Their Vengeance: Siren's Revenge Book Two

4. Yana

Fyodor”s Rules #19 - Forgiveness is a weakness.

The day after Fyodor”s visit and the bombshell which changed everything, the security guard, James, dropped off my suitcases. He told Lukas they had been left at hotel reception for me, and he had brought them up personally. I was glad Lukas couldn”t smell when someone was lying. I wasn”t ready to tell the boys about the control I had over one of their staff members yet, nor was I willing to give it up.

Trust wasn”t magically going to reappear between us. Fyodor said this was the safest place for me. While it likely was, I also knew he would expect me to have information for him the next time we spoke alone.

I had also gotten my phone back, but I didn”t trust it either. The boys kept it from me for a few days, and from what I’d seen, Pasha had become quite the little tech genius. I wouldn”t put it past Alexei or Nikolai to ask him to bug my phone so they could track who I communicated with. It”s what I would have done.

Though finally having my own clothes back made me feel much more in control. Enough to ask Alexei to show me the room he”d kept me in when they first brought me here. Though, I was honestly a little surprised when he agreed. Nikolai made it clear it was to be a tour only, and Lukas had wanted to come with us, but I didn”t need a babysitter. Besides, what did they think I was going to do? Any cuts Alexei got were just repaying the ones he had given me in kind.

It made sense he kept his little torture room in the basement. At first, I was a little surprised to find out it was inside the hotel, but I guess if it had to be in the building, there was the best place. A second freight elevator, which only stopped on three floors—the basement, the garage, and the penthouse—was fitted within the hotel. It seemed a little indulgent to have an elevator specifically for accessing their sections of the building, but also necessary. You wouldn”t want to carry a struggling or an unconscious body too far. The room was distanced from the main areas and soundproof enough not to have to worry about anyone hearing what was going on inside. He had clearly built the room to his specifications, or had it refitted at the very least. I couldn”t imagine a room like this being in the basement’s initial plans, unless the hotel had been owned by someone who tortured people, which I wouldn’t discount.

Alexei let me look around the room. He took a seat on the chair I’d been tied to the last time I woke in here. It was in a corner now, rather than in the center of the room. It gave him a good view of me, no matter where I moved. He knitted—silent except for the clack of the needles—which seemed odd and yet entirely normal at the same time. He didn”t seem worried or even interested in what I was doing, letting me explore to my heart”s content.

I couldn”t understand the organizational system he used for his tools. It didn”t make sense. They weren”t sorted by type of tool, or in the order I would use them. Some were in disrepair or, in a few circumstances, absolutely filthy. I wanted to clean and fix them, reorganize the shelves and trays. Though it would probably have pushed my luck.

Some items seemed incredibly out of place.

I had tortured and been tortured with several instruments, but even I struggled to think what the faux flowers were used for. Maybe they were here to throw people off; make them think he was insane. I wondered if he was.

“Did you want to keep being nosy, or can we do something interesting now?” Alexei”s tone was droll, and he hadn”t looked up from his knitting.

Rolling my eyes, I picked up a knife from the tray in front of me. It was small, probably a paring knife if I had to guess.

“I was thinking I might pay you back for what you did to me. Draw a picture of my own on you, maybe some mermaid scales. After all, you marked me with your symbol. Maybe I should do the same.” I flipped the knife in my hand as I turned, my hip leaned on the shelving rack, feigning nonchalance. Would I have tortured him if the situation had been reversed? Absolutely. But it didn”t mean I would forgive and forget. Forgiveness was a weakness.

His knitting lowered slightly as he looked at me over the top, his eyes sparkling with amusement. It made my temper flare. “Are you propositioning me with a good time, Yana? Are you sure that”s a road you want to go down? I”m not Lukas, I won”t pant after you like an adoring puppy. You want to cut me, I am going to cut you right back. I will be so deep inside of you, so far under your skin, you will never get me out.”

Never had I been gladder for my ability to school my expression than I was right now. Those words hadn”t just gone through my ears and into my brain. They had gone straight through my clothes and hit between my legs. There was something about a man staring at me like he wanted to devour me that set off my desire to be his favorite snack.

Now wasn”t the time for flirting, but what was I supposed to say to him? I couldn”t just laugh it off. Couldn”t let him think he”d made me uncomfortable. If he scented that sort of weakness, he would exploit it repeatedly, using it as a chink in my armor.

I tapped the knife against the palm of my hand, an eyebrow raising slowly as I looked him over from his feet, meandering up his body until I was gazing into his blue, hungry eyes. “It sounds like that”s what you want, Alexei. I bet you”ve been thinking about it since you had me in this room. Dreaming about getting to taste me again. I bet you hate that there is no longer any trace you touched my skin. It”s like you were never there. As if you had no impact on me at all.”

I was playing with fire, but there was something about fire which was so entrancing. It drew you in and held you captive, even though it would devour you and burn you if it could. You could tell with a look, Alexei was dangerous, but it was that danger which drew you in. It made it fun to play with him.

He had set the knitting down now, and stood from the chair. He stalked across the room toward me.

I didn”t move. Didn”t back up. Didn”t even straighten my spine. I kept myself as casual as I could and tapped the knife against the palm of my hand. He didn”t stop until he stood right in front of me, so close the tips of our shoes touched. I kept my eyes on his face, feigning indifference. He didn”t tower over me like Lukas and Nikolai. I barely had to lift my chin to look him in the eye.

His hand slid on top of my open palm in between my knife taps; his fist closed around the blade, holding it in place. He not only held it in place, he squeezed it tight. Blood dripped down his wrist and onto my skin. He didn”t look away from my eyes, keeping me a captive to the moment. I forced myself to breathe and to keep those breaths even. To maintain the illusion, he had no effect on me.

I didn”t realize he’d let go of the knife until he smeared his bloody hand across my mouth. His fingers dug into the sides of my jaw for a fleeting second—a moment of menace. Blood pulsed out against my lip before he dragged his grip downwards, and blood smeared down the column of my throat until he gripped the base.

Promises of violence danced in his eyes as his fingers dug into my flesh. He gripped it tight enough my breath caught in my chest. “I know what you taste like, pchelka. I have you inside of me and I”ve tasted your soul. Your strength has nourished me. And don”t forget, I know you enjoy the kiss of a knife on your skin. Maybe you didn’t appreciate everything I did, but you”ll ask to be my canvas again. We both know it.”

I couldn”t speak. Any time I opened my mouth, his blood entered, filling my senses with his coppery taste. It touched a part of my soul I had never felt before. Well, not to these depths. I was a Siren, and the taste of Alexei on my tongue made me want to tear him apart. The way he looked at me, he knew it too.

He wanted it. Craved it. Dreamed of it.

The piercing sound of his phone ringing broke the tension of the moment, snapping me out of my violent daydream. He huffed in annoyance, but didn”t let me go. If anything, his fingers tightened, and he pushed me firmly against the shelves, pinning me in place with his still bleeding hand. Rivulets of blood ran down my chest, soaking into the lace of my bra.

The phone held in his other hand, Alexei pressed it to his ear. Then he leaned in, ran his tongue across my lower lip and collected some of the blood he’d left there before he spoke.

“I am going to cut every annoying word you say into your thighs, Nikolai. So be quick, won”t you?” The threat was delivered casually, the same way anyone else would deliver a greeting.

I could hear the strain in Nikolai”s voice through the phone, but couldn”t make out the individual words, even with Alexei so close.

I felt the predatory tension seep out of Alexei”s body. His hand no longer gripped me, instead, it merely rested against my skin as his thumb stroked methodically back and forth through the blood.

“We will be right up.”

The phone was back in his pocket without another word. He leaned in again. This time his tongue trailed from the top button of my shirt, upward to where his hand sat. As he bit me lightly, Alexei ignored my gasp of pain and my struggle against his hold.

“We need to go upstairs. Nikolai says there is information to go over.” With the words delivered, he walked toward the door like none of this had happened.

As if he didn”t care at all.