of cigarettes left by the wolfhound, and I opened the balcony wide open, turned off the light in the hope of falling asleep, but it only got worse: the dream did not go at all, and every rustle from the street seemed to revive not only my thoughts about my son, but memories of those days that I spent at the residence with Boris, and indeed memories of my whole life.I saw faces, heard voices, smelled and touched, heard shots and moans, sweaty palms, and in them I alternately felt the weight of a gun.Closer to dawn, this torture began to come to an end, but there was another on the way, and the brighter it became, the more clearly I saw Boris. He stood by my bed and
To say that Rosa's words left me with an unpleasant aftertaste was an understatement. It was one thing to admit that I had made a mistake by returning to the city, and quite another to hear confirmation of this. I would have bitten my elbow, but it was already too late to bite even two.I had no reason not to believe her, but on the other hand, I just wanted to shout out "What the hell?!"As children, my brother and I often heard in our slums fairy tales about the great Valery Stanislavsky, which mother tearfully fed, telling in the evenings about how gentle father was, and how he would love us, and how he would take care of us, and other shit , unfamiliar with loneliness, fear and longing.Now, many years later, I was sitting in his house, but already in the chair of a wolf who organized his murder and took the place of the owner of the city, who ordered me to be beaten, raped and killed, and then fucked me in the same house, sang praises, gave jewelry , who made me his wife, and who
I closed the door behind him and, returning to the table, drank the bourbon in one gulp.It was difficult to put aside thoughts about my son, but I managed to focus on a conversation with a lawyer. Whether he realized that I was cut off from Boris's affairs or not was unimportant, as well as what he thought of me. Maybe it was even better that he took me for a fool, because something serious was usually not expected from fools.The main thing now was that he confirmed one of my worst guesses: six months ago, someone made sure that my signature miraculously appeared in the inheritance documents, and this same someone left some orders on my behalf to keep the business afloat.Question: who and for what purpose?Was it the one who sent a guest to my house? Maybe it was made to smoke me out? Forced to return to the city?It is unlikely that this was Boris's brother. If he looked at least a little like him, my signature would not be anywhere, but he clearly claimed something, since he inte