Split

Chapter 14

14

M y eyes pore over the aged pages of Jekyll and Hyde as I pick at my salad the following afternoon, barely able to absorb the story while my thoughts continually drift to my escape scheme.

The hedge maze is a bust. I get so turned around in there that I can’t tell my ass from my elbow, always winding up right back where I started. Not to mention the fact that even if I were able to figure it out, I still don’t know whether a path to freedom lies on the other side. It could just be a waste of time; a pointless distraction.

I know from our trips to and from the estate that we’re miles from civilization. The forest around the manor is thick, and it’s getting colder at night as winter approaches. Simply trying to make a run for it would be suicide– I wouldn’t last a single night out in those woods alone.

No, the only sure way to rid myself of Roman for good is by getting close to him, first. I need to find out what makes him tick; unearth the skeletons lurking within the manor’s many closets. If he thinks I’ve accepted my role as his docile, obedient wife, maybe he’ll let his guard down and give me something that’s worth bartering for my freedom over. Which also means it’s time for me to strap in and brace myself for what’s to come.

Getting close to Roman means playing the long game, and I’ll need to toughen up if I have any prayer of surviving it. Of surviving him .

“Are you all finished, ma’am?” Clara asks, startling me from my tangled web of thoughts. I jerk my head up to find her hovering in the doorway of the parlor, eyeing my barely-touched plate with judgment. “Was there something wrong with the salad?”

“No, it was delicious,” I insist, flipping my book closed and pushing up from the chair. “I’m just not very hungry today, that’s all.”

“But Mr. Volkov…”

“Doesn’t need to know,” I finish for her, frowning.

She stares at me for a long moment, then finally concedes with a curt nod, her Mary Jane’s clacking against the marble as she comes over to collect my plate.

I tuck the book under my arm, breezing past Clara to head for the study. Maybe a change of scenery will allow me to get lost in the story rather than daydreaming about escaping this hellhole.

It’s overcast outside today, and the dreary weather makes the hallways of the manor even more dim and ominous looking as I navigate through them toward the back of the house. It’s always so quiet in here; so devoid of life. A shiver creeps up my spine as a feeling comes over me that I’m being watched, the little hairs on the back of my neck standing on end in warning. I look back and forth to verify that the corridor is indeed vacant, yet I still can’t shake that prickly feeling.

I swear this place is haunted.

My heart pounds as I pick up my pace, turning a corner sharply only to discover that I’m not alone after all. It isn’t a ghoul or an apparition coming toward me from the opposite end of the hall, though– it’s a very real, very handsome man.

I’ve never seen him before, but he’s almost as tall and imposing as Roman, and just as impressively built. The fabric of his well-tailored black suit clings to his broad chest, straining over his thick shoulders and biceps. A tattoo peeks from underneath his shirt collar, inky swirls crawling up the side of his neck and brushing just below his left ear, where his blonde hair is shaved short on the sides and worn longer on top. He’s undeniably attractive, but I know all too well that the devil bestows the most striking beauty upon his most sinister soldiers.

I stop in my tracks, unease washing over me when our eyes lock. I’ve never found a stranger wandering the halls of the manor before, so the sight of him has me immediately on guard.

“Who are you?” I blurt, eyeing him suspiciously.

He cards his fingers through his silky-looking hair as he continues his approach, coming to a halt in front of me and extending his other hand with a roguish grin. “Niko Petrov.”

I tuck my book tighter underneath my arm as I hesitantly place my hand in his, the puzzle pieces slotting together in my brain as I recall Roman mentioning someone by that name.

“You must be the new Mrs. Volkov,” he drawls, giving me a firm handshake before taking a respectful step backwards and pocketing his hands in his slacks. “I’m your husband’s second.”

“You’re in real estate, too?” I question with an innocent tilt of my head.

A smirk curls his lips. “Something like that.”

I nod slowly, accepting his vague response– because even though I’m currently batting my lashes at Niko like a bashful little housewife, I’m actually not a complete idiot. I’m well aware of what these guys are into. Not the specifics, of course, since the women in this world are never brought in on the actual business side of things, but it all falls under the umbrella of organized crime. It’s the reason I was traded to Roman in the first place. I’m just a pawn in some business deal; a lamb for the slaughter.

“So, how are you settling in?” Niko asks in an attempt to make idle conversation.

I continue eyeing him uncertainly as I reply, “Fine.”

A smile comes to his lips, his blue eyes harboring a kindness that feels jarringly out in place within the foreboding atmosphere of the manor. “This old place takes some getting used to, huh?” he remarks, glancing around. “It used to freak me out when I was a kid, I thought it was haunted.”

My brows shoot up. “You’ve been coming here that long?”

Niko nods, chuckling softly. “Only my whole life. I grew up with the Volkovs.” He gestures to the book tucked under my arm. “Reading anything good?”

A blush heats my cheeks as I reach for the novel, slipping it from beneath my arm and showing him the cover. “Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Ah,” he muses, nodding. “A classic. The twist at the end is really something, I’d give anything to read it again for the first time.”

“I’m not even halfway through yet,” I admit, glancing down at the cover.

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” he remarks.

I flicker my gaze back up to meet his, lips curving in a smile. “Guess that gives me something to look forward to, then.”

Something about Niko puts me at ease. He’s not as harsh or intimidating as Roman. I almost forgot what it’s like to just carry a normal conversation.

“So, what’s your connection to the family?” I ask casually, recognizing the opportunity to pry for information. “You said you grew up with Roman?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “My old man was…”

“You’re not spilling secrets, are you Niko?” Roman’s booming voice interrupts, my blood turning to ice in my veins.

My posture goes rigid as I hear his oxfords clipping against the marble floor behind me, his footsteps drawing closer.

Niko snaps his head up, blanching a little before quickly recovering his composure and running a casual hand through his hair. “Just getting to know your new wife,” he replies, an easy grin settling across his face.

Roman comes to a stop beside me, and I fight back a flinch when he sets a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Eliza, why don’t you go wait for me in the study?” he suggests, prompting me to look up and meet those sinister green eyes. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

My stomach bottoms out. I know that look, and my fight or flight instincts are already kicking in as I nod numbly in agreement, Niko sidestepping to allow me to pass.

“Nice meeting you, Eliza,” he winks.

“You too,” I breathe, clutching my book to my chest and averting my gaze as I hurry past him down the hall.

I don’t go to the study.

From the unhinged gleam in Roman’s eyes, I know it’s a trap, and I’d be a fool to willingly walk into it. I stride right past the open French doors, deviating to the adjacent corridor in search of a place to hide. Probably not the smartest strategy, but I’ve never been great at thinking on my feet.

When I spot the massive doors for the old ballroom, I decide it’s my best bet. It’s one of the many forgotten rooms in the manor, so it probably wouldn’t even occur to Roman to look inside. I grasp for the cold knob of one of the heavy wooden doors, pulling it open, ducking in, and closing it quietly behind me.

My heart pounds as I sag back against the door, pressing a palm to my chest in an effort to calm the erratic beat. The minutes seem to stretch on for an eternity as I stand there with my back pressed to the wood, until finally, my pulse slows, my breathing returning to normal.

Then I hear footsteps out in the hall.

My pulse takes off at a gallop, my breath stalling in my lungs as I listen to the familiar clip of Roman’s shoes against the floor outside the door. The sound draws closer, and I don’t move a muscle, holding my breath until it sounds like he’s right on the opposite side.

The knob doesn’t turn. The door doesn’t open. He doesn’t even pause– just continues on down the corridor, the sound of his footsteps receding into the distance. Only when I can barely hear them anymore do I finally dare to exhale, hugging my book tightly to my chest as I suck in greedy gulps of oxygen.

Shit, that was close.

After calming myself down, I wait a good ten minutes while listening to the continued silence in the hallway before making a move. My hand trembles as I turn and reach for the brass doorknob, twisting it in my grip and slipping out of the ballroom into the vacant corridor. Remaining alert, I tiptoe toward the front of the house. There’s no sign of my husband, but that doesn’t mean he’s given up his hunt. I just have to be careful not to get ensnared by him before I can make it upstairs to the sanctuary of my bedroom.

The grandfather clock chimes to announce the time, startling me into picking up my pace. I’m almost to the stairs when I round a corner and a hand suddenly darts out to grip me by the throat, slamming me up against the wall. My book clatters to the floor as I stare back at Roman wide-eyed, fear suffocating my lungs.

“Playing games now, pet?” he murmurs, his palm tightening against my windpipe as he crowds in closer, his massive build caging me against the wall.

My hands instinctively fly up to claw at his grip on my throat, my lungs burning with the need for oxygen. “Let me go,” I choke out.

“Now why would I do that when I just caught you?” he mocks, a savage grin stretching his lips. “I didn’t know you like games.” He leans in, running his nose along my jawline and inhaling deeply. “I could fuck you right here, you know. Hard and fast, up against the wall…”

What little breath I have left catches, a traitorous pulse thrumming between my thighs in response to his threat. His grin widens, almost as if he’s picked up on it.

“Would you like that, Eliza?” he drawls, alleviating some of the pressure restricting my air so I can respond. He doesn’t let go entirely– his hand still circles my throat possessively, the other shifting up to grip my hip and pull the lower half of my body flush against his.

“No,” I rasp, even though I’m aware it’s not the answer he’s seeking. E ven though part of me wants to say yes and just get this over with.

“You sure?” he questions, cocking his head slightly as his palm slides up the curve of my waist. “I could make it good for you.” His hand roams higher and he thumbs my nipple. “Providing you behave yourself, of course.”

The needy throb between my legs intensifies, labored breaths sawing from my lungs and my nipples hardening into stiff points. Roman pinches one between his fingers, a smirk curling his lips when a little whine escapes my own.

“Is it so hard to admit what you really want?” he taunts, shoving a knee between my thighs. The friction against my center sends a shockwave through my body, my head falling back and smacking against the wall.

I stare into Roman’s eyes breathlessly, tongue-tied and trapped in the unwavering intensity of his gaze. I couldn’t reply even if I wanted to, but my lack of response doesn’t seem to deter him. He shifts his hand from my throat, winding a strand of my blonde hair around his finger. “Such a pretty little pet,” he murmurs thoughtfully, wetting his lips with his tongue. “I can’t wait to hear you purr for your master when I’m deep inside you.” I gasp as he yanks the strand sharply, little pinpricks of pain breaking out over my scalp. “Or scream. I’ll bet you scream beautifully, don’t you, darling?”

It's like I’m having an out of body experience, knowing I shouldn’t want this monster anywhere near me, yet inexplicably craving his touch. His filthy words set off a fission of heat in my core, spreading through my veins like wildfire as he adjusts his knee between my thighs. The friction is glorious, and I’m far too tempted to grind down and chase more of it.

“Mr. Volkov?” Clara’s voice rings out from the back of the house.

Roman darts an annoyed glance in the direction of the sound, and the moment our eye contact breaks, I’m plunged back into reality.

This is wrong. I don’t want it.

His eyes return to mine, and I gaze into them pleadingly. “Please just let me go,” I whisper.

My husband smirks as he releases his hold on me, rocking back a step and straightening his shirt cuffs nonchalantly. “To be continued,” he remarks, abruptly turning on a heel and walking away, leaving me panting against the wall in a daze.

It takes a few seconds to get my wits about me again. Once I’m able to compose myself, I push off from the wall, scoop my book up off the floor, and make a mad dash for the foyer, racing up the stairs.

It isn’t until I’m safely inside my bedroom that some of the tension finally drains from my muscles, though that fluttery, desperate feeling still lingers in my core. Heading straight for the en-suite bathroom, I strip out of my clothes and turn on the shower. My skin feels like it’s burning everywhere that Roman touched me, so I set the temperature to cold.

The frigid water shocks my system the moment I step beneath the spray. I suck in a sharp gasp, curling in on myself, but even as the cold saturates my skin, that hot, needy pulse is still throbbing between my thighs. It’s so relentless that I slip a hand between them to alleviate the ache, gently stroking the fire to life as my fingers find my clit.

The encounter with Roman in the corridor replays in my mind as my fingers dance– the weight of his body against mine; the danger in his eyes as he pinned me against the wall. My fingers move faster while the words he spoke echo in my ears like a soundtrack to my own demise.

‘I could fuck you right here, you know.’

My thighs tremble as the coil in my belly winds tighter.

‘Would you like that, Eliza?’

A low moan tumbles from my lips, unbidden.

‘I’ll bet you scream beautifully, don’t you darling?’

A rush of euphoria surges through my body as I tumble over the edge of bliss, free-falling into a powerful, body-shaking orgasm. I continue rubbing circles around my clit as I ride it out, falling back against the tiled wall and panting raggedly as the icy water sluices over my skin.

The moment I come back down to earth, shame and disgust take hold as I realize there must be something seriously wrong with me.

Because I just got off on the thought of my tormentor.

And somehow, I already know it won’t be the last time I do.