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“You think I don’t know that, goat?”
Vadisk winced as she called the guard a goat, which was roughly equivalent to calling someone an asshole, but the pissed-off, insult-filled way she was speaking was in character for a certain type of Russian.
“I already cleaned,” Dahlia continued. “I brought plenty of towels, but it’s not enough. They told me I have to re-clean two rooms, and every bathroom needs new towels. What are you doing with the towels, huh?”
“Give me the towels, I’ll take them up.”
“You? You’ll leave dirt on the nice white towels. And you’re going to clean for me?”
“No, but you’re not getting?—”
“You want to make my life harder? You think I need more bullshit? I married a soldier, thinking he would be an officer. We would live a nice life. Instead, he brings me here. There’s nowhere to live, so we have to rent an expensive tourist house, which means I have to work. No flowers, no jewelry. Instead, I clean houses and wash other people’s shit-stained underwear and towels you probably jerked off into.”
Under the mountain of towels, Vadisk was grinning.
“And if that’s not enough, look at this.”
Vadisk was pretty sure he knew what she was pointing at. The uniform Dahlia found had been a little too big on her, so she’d stuffed hand towels into a pillowcase and tucked it under her shirt, then wrapped the apron strings around herself before tying them below her breasts, emphasizing the newly created baby bump.
Given the height of the van, it was possible the guard hadn’t noticed her supposedly pregnant belly until she pointed to it.
“I should be at home resting. I should be taken care of, instead of having to work. You don’t want to let me in? You want me to park here and walk the towels up?” She made a dismissive noise.
“Fuck, lady, calm down,” the guard mumbled. “Fine. Go.”
“I’m glad you aren’t stupid.”
“I’m glad my wife isn’t a bitch like you.”
With those parting insults, the gates swung open with a mechanical grind, and the van started forward.
“Did it work?” Montana whispered, voice barely audible.
“She was fucking amazing,” Vadisk replied.
They stayed quiet until Dahlia stopped. “I’m going to get out and see if anyone approaches me,” she murmured. “Stay here. I’ll scream if I need help.”
Jesus. Christ. Vadisk started flexing, attempting to put pressure on his feet. He was wedged in too tight. Fuck it. If she started screaming, he was going to show them just how much he was like that Incredible Hulk they kept comparing him to. He’d break the fucking cart to pieces to get to her.
The van’s back door opened.
“We’re good.” The vehicle rocked a little as Dahlia climbed in. “I parked us on the grass under some trees at the back of the house, near what I assume is the rear entrance. There weren’t as many cars parked in the front as there were when we visited before. Most of the militia must still be out looking for us.”
Vadisk started throwing off towels, taking a deep breath of cool air. Well, not that deep, since he was cramped in the damn cart.
Montana snapped another picture, this time far enough back he got the whole cart in frame.
Vadisk bared his teeth. “Dahlia, hit him for me.”
Dahlia smacked Montana’s ass.
He wiggled his brows. “Please, ma’am, may I have another?”
Dahlia started snort-laughing as Montana grinned. Vadisk hid his own smile and twisted, managing to yank one arm free. Montana clasped his hand while Dahlia held the cart steady as Vadisk pulled himself up and out.
“I’ll deal with you two later,” he vowed, growling a little.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Montana added, apparently on a roll with the comebacks. Vadisk suspected that nothing they did from this point on—and they were going to do some dangerous shit—would frighten Montana as much as that cave had.
