Chapter 28
Luka
“What the hell were you thinking?” My brother’s voice echoes the walls of his office. We’re the only ones inside, but I have no doubt the guys outside can hear us.
“I don’t appreciate your fucking tone.” He might be my older brother, but I’m far from the skinny, scrappy kid I used to be.
“I don’t give a fuck if you appreciate it or not! Just as we deal with one shitshow, you go and make another.”
“This had nothing to do with me!” I roar.
“Oh, no? Then why the hell do we have a dead body, one of Toma’s men, on our hands?”
I inhale deeply, leveling my voice before glaring at him. “I caught him trying to rape her. He was basically mid-thrust while she was screaming for help, locked inside of the cage we’ve put her in.”
His face pales, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
“Yeah, fuck. I told you they’re not good men.”
He checks his watch. “Toma will be here in a few minutes.”
“I’ll handle it.”
“We can’t afford the divide yet.”
I grind my teeth, knowing what he means. We still need Toma’s men. We need to deal with Russians first. Then we can handle these internal affairs.
We sit in silence, while the high-end, minimalist wall clock ticks.
Leon’s large black desk is strewn with papers, which isn’t like him.
He usually has everything filed away in the metal cabinets built into the wall behind him.
The dry bar in the corner hosts two half-used rakia bottles and three random glasses, each in a different size.
My gaze just lands on the deep circles under his eyes, when we hear footsteps approaching.
I place a hand on my gun. I know there’ll be hell to pay, but I don’t mind pulling the trigger if it comes to it.
The door swings open.
“Uncle…” Leon tries to say, but Toma interrupts him.
“This little brat killed one of my best men!” Funny, he’s calling me a brat while sounding like one himself.
One, two, three. I count to calm my nerves before getting up from the chair and turning toward Uncle.
“He disobeyed my explicit orders.”
“And what orders were that? What did he do that was so bad?” His face is red with anger.
“He was told not to touch her. And he did.” My voice turns coarse, the effort of keeping my shit together painful.
“He wasn’t going to hurt her! He just wanted to have some fun.”
My vision blurs as my ears start buzzing. Fuck keeping calm. In a second, I press my forearm to his neck and push him back. His head hits the wall with a thud and his eyes widen as he feels the pressure of my hand on his throat.
His two goons are on me right away, yanking at my shoulders. I shake them off, keeping my eyes on Toma.
“I told him not to touch her. You’re the one who thinks disrespect should be punished by death. I was only following your suggestions.”
Toma brings both of his hands up and I release the pressure. He gasps for air, placing his hand on his throat, to check if it’s still in one piece.
“You shouldn’t have killed him.” His voice breaks.
“He should have known better,” I respond coldly, and turn toward the door. Having no intention of hearing more berating from my brother, I stomp out, lighting a cigarette as soon as my foot steps outside.
I don’t give a fuck about what both of them think. I would gladly kill that motherfucker again, and I wouldn’t mind killing Toma for being the one who sent him, either.
I start the car and back out of the parking space.
Stopping at the first stoplight, I contemplate my destination for a second before heading right.
I should go home to walk the dogs. But I can’t wipe Sophie’s face from my memory.
How upset she was when she realized I had to leave. And I promised her I’d be back.
Ten minutes later, I’m parking in front of the club. There’s a large crowd inside and I have to elbow my way to the back where my office and the stairs to the dungeon are.
How the hell is this place so crowded since I’ve been doing nothing to make it better?
A guy next to me moves, giving me an uninterrupted view of a young girl Uncle hired grinding her ass on some guy’s laps. Mystery solved, I guess.
I make a stop to grab a bottle of rakia and a change of clothes, and head downstairs.
My heart pumps in a quick rhythm as I unlock the door, letting myself in.
Sophie’s sitting on the bed, her hair in her classic messy bun, her brows scrunched as she studies the book in front of her.
Her gaze picks up, her face brightening instantly.
My heart jumps into my throat and I swallow it down.
“You’re back,” she says, and I hear the relief in her voice.
“I am,” I respond and clear my throat. Turning to Ivan, I say, “You can bring dinner and you’re free to go.”
He heads upstairs, closing the door behind him. I drop my clothes on the chair, approaching Sophie. “What are you reading?”
Her cheeks flush. “What you gave me.” She clears her throat. “This is, I guess, is some sort of a guide through the world of sexual dominance and submission. From 1993.”
I wince. “Sorry. These were the only books I could find in the office upstairs.”
“They’re pretty informative.” She shrugs her shoulders, closing the book and placing it on the bed beside her. “You’re already done with your work?”
A chuckle escapes me. “Not even close. But I won’t be doing more today.”
She opens her mouth to say something, before closing it again. Eventually, she says, “Want to play chess?”
A huge weight drops from my shoulders. I can’t really discern the reason for it, but a game of chess seems like the best thing to do right now, by far.
“Sure, I’ll just grab a quick shower. And the food will be here soon. We should eat first.”
“Oh, yeah.” She shoots me a small smile, which hits me straight in the chest. Her smiles are rare, but fucking addictive.
I grab my clothes and enter the bathroom. “I’ll leave the door ajar, is that okay?”
“Yeah, thank you.” Another smile.
Leaving the door open enough if she needs me and closed enough so I can have some privacy, I undress.
I showered less than twelve hours ago, but I’m aching for another one.
Some things are unwashable, I know. Like Uncle’s words about Zvone just playing with Sophie, or the sight of him cornering Sophie on the couch, or the feel of her scars under my fingers.
But it doesn’t hurt to try to wash them off.
I lather my body with soap, remembering the last time I was naked.
With her. My dick hardens in a second. The bastard has no morals.
He doesn’t care that I’m the one keeping her caged in here.
He doesn’t care that I’m the reason she almost got raped.
No, he only cares about the way her tight heat felt wrapped around him.
I give him a rough tug, to help it settle down, but it hardly helps.
He stays erect the whole time I’m drying off and getting dressed. When I get back to the main room, seeing she served our food on the little table, and she’s waiting for me with a smile, he twitches in my boxers. I sit across from her, nerves racing through me. It’s not who I typically am.
But she makes me nervous. This whole situation makes me nervous. She sees me as a hero, but I’m the furthest thing from it.
She digs into her food while I’m stuck in place, observing her. The way her lips wrap around the plastic fork, the way a tiny moan escapes her as it gets in touch with her taste buds. The way she licks her lips after swallowing a bite.
“Not hungry?” she asks, noticing my stare.
“Just tired.” I drop my gaze and start eating. The least I can do is not creep on her. I cut into a piece of chicken in my container. “How long have you been a vegan?”
She looks startled by my question. “Eight years.” She pats her mouth with a napkin.
“You’re an animal lover.”
“Not particularly.” Her gaze drops to the side. “Except my dog, of course. He’s the love of my life.” She looks back at me and I see tears forming in her warm eyes.
A wave of guilt crashes over me. But it’s not like I can tell her the truth. What good would it do? Instead, I clear my throat and ask, “How did you become a vegan?”
“Oh, I read a hundred articles about the benefits of a plant-based diet,” she says so matter-of-factly that it makes me chuckle.
“You read a lot?”
“You could say.” Her lips turn up. “I mean, I do read a lot. But not really fiction, or even books.”
“What do you read then?”
“Research articles.”
“On what?” My eyebrows lift.
“On whatever is my current hyper fixation.”
“What would you read now if you had the chance to?”
She glances at the book still lying on the bed before looking back at me. “Stockholm Syndrome.”
I almost choke on a bite of chicken and start nodding to save the situation. I’m definitely not an expert in psychological disorders, but I’ve seen enough movies to know that Stockholm Syndrome is when victims fall for their captors.
She continues eating like what she said wasn’t a big deal, but I’m stuck on her words. A knot forms in my stomach, coiling itself deep and heavy. My hunger is suddenly gone, so I chew on my food longer than necessary, just to postpone the actual eating part.
I’m not sure if she implied that she’s falling for me, but I am sure that she shouldn’t be doing that. She should hate me for taking her freedom away. Hate me for not having a peaceful night’s sleep for over a month since she’s been here.
She finishes her meal and disposes of the containers in the small trashcan in the room’s corner. I do the same, though my food is far from finished.
“Chess?” she asks, with a spark in her eyes.
I both want to run away and stay here forever. It’s inexplicable. My legs are full of energy, ready to get out of here, while my heart pumps wildly in my chest, pulling me in the direction of that damn table where she’s setting up the chessboard.
I respond by sitting down across from her. She’s playing black. Again.
I make my move, though I have no qualms about her beating me in ten moves or less.
“Checkmate.”
Eight. It takes her eight moves to beat me in absolute silence. Her mind is a wonder. And I can’t stop staring.
I place my pieces back to their starting position. “Again.”
She hums in response.
I move a pawn, and she does the same. Three moves later, I’m already scrambling to keep my king safe, along with my heart.