CHAPTER 44
IRIS
I wake to the sound of water running in the bathroom, the morning light filtering through the curtains while I lie still in bed, listening to Ilay move around in the ensuite.
The water shuts off. I keep my eyes closed, pretending to still be asleep, but I hear the bathroom door open, and his footsteps crossing the room toward the bed, feeling the mattress dip as he climbs on.
“I know you’re awake, angel.” Amusement threads through his words.
I open my eyes. He’s completely naked, with water dripping from his hair down his chest, he’s right there, close enough that I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to.
I look away immediately, heat flooding my face.
He laughs, then leans down until his face is level with mine, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“Why are you looking away? Don’t you like what you see? ”
“I’ve seen better,” I mutter, keeping my gaze fixed somewhere past his shoulder, trying to sound dismissive even though my pulse is racing.
His smile widens. “Oh? And where exactly have you seen better?” I don’t answer.
“Where, Iris?” He leans closer, his hand coming up to cup my face, turning it toward him gently but firmly.
“I didn’t mean—” I start, but he’s already kissing me, slow and deep, swallowing whatever excuse I was about to make.
His hands push at my robe, parting it, exposing my breasts to the cool morning air, and I gasp against his mouth. He pulls back just enough to look down at what he’s revealed, his eyes darkening further. “Beautiful.”
“Ilay,” I whisper, my hands coming up to his chest, not quite pushing him away but not pulling him closer either, caught between wanting this and hating that I want it.
“Hmm?” He kisses my neck, slowly, his hands moving over my skin possessively.
“Don’t.” But the word comes out weak and unconvincing.
He pulls back slightly to look at me, his hand sliding down my stomach. “Don’t what?”
I bite my lip, trying to find the words, trying to remember why I should push him away when all I want is for him to keep touching me.
He smiles, understanding what I can’t say, then leans down to kiss me again.
“I have to go soon,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Then go,” I whisper, but my hands are in his hair, holding him to me, contradicting my words.
He laughs quietly. “You don’t want me to.”
“Yes, I do, I wouldn’t care if you were gone for months.” I reply.
“you’re such a pretty Liar.” He kisses me again, deep, his body pressing mine into the mattress.
I moan into his mouth before I can stop myself, my body arching up into his, betraying everything I’m trying to pretend I don’t feel.
He pulls back slightly breathing rough. “If I don’t leave soon, I won’t leave at all. ”
“So don’t leave,” I say before I can stop myself, immediately regretting it when I see the satisfaction flash across his face.
“You want me to stay?” He brushes his thumb across my lower lip.
I want to take it back, but I can’t lie to him, not when he’s looking at me like this, not when my body is still pressed against his. “I hate you,” I whisper instead.
“I know, but my love don’t worry, I got enough love for both of us.” He kisses me softly.
He pushes my panties aside, then grabs my legs, pushing them up and back until my knees are by my ears, completely exposed and vulnerable to him. He positions himself between my legs, the tip pressing against me, but he doesn’t push in.
“Let me,” he says, his voice is rough, and strained. “Just the tip, angel, please, just let me feel you, I need to feel you.”
“No.”
“Please.” He rocks forward slightly, giving me just the barest pressure. “I’m begging you, just the tip, I promise I won’t go further, I just need to feel you around me, please, Iris.”
I bite my lip, trying to stay strong. “Please,” he begs again, his voice breaking slightly. “Just the tip, that’s all I’m asking, I’ll stop there, I swear, just let me have that much, please.”
“Ilay—”
“I’m begging you.” He presses his forehead against mine, his breathing ragged. “Please, angel, please, just the tip, I need it, I need you.”
Something about hearing him beg, hearing the desperation in his voice, breaks my resolve. “Fine,” I breathe. “Just the tip.” I reach down between us, wrapping my hand around him, and guide just the tip inside me. He groans like I’ve given him everything, his whole body shaking.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Fuck, you feel so good, so perfect.” He starts moving, giving shallow thrusts at first, but I keep my hand there, controlling exactly how much he gets, only allowing the tip to push in and out.
“More,” he gasps after a moment, trying to push deeper, but my hand stops him.
“Please, angel, just a little more, please.”
“You said just the tip.”
“I know, I know, but please.” His voice is desperate, his hips still trying to move against my restraining hand. “Just a little more, just another inch, please, I’m begging you.”
“Ilay—”
“Please.” His voice cracks. “Please, I need more, I need you, please let me have more.”
I move my hand slightly, allowing him another inch. He pushes in immediately, groaning at the feeling. “More,” he begs. “Please, angel, please, just a little more.”
“That’s enough.”
“It’s not enough.” His voice is rough. “Please, angel, please, just move your hand, let me—”
I slide my hand down further, allowing him halfway now. He pushes in immediately, breathing harshly. “All of it,” he begs, his hips moving faster, trying to push past where my hand is stopping him. “Please, move your hand, let me have all of you, please, I need it, I need you so badly.”
“Beg me properly,” I hear myself say. “Please.” His voice is desperate.
“Please, angel, I’m begging you, I need you, I need all of you, please move your hand, please let me in, I’ll do anything, please.
” I move my hand down just a little more, allowing him maybe five or six inches but not all the way in.
He groans, pushing in to where my hand allows.
“More,” he begs. “Please, just a little more.”
“This is enough,” I whisper, keeping my hand firm, controlling exactly how deep he can go. He starts moving within that limit, thrusting as deep as my hand allows, and the sensation makes both of us moan. “Please,” he gasps. “Just let me—”
“No,” I breathe, but my voice is shaking, my body is responding to every thrust even though I’m the one controlling it.
His hips move faster within the constraint I’ve set.
I’m getting close, the friction building inside me, and he can feel me tightening around him.
“Let me have all of you,” he begs between thrusts. “Please, angel.”
His phone rings. He stops moving immediately, his whole body going rigid.
I keep my hand where it is, wrapped around him, controlling the depth even though we’ve both frozen.
The phone keeps ringing. He pulls out completely, and I let my hand fall away, turning my face to the side, refusing to look at him.
“I have to take this,” he says, his voice strained.
I don’t respond, instead I pull my robe closed, covering myself.
The phone stops ringing. Then immediately starts again.
He curses, then grabs the phone from the nightstand.
“What?” he answers, irritated. I can’t hear what the person on the other end is saying, but I watch his expression change to seriousness.
“When?” he asks. More talking from the other end.
“I’ll be there in an hour.” He ends the call, then looks down at me.
I’m still not looking at him, staring at the wall instead. He leans down, kisses me slowly, my stupid self kisses back. When he pulls back, there’s regret in his eyes. “When I get back, we’re finishing this.”
“No, we’re not,” I say quietly. “Yes, we are.” He stands up, and puts on his clothes. I sit up, pulling my robe tighter around myself, then watch him button his shirt.
“Where are you going?” I ask. “I’m Meeting with the German mafia boss,” he says simply. “Since I’ve been in his territory for two weeks, I need to visit, and say hello, but you wouldn’t know about that.”
“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” I say. “Because I don’t want to be part of this world.”
He crosses back to the bed, leans down to kiss me one more time.
“I’ll be back soon. Behave yourself. And don’t try that stunt you tried last week, you almost broke your leg jumping from the balcony.
” I meet his eyes, keeping my expression neutral even though my mind is already racing.
His eyes narrow. “I can see it on your face, you’re already planning something. ”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” He kisses me again, my lips have to be swollen by now, he steals kisses from me every chance he gets. “But you won’t get far, you never do.” Then he leaves.
I wait until I hear his car pull away before I move. I look down at my body still humming with unfulfilled need, at how close I came to letting him have everything. I hate him. But I wanted him to finish what he started. And that terrifies me more than anything else.
***
I spend the next four hours in a state of paralyzed waiting. I sit on the bed with a book I’m not reading, acting normal for the hidden cameras I know are watching. Around 2:00 PM, I crack the window to let the fresh air in.
Scritch.
A sound from the trellis outside. My heart stops.
I look up just as a hand grips the sill.
A man hauls himself through my window. I scramble back on the bed, my mouth opening to scream, but he holds up his hands.
“Quiet.” He is tall, with a jagged scar running down the left side of his face.
“I’m not here to hurt you. Your father sent me. ”
My throat goes dry. “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’re not just someone trying to use me?”
He pulls out his phone, and shows me a picture of him standing next to my dad. Relief crashes through me. “He found me.”
“He’s been looking for you for two weeks.
” He glances nervously at the door. “Put on something you can move in. We don’t have time.
” I run to my closet, pulling on jeans and a sweater.
When I come back out, he’s at the window, watching something outside.
“I’ve been watching the guard rotations,” he says.
“They pass by your window every ten minutes. In two minutes, there’s going to be an explosion in the kitchen.
They’ll have to respond. That gives us three minutes to get off the property. You understand?”
“Yes.” He taps something on his phone and the house shakes with the force of the explosion, loud and violent, rattling the windows while shouts erupt from downstairs, footsteps pounding as chaos spreads through the house.
“Now.” He turns his back to me. “Get on.” I climb onto his back, wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. He climbs out the window onto the tree branch, jumps down to the next branch, and the next, until we hit the ground. “Can you run?” He sets me down. “Yes.”
We sprint toward the tree line. The forest swallows us instantly. Branches whip at my face, leaving stinging scratches on my cheeks. Roots snag at my ankles, but I don’t stop.
We run until my legs are screaming, and my chest feels like it’s tearing apart.
Finally, he slows down. “We should be far enough for now,” he says, breathing hard.
“But we need to keep moving. The car is about six hours on foot.” We are deep in the woods now, the canopy so thick it blocks out the afternoon sun.
Six hours. In six hours, Ilay will be back.
He’ll find the empty room. He’ll find the guards distracted.
“I can make it,” I say.
We walk in silence, moving fast. The adrenaline begins to fade, replaced by a cold dread that settles in my stomach. After maybe thirty minutes, the man speaks. “Viktor,” he says. “My name is Viktor.”
“Iris,” I say. “Thank you. For coming for me.” He nods and keeps walking.
We fall into silence, the only sounds our footsteps, our breathing, the occasional bird call.
My legs are starting to shake, muscles protesting, but I push through it, force myself to keep moving.
“How did you find me?” I ask after a while.
Your father called in every favor he had,” Viktor says, checking a compass.
“It took two weeks, but someone finally saw something. And that’s how we found you. ”
“I’m glad you did.” Two weeks. While I was in that bed with Ilay, my father was planning this. Guilt and relief war in my chest. The hours bleed into one another. The sun begins to set, casting the forest in shades of grey and charcoal. The temperature drops, biting through my sweater.
“We’re making decent time,” he says. “Maybe four more hours.”
“We’re close,” Viktor says, checking his watch. “Maybe another mile.” I nod, too exhausted to speak. Just one more mile. And then I hear it. A rhythmic thumping in the distance. Thwup-thwup-thwup. Viktor freezes. His face goes pale. “Fuck.”
“What is that?” I whisper, though I already know. “Run,” he orders. “Viktor—”
“RUN!” We take off, tearing through the undergrowth. The sound grows louder, a mechanical roar that vibrates in my chest. The trees above us shake, leaves raining down like tears.
We take off sprinting, but the sound is getting closer, louder, the trees above us shaking, branches breaking and falling. The helicopter appears through the canopy, lowering itself impossibly close. Suddenly, the trees break. We stumble into a small, grassy clearing and my heart stops.
The helicopter is already there. It hovers just above the grass, the wind from the rotors flattening the tall grass, whipping my hair across my face. It touches down with a heavy thud.
The side door slides open. And Ilay steps out.
He isn’t wearing the suit jacket anymore. His sleeves are rolled up. And his expression is one I’ve seen only once. He holds the same expression as that time he bombed Russia.
He looks at me, his eyes devoid of the heat they held this morning. Now, they are just cold and Empty. Then, his gaze shifts to Viktor. I take a step back, my hand flying to my mouth. Only one of them is leaving this forest alive.