Chapter 4 – Five Months Ago
CHAPTER FOUR
ALEKSEI
FIVE MONTHS AGO
My lawyer said she wouldn’t come. He begged me to let it go, muttering about ethics and appearances. About how no prosecutor would ever step foot into the holding block of the man she’s trying to put away.
But he doesn’t know her like I do. That woman needs to be close to me, even if it kills her.
Part hatred. Part fascination. And something far darker she will never confess, not even to her priest. If she was religious, that is.
I saw it the first day of trial when our eyes met across the courtroom.
The way she sat too still, as if bracing for impact.
How hard she fought not to look, and how much she failed.
Her hands stayed steady, but her pulse told the truth.
I could feel it, hear it, like my mouth was already at her throat.
Hers isn’t the kind of hate you walk away from. It’s the kind you get addicted to.
The door opens, and every part of me comes alive as soon as I see her face.
She walks in like she’s in charge. Spine straight.
Eyes sharp. Cream-colored suit hugging every curve like it was stitched straight onto her skin, making me picture things that would make her blush.
Like the way my fingers would grip that tight ponytail while I forced her to her knees just so I could find out how well that mouth truly works.
She’s like the angel of death. Or maybe the huntress. Both suit her.
If I didn’t want to end her, I’d have Fiona bent over this table, taking me so deep she’d forget her own name.
Though fucking her and then killing her might actually be a better idea.
“Please, Ms. Clark, have a seat.” I lean back in the cold metal chair, the cuffs biting into my wrists.
“I’ll be right outside,” the guard says before stepping out.
“Thanks,” she tells him, her tone light, almost warm.
But the second she faces me, it’s gone, wiped clean like it was never there. I smirk at the switch, at how quickly she can mask herself.
She narrows her eyes, pulling out the chair. “What do you want, Marinov? Your lawyer said you needed to discuss something.”
My gaze drags over her, pausing in all the places I know she doesn’t want me to look. “And you just came running? I’m touched, Ms. Clark. Spasebo.” Thank you.
She scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself. Why the hell did you drag me out here? Please enlighten me.” Her arms cross. “Then crawl back into whatever hole you slithered out of.”
A low, rough chuckle escapes me. My eyes drop to her mouth, to the perfect slash of red lipstick I’d like to ruin with my teeth. My hands bend into fists beneath the table, cuffs digging deeper.
This attraction is nothing but a weapon. One I’ll use when it suits me.
She thinks she’s here on her own terms, free to walk away when she’s done. She has no idea she’s already stepped into my game. The pieces are in motion. The ending’s already written. And when it comes, she won’t be leaving the way she arrived.
“You look good.” My smirk deepens when her eyes flare. “Ivory is definitely your color.” My gaze drops, lingering on the rise and fall of her chest. “But I am thinking that suit would look much better crumpled on my floor.”
A muscle tics in her cheek. “You dragged me down here to throw some prison fantasy at me? What’s next? Are you going to recite poetry?”
I inhale slowly, savoring the scent of her, the crackle of tension between us.
“No. I brought you here to remind you that monsters don’t always live under the bed.
Sometimes…” I lean in, close enough for her breath to catch.
“Sometimes they stand right in front of you, and you never see them for what they are until it’s too late. ”
“Is that some sort of threat?” she scoffs.
“Who said I was talking about myself?”
“What the hell does that even mean? Stop talking in riddles and tell me what you actually want to say.”
“You’re a smart girl.” My eyes lock on hers. “I have faith you’ll figure it out. And when I’m out of here, maybe we will even learn to tolerate each other.”
Her laugh is cold, and she leans in like she’s ready to cut me with it. “You’re never getting out of here, Aleksei. Never.”
“Mm.” The chair scrapes as I pull in, her lips so close to mine I can almost taste it. “I like it when you say my name. Say it again, detka. Slower this time.”
Disgust twists her face, and I drink it in.
“I will work night and day to make sure you rot in here. Every time you wake up, I want you to remember exactly why you’re here, and exactly who put you inside. You understand me?” Her features turn with something that resembles victory, but it will unfortunately be short-lived.
“Da. I understand, my sweet Fiona. But I know one thing.”
I reach out, dragging the pad of my finger across the top of her hand. She sucks in a sharp inhale, but doesn’t pull away. My smile widens.
“And what’s that?” Her voice is tighter now.
“That when you go to bed and close your eyes…” My gaze descends to her mouth. “It’s me you see.”
“I—”
“Don’t deny it, Ms. Clark. It’s beneath you.
” I meet her stare, and something sharp knots in my chest. “What do you see, hmm? What do I do to you? What do you want me to do? I bet you like it rough. You want a man who takes every inch of you without asking. Even now, I can tell from the way you press your thighs together, you want me to burn that fire right out of you. Isn’t that right, Ms. Prosecutor? ”
Her composure cracks—only for a second, but I catch it. The faint flush in her cheeks. The heat rising in her skin.
She hates me. But she wants me just as much.
“Fuck you,” she snaps.
“Not yet. But we’re getting there.”
She rises in a rush, turning to leave, but I speak before she can take a step.
“You ever wonder why you came?”
Her body goes taut.
“You could’ve said no. Could’ve ignored my lawyer. But you didn’t. You put on your tightest little suit, slicked your hair back, and walked right in.” I let my smirk deepen. “You needed to see me up close, didn’t you? Just once. Needed to know if I was real. If that look in my eyes was imagined.”
She turns back, gaze molten, like she wants to burn me alive.
“You’re done, Marinov.” Her mouth presses into a hard line.
I rise slowly, letting her see how much control I still have, even here. The Marinov name carries a lot of weight, especially in prison.
“We’ll see about that.” My words are low, almost gentle.
Her hand lands on the door, and the guard buzzes it open.
“Run, Ms. Prosecutor,” I call. “Because when I catch you…it won’t be the law you’re begging for.”
The door shuts behind her, and I can almost feel the echo of her pulse in the air.
She’s deeper in the game now, tangled with me in ways she won’t admit. And that’s exactly where I want her.