Chapter 3
DIMITRI
Pain comes first.
An ache that makes me feel like my head was split open with a sledgehammer.
I try to move, but my arms don't budge.
I'm restrained.
My mouth tastes like copper, whiskey, and something else. That last part is whatever the fuck she gave me, I'm sure.
I blink a few more times, clearing away the blur. The first thing that comes into view are my knees.
Where the hell are my pants?
I turn my head to the side and see a concrete wall. The other side shows the same. No windows either, so that's great.
I feel a chill and realize I'm in my boxer briefs and white undershirt. No clothes, which means no weapon. No phone.
Lifting my head up, my eyes squint as they adjust to the light above me. I shake my head a few times, and then I see her.
Standing right in front of me, still in that red dress, arms crossed under those perfect tits, eyes dark and intense.
"Look who's finally awake," she says, her voice sharper than before.
Seeing her kicks in some adrenaline, and I become as alert as I can be while the drug still lingers.
I take stock of my situation. Seated in a chair. Hands tied behind me. Ankles secured to the chair legs. I flex my fingers. They're stiff but working.
"If you wanted to undress me, all you had to do was ask." My voice is a bit hoarse, but I feel it coming back.
She steps closer, heels clinking on the concrete. "Witty remarks, huh? And here I thought you'd be upset."
My jaw aches, but I'm able to force a slow smile.
"Not yet."
She circles me like a predator, but everything screams like she's trying too hard. Trying to appear dangerous.
So she's an amateur. Interesting.
She comes back around and stops in front of me.
"Well, I've got three men behind you." She gestures with her chin. "In case you decide to get angry or get any stupid ideas."
I don't turn to look. I'm not even sure I could. Either she's lying or she isn't. Either way, acting predictable would be a mistake.
"And what ideas might those be?"
She bends down until we're eye to eye, and I can smell her perfume again. Earlier it got me going. Now it's making my trigger finger itch. "Escape. Killing me. Take your pick."
"If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead already." My voice is flat. No threats here, just a fact.
Something flickers in her eyes. Uncertainty. She disguises it quickly with anger.
"Like you killed my father?"
I don't respond immediately. The list of men I've killed is long. Fathers, brothers, sons. To me, they were just targets. People in between my family and what it wanted.
"Which one was he?" I ask finally.
Her palm connects with my cheek so fast I barely see it coming. The slap stings, but I don't flinch.
"You don't even remember?" Her voice cracks. "You killed him, and you don't remember?"
I meet her gaze. "I don't always ask for names before I pull the trigger. Bad for business."
She hits me again, harder this time. A punch, not a slap. Her knuckles catch my jaw. For a woman, there's some weight behind it.
I spit blood onto the floor and smile up at her.
"I love the foreplay. Untie me, Alepoudítsa, so I can return the favor."
She takes a breath, pulling herself together after the hit. She brushes her hair from her face and straightens her dress.
Then, she turns her back on me and walks to a table.
That's when I notice it.
The knife.
Sleek. Silver. Narrow-bladed.
A bit too big for a woman's hand.
"Don't call me that," she says, turning to me and lifting the knife. "I'm not your little fox."
"But you are a little fox," I start laughing, knowing I'm getting to her. "A sly, seductive, clever, wild Alepoudítsa."
She walks quickly back over to me and presses the blade against my throat. I feel its edge bite into my skin, just enough to draw blood.
Our faces are inches apart, and I can see the slight tremor in her hand.
She wants me to think she's in control, but her body language betrays her.
"You're holding that knife wrong," I say calmly.
Confusion crosses her face.
"What?"
"Your grip. It's wrong. You'll lose control if you have to actually use it."
Her eyes narrow. "I don't need advice from you."
I look at her. "So do it."
"You think this is a game?" she snaps. The knife lifts, and she presses beneath my jaw. "You're the one tied up like a fucking dog."
I laugh low in my throat. "I've been tied up before. With less clothes on, too."
"Shut up," she says and leans into me.
"You know what's funny?" I continue, ignoring her. "The way your breathing changed when you got close to me. The slight tremble in your hands. The flush on your skin."
"I said shut up!"
"And the knife at my throat?" I lower my voice. "All you're doing is turning me on."
She jerks back like I slapped her. "You're disgusting."
"Maybe," I shrug. "And you're not as repulsed as you want to be."
"You think I won't kill you?" she asks, trying to sound threatening.
"I think you can't."
"Watch me." She steps forward again, knife raised. "I'll open you from ear to ear."
I meet her gaze, steady. Calm.
"Like I said. Then fucking do it."
The words hang between us like a dare.
She can't.
And now she knows I know.
She steps back abruptly, pacing again.
I lean my head back against the chair, roll my shoulders as much as the ties allow.
Blood's returning to my fingers. Strength too. The drugs are fading fast. Soon enough, I'll be ready. And then we'll see who holds the knife.
"It doesn't matter," she says. "Either way, you're not leaving here alive."
"We both know that's not true."
She stops pacing. "And why is that?"
"Because you're curious. About me. About why I killed your father. About what it would feel like to cross that line. And about what I'd do if you let me."
I lean forward again, the chair squeaking. "But mostly... you're curious why, even now, you can't fucking look away from me."
Her lips part slightly, eyes locked with mine. The knife lowers an inch. Then another.
"You're just trying to manipulate me," she says.
I grin, teeth bared. "No. But I think you're in way over your pretty little head."
Her face tightens. For a second, I wonder if she'll actually hit me again.
Instead, she takes a step back and straightens up, trying to look confident in that red dress.
Knife still in hand, grip firm now.
"I'm not afraid of you," she says, her voice barely shaking when she says the words.
"Not yet," I say and give her a serious stare for the first time. "Just wait until I'm free."