12. Lacey
12
LACEY
I freeze at the sound of a branch snapping behind me. My heart pounds against my ribs.
Another snap, closer this time.
Vadim. He's close. He has to be .
I squeeze my eyes shut, picturing him prowling through the woods like a predator. Those storm-gray eyes must be dark with anger now. The thought sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear.
I will my feet to move, but for some reason, they remain perfectly still.
"Do you really think you could run from me?" I imagine his voice rumbling in my head, low and dangerous.
Heat floods my cheeks as unbidden thoughts surface. Powerful hands gripping my waist, and spinning me around to face him. Thick fingers digging against my hips as he pushes me up against a tree, until there's nowhere for me to run...
"Stop it, stop it, stop it!" I whisper to myself, trying to banish the images. But they persist, taunting me with possibilities that make my breath catch.
"I'll have to teach you what happens to people who don't obey my orders.” The imaginary Vadim of my mind purrs in my ear.
The footsteps draw closer. Leaves crunch under deliberate steps. My body trembles, wavering between the urge to run away and the traitorous desire to stay exactly where I am.
C'mon, Lacey! Move!
What the fuck is wrong with me right now?
"You can’t run, zvyozdochka. Not when I’m already in your head. ”
A twig snaps directly behind me. I hold my breath, frozen in place like a rabbit before a wolf. The air feels electric, charged with anticipation, and I realize I want him to catch me.
To pin me down.
To teach me a lesson on why I shouldn’t run from him.
"Fuck that," I snarl, and force myself to take one step forward, then another, and then another, until I start running again.
Branches whip past my face as I sprint between the trees. The sound of pursuit grows closer. Vadim's footsteps crush leaves and twigs in his relentless pursuit, closing the distance between us with every stride.
My lungs are on fire. I can't keep this pace much longer. But I have to try.
A flash of movement catches my peripheral vision. A dark shape moves parallel through the trees. My heart hammers against my ribs. He's trying to cut me off.
I veer sharply left, away from him. And that's when my foot tangles into something—a twisted root jutting up from the ground.
Gravity shifts, and the world tilts sideways as I pitch forward with a scream.
My world explodes in a burst of pain. The smell of wet earth fills my nostrils. And it is suddenly followed by the scent of Vadim's cologne—spicy and masculine. I roll over onto my back just in time to see him looming over me like the grim reaper come to collect his due.
I kick out wildly, aiming for any part of him I can reach. Fresh pain stabs through my ankle as my foot connects with him and I can't help crying out.
His hand wraps around my ankle, fingers pressing into the tender flesh. I try to jerk away but he holds firm, the pressure making me wince.
"Let go!"
Instead of releasing me, he uses his grip to keep my leg still while he shifts forward. In one fluid motion, he captures both my wrists in his other hand, stretching them above my head. The weight of his body presses me deeper into the damp ground.
I'm trapped. Completely at his mercy. One leg caught in his grasp, the other splayed helplessly to the side. His hips settle between my thighs and?—
Oh!
Heat floods my cheeks as awareness crashes over me. The hard planes of his chest are pressed against mine. His fingers flex around my wrists. The intoxicating scent of his cologne mixes with the scent of trees and damp soil.
My body betrays me, responding to his proximity in ways that make me want to scream in frustration. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can feel it. Every point of contact sends another current of electricity coursing through me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the inappropriate thoughts racing through my mind. But that only makes it worse – now all I can focus on is the sensation of him against me, solid and male and dangerous.
"Look at me," he commands, voice rough as he presses his hips close to mine.
A shiver runs through me at the command in his voice, at the dark promise in his tone. And without further resistance, my eyes open.
God help me. I want to obey.
He smiles savagely and pushes forward until I can feel him pulsing against my center through the fabric of our pants. And soon, I feel my own body betraying me as a familiar wet heat starts to pool between my legs. My body is reacting to his proximity entirely on its own, and I hate myself for it.
"Please…" I stammer, my voice coming out higher than I expected.
"Please?" The smile on his face widens as he looks down at me in satisfaction. "I thought you didn't beg . "
"I wasn't begging!" I snap, finding my voice again. The words come out stronger than I feel. I twist against his iron grip, arching my back to try and throw him off.
Bad idea.
The movement only brings our bodies closer together, and makes me more aware of every hard muscle pressed against me. His thigh presses against mine, and his massive cock pulses between us. Heat floods my face as a small sound escapes my throat.
Not quite a gasp, not quite a moan.
His eyes darken at the sound. The storm clouds in his gaze swirl with something primal. Something hungry.
"No?" His voice drops lower, rougher. "We'll see about that."
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes down on mine. The kiss is brutal and possessive. His tongue sweeps past my lips, claiming me and demanding more.
Recklessly, I respond.
My body melts into his touch like it was made for him. My lips part wider, inviting him deeper.
I can't move my hands under his iron-hard grip. I can't push him away even if I want to. And with one leg still in his other hand, I can't even pull him closer. All I can do is feel—feel the way his body covers mine, the way his tongue strokes against mine, the way his hips grind against me, making promises my traitorous body desperately wants him to keep.
A whimper tumbles from my throat and he swallows it before it ever makes it to my lips.
I melt against him, my fingers curling helplessly above my head. His weight crushes me closer as if he can't get enough. As if he needs this kiss as desperately as I do.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
This man kidnapped me. Is forcing me to marry him. Literally has me pinned on the ground in a forest where he can do whatever he wants to me! I should be fighting this, fighting him . Instead, I'm kissing him back like my life depends on it, like he's oxygen and I'm drowning.
His teeth graze my bottom lip and rational thought abandons me completely. There's only the heat of his mouth, the solid strength of his body against mine, and the dangerous hunger building between us.
Just when I think I might combust from the heat building between us, he tears his mouth away. In one fluid motion, he yanks me to my feet.
"That was very stupid of you, zvyozdochka ." His voice rumbles. "Running from me like that."
"I won't marry you." I wrench myself from his grip, twisting away. "You can't make me?—"
Pain shoots up my leg like lightning when I put it down. My leg buckles beneath me and I cry out in agony, my body pitching forward toward the ground.
Vadim catches me before I hit the dirt.
"You've hurt yourself." A massive hand slides beneath my knees while the other supports my back.
"Because of you!" But even as I say it, throbbing pain pulses through my ankle. "Let me go!"
"No." His storm-gray eyes lock onto mine. "And as much as I'd love to watch you crawl back to Pankration on your hands and knees, I don't have all morning. We have much to discuss."
I can't help but shiver at the way he says those words. My mind betrays me with flashes of what that might look like—me crawling toward him while those storm-gray eyes drink in every movement. Heat blooms across my skin at the thought of him watching me, commanding me...
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to banish these dangerous thoughts. But all it does is intensify my imagination.
In my head, I see him leaning back in an expensive leather chair, loosening his tie as he orders me to crawl towards him. His voice drops lower, rougher, as he tells me to get up on my knees.
My heart pounds against my ribs. I shouldn't be thinking these things. But I can't help it. And the way he looks at me, like I'm precious and dangerous all at once, that makes me want to discover what else might please him.
Stop it, Lacey. I scold myself.
But even as I try to focus on anything else—the throbbing in my ankle, the wet morning air, and the sound of birds that I hadn't noticed while I was running—my thoughts keep circling back to him .
What else would he love to watch me do?
His hand slides down my back, leaving trails of fire in its wake. My breath catches. Anticipation wars with anxiety inside me. Heat pools low in my belly as his fingers trace lower and lower.
Before I can process what's happening, Vadim sweeps me up into his arms. The abrupt movement draws a surprised squeak from my throat.
"You bastard," I gasp, still breathless. "That was a dirty trick."
His lips curve into that infuriating grin I'm starting to know too well. "I never claimed to fight fair, zvyozdochka ."
It's hard to maintain any semblance of anger when my body is still humming from his kiss, when my mind is still imagining the wicked things he can make me do, and when his arms feel so secure around me.
The spicy scent of his cologne fills my nose with every breath.
He starts walking, carrying me through the woods like I weigh nothing. Each step jostles me slightly against his chest, and I find myself hyperaware of every point of contact between us. The effortless strength of his arms under my knees and back. The warmth of his body seeping through my clothes.
I press my face against his chest, hoping he can't feel the heat burning from my cheeks. His scent fills my nose with each breath, making it impossible to think straight.
I want to be mad at him. I should be furious that he's carrying me back to my cage. Instead, I'm fighting the urge to curl closer, to rest my head against his shoulder and breathe him in.
So, for the second time, I ask myself that question that has never once stopped bouncing around in my head.
Just what the fuck is wrong with me?
Vadim carries me into my room—my prison cell, I remind myself—and sets me down on the bed with surprising gentleness. Neither of us looks at the midnight-blue dress still on the bed, even though both of us are clearly aware of it.
He shuts the door behind us, and I feel my heartbeat quicken at what is about to happen next?
"Why does the door need a key to unlock from the inside?" I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer.
"Part of Pyotr's design." His jaw tightens as he says the name.
"Pyotr? Not father or dad?" I observe.
The moment the words leave my mouth, I see pain flash across his storm-gray eyes. He goes still, and I instantly regret bringing it up.
Whatever wound I've just prodded must be deep and raw.
I scoot higher on the bed, giving him space. "Never mind. You don't have to explain."
He bends at the foot of the bed to examine my ankle again. Suddenly, I'm hyper-aware of how close he is. His thumb traces a circle on my ankle, and a shiver shoots up my leg.
"You won't be making any more escape attempts on that ankle," Vadim says, his fingers still tracing circles that send sparks up my leg. "Not for a while."
"I don't know. Being carried around everywhere has its perks." The words slip out before I can stop them.
His eyes darken, and that knowing smile curves his lips. My heart skips, then races as his gaze travels over me.
"What are you so desperate to run back to, zvyozdochka ?" His voice drops lower, rougher.
Dad's face flashes in my mind. The way he looked sitting in that kitchen, confused and lost, waiting for Mom to come home. The dishes piled in the sink. Freddy's latest theft. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to spill everything to him. One word from Vadim and all those problems would vanish. But I can't.
"If I agree to play this role you need me for," I say carefully. "What happens next?"
His storm-gray eyes lock onto mine. "First, an engagement ring. Next, you'll need to be fitted for a custom dress to carry our prize." His voice drops lower. "We'll rehearse the heist, and then travel to Paris for the wedding."
My heart speeds up at the intensity of his gaze. Heat spreads across my skin as he steps closer, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
"And what do I get out of this arrangement by the time it's over?"
"Whatever your heart desires, zvyozdochka ." His lips curve into that dangerous smile. "But we'll need to look convincing for the crowd if we don’t want it to blow up in our faces before we can get our hands on that bible.”
"How hard can it be?" I say quickly. "I don't imagine most mafia weddings are all lovey-dovey."
"Bratva," he says.
"Excuse me?"
"Italians are mafia," he explains. "For us Russians, it's bratva."
"Bratva," I repeat the word, running it over my tongue slowly. "Just one more thing to add to the list. But who's counting?"
"Not you." There's a glint in his eye that makes my pulse race.
"Not me."
He moves toward me and my breath catches. My heart pounds against my ribs like it's trying to escape. My lips part in anticipation of another kiss as he leans in closer, and I close my eyes.
But the kiss never comes.
Instead, he takes my hand in his, and presses something cool and metallic into my palm.
I try to hide my disappointment when I open my eyes and look down to see a small key.
"This will unlock your door from the inside," he says. "I'll have Lenka bring you a pair of crutches. Pankration is yours to explore as you wish, zvyozdochka ."
After he leaves, I stare at the tiny key in my palm. I know what my heart desires: becoming a real designer, and finding a way to care for Dad.
As I run my fingertip along the key's jagged edges, an unexpected thought creeps in.
When this charade is finally over, will there be something else that I want?
Or rather, someone.