CHAPTER 7
NIKOLAI P.O.V.
The monitors in the security feed room hummed, a low, irritating vibration that drilled straight into my skull. I ignored it. My focus was entirely on the high-definition screen in front of me.
Scarlett.
She was pacing the Red Suite like a caged animal. Every few seconds, her hand drifted up to touch her lip. The bruise I left there. Good. She needed the reminder.
I ran a gloved finger over the cool glass of the monitor, tracing the line of her throat.
On the screen, she looked small. Breakable.
But I knew better. She still tasted of defiance.
The debt was outstanding, a fifty-million-dollar hole in the ledger that her father had carved out, but looking at her, the money felt like an abstraction.
The numbers were just ink. She was the currency.
My pulse kicked a jagged rhythm against my ribs. It pissed me off. I prided myself on control. Ice in the veins. But watching her trace that bruise, seeing the rise and fall of her chest, I felt the beast rattle the cage. This wasn't just about the audit anymore.
"Control, Smirnov," I muttered, the words sounding foreign in the sterile room. "Control."
I pushed away from the desk. The chair scraped harsh against the floor. I didn't look back at the screens. I knew where I was going.
The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that usually comes before a gunshot. My footsteps were absorbed by the runner, soundless, predatory. I adjusted my cufflink, feeling the cold metal bite into my wrist. A ritual. A breath.
I stopped at her door. My hand rested on the electronic lock.
I could picture her on the other side. Probably plotting. Probably thinking she had options. She didn't have shit.
My patience had snapped somewhere between the third glass of scotch and the moment I saw her touch her mouth on that screen. Tonight, the ledger got balanced.
I punched in the code. The lock disengaged with a heavy, mechanical thud.
I didn't knock. I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. The deadbolt slid home with a definitive click that echoed in the massive room.
Scarlett spun around. She was by the window, moonlight cutting across her silhouette. She flinched. Visibly. Her hand went to her throat, her eyes wide, hazel, and burning with that mixture of hatred and fear that made my blood run hot.
"No escape now, Scarlett," I said. My voice was low. "The door is sealed."
She backed up until her hips hit the windowsill. "What do you want, Nikolai?"
"What do I want?" I moved into the center of the room. The air smelled like her—expensive floral nonsense and the sharp, metallic tang of fear. "Did you truly think I'd let you go? This room was built for secrets. And for payments."
I stopped a few feet from her. I reached up and unbuttoned my suit jacket. I took my time. I wanted her to watch. I shrugged it off and draped it over the velvet armchair with precise care. No creases.
"The suit is for business," I said, turning back to her. I started on the waistcoat. "This, Scarlett, is personal."
"Stay away from me," she hissed.
"Your father's debt is a heavy one." I tossed the waistcoat aside. "And you are its currency."
"I'm not currency," she spat. "I'm a person."
"You're collateral," I corrected. "And the interest on the fifty million is now due."
I closed the distance. She tried to step sideways, but I was faster. I boxed her in against the window. I reached out, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw, rough against her smooth skin. I pressed down on the bruise on her lip.
She flinched, a small sound escaping her throat, but she didn't pull away. She couldn't.
"You bruise easily," I murmured, watching her pupils dilute. "A delicate thing. Such a pretty mouth. Wasted on curses."
"Bastard," she whispered.
But she leaned into the touch for a fraction of a second before she caught herself. Her body was a traitor.
"Tell me you don't feel it," I challenged. "Tell me you feel nothing."
She glared at me, but her breath hitched.
I tangled my hand in her hair, gripping the nape of her neck. Hard. I tilted her head back, exposing the long, white column of her throat.
"Look," I commanded. I used my other hand to point to the jagged scar across my own throat. "This is my world, Scarlett. Bloody and unforgiving. Do you see what I am? Do you see who owns you?"
Her eyes locked on the scar. She swallowed. "A monster."
"An enforcer," I said. "And my marks are earned. You will earn yours."
I shoved her backward. I didn't use all my strength—I didn't need to—but I used enough to make her stumble. She hit the edge of the massive, silk-covered bed. The mattress caught her calves.
She tried to scramble, heels digging into the carpet, hands pushing against my chest. It was like she was pushing against a brick wall.
"Don't fight it," I said, stepping into her space, forcing her down. "It changes nothing. Your struggle only makes me harder."
She fell back onto the sheets. I loomed over her, a shadow blocking out the moonlight.
"Every inch you resist, I will claim tenfold," I promised.
I reached for my tie. I kept my eyes on hers as I loosened the knot, pulling the silk strip free and tossing it to the floor.
"The syndicate owns your debt," I said, my voice dropping an octave. "I own you."
I put a hand on her throat. Not choking her. Just claiming. Feeling the frantic rabbit-kick of her pulse under my palm.
"Do you understand the difference?"
She didn't answer. She just stared, chest heaving.
I undid my shirt cuffs, then the buttons. One by one. Revealing the scars, the ink, the muscle built from violence. I stripped it off and threw it aside.
"Look at me, Scarlett," I growled. I caught her chin and snapped her face back to mine when she tried to look away. "See who takes you. Don't hide from this. Don't hide from me."
I climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight. She tried to scramble backward, kicking out, but I caught her ankle and dragged her back down. I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand. Easy. Too easy.
"There is nowhere left to run," I said, settling between her legs. "This space is mine. Every inch of it."
My hand went to my belt.
Click.
The sound was loud in the room. Final.
Scarlett gasped, her eyes snapping to the buckle.
"No more delays," I said, sliding the leather free. The hiss of the belt through the loops was the sound of her freedom dying. "This is what your father signed you up for. This is the last chance for denial."
I tossed the belt. I unzipped my trousers.
"Please," she whispered. It sounded like a curse.
I leaned down, my face inches from hers. I could smell the terror coming off her in waves. It was intoxicating.
"Shut up," I rasped. "Kneel."
Wait. No. I wasn't letting her turn away. I wanted to see her face.
"Actually," I corrected, gripping her hips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh until I knew I was leaving bruises. "Stay right there. I want to see the lights go out in your eyes."
Her body was trembling. Violent shivers. Fear. But there was heat there, too. I could smell it. The biology didn't lie, even if her mind was screaming.
"This is where you belong," I said. "Under my hands."
I freed myself. I was hard. Painfully hard. The need to be inside her was a physical ache, a pressure building at the base of my spine that demanded release.
I positioned myself at her entrance. I looked at her one last time. Her eyes were wide, wet, terrified.
"Do you understand, Scarlett? You are mine now. Truly mine."
I didn't wait for an answer.
I thrust into her.
I didn't differ. I didn't ease in. I slammed into her, burying myself to the hilt in one fluid, brutal motion.
She gasped, a strangled sound as the air was ripped from her lungs. Her body convulsed around me, tight, hot, resisting and yielding all at once.
"Mine," I grunted.
I held still for a second, letting her stretch, letting her feel the invasion.
"Feel that, Scarlett?" I withdrew and slammed back in. "His mark. My claim. All of it."
She tried to push me off, her hands scrabbling at my shoulders, but I pinned her wrists again, holding them down against the pillows. My grip was iron.
"Bound to me," I snarled, setting a rhythm. Hard. Fast. Relentless. "No escape from this rhythm, Scarlett."
I was driving her into the mattress with every stroke. Friction and sweat. Heat and hatred.
I leaned down and buried my face in the crook of her neck. I bit down. Hard. My teeth scraped against her sensitive skin, enough to bruise, enough to mark.
She cried out, a sharp, broken sound.
"A payment," I muttered against her skin, tasting the salt of her sweat. "You are branded, Scarlett. Mine. My scent on you now. Everywhere."
I pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were squeezed shut.
"Look at me!" I roared.
I released her wrists to grab her jaw, squeezing until her eyes flew open.
"See what you are becoming! I want to see the moment your defiance breaks. Witness this. Every second."
She looked at me. Hate. Lust. Confusion. It was all there. And then, her body betrayed her.
Her hips lifted. Just a fraction. A reflex. She met my thrust.
"There," I said, grinding against her. "Fight me, Scarlett. Beg me. Deny it all you want. Your body screams otherwise."
She clawed at my back, her nails raking down my skin. It stung. I liked it.
"Mark me," I challenged. "A fair trade."
I pulled out and flipped her over. She didn't have time to protest. I shoved her face into the silk pillows, pulling her hips up.
"Take it, Scarlett," I growled, entering her from behind. It was deeper this way. More animAlistairtic. "Take all of it."
I wrapped my hand in her thick, auburn hair and yanked her head back. Her neck arched, exposed, vulnerable.
"Say my name," I ordered.
She sobbed, a ragged sound muffled by the room.
I pulled harder. "Say it!"
"Nikolai!" she screamed. It was half-plea, half-shout.
"Good," I grunted. "My name. Your master."
I picked up the pace. It wasn't about pleasure anymore. It was about possession. Piston-like thrusts. The slap of skin on skin filled the room. The bed frame creaked, protesting the violence.
"Faster," I hissed. "Harder. This is the true payment."
I reached between her legs, finding her clitoris with my thumb. I flicked it. Rough.
She convulsed. A shockwave went through her. She tried to pull away, but I held her hips firm.
"There it is," I said. "The truth. Submit to pleasure. Submit to me."
She shattered. I felt her clamp down around me, her internal muscles spasming in a violent climax. She cried out, a raw, guttural wail that tore through the sophisticated veneer of the penthouse.
"She's breaking," I thought. "Completely."
The sensation of her release triggered mine. I couldn't hold back. I didn't want to.
I groaned, a deep, animAlistairtic sound vibrating in my chest. I drove into her one last time, bottoming out, and poured myself into her.
"Mine," I growled, my body going rigid. "Mine. Mine."
I emptied myself. Marking her inside and out.
I stayed there for a long time. Heavy. Breathing hard. My sweat dripping onto her back. Her heart was hammering against the mattress like a trapped bird.
Slowly, the red haze lifted. The room came back into focus. The silk. The moonlight. The smell of sex and musk.
I pulled out. The loss of friction was sudden, cold.
"Mine," I whispered against her ear. "Don't you ever forget it."
I rolled off the bed and stood up. I felt… calm. For the first time in weeks, the noise in my head was gone.
Scarlett was curled in a ball, shivering. I watched her. Coldly. Assessing the damage.
She looked wrecked. Good.
I reached down and pulled a silk sheet over her hips. Not to cover her up, but to frame the masterpiece.
"The first payment is complete," I said. My voice was steady. Business again.
I noticed a smudge of blood on my knuckle. From her lip? From my back? I didn't know.
I lifted my hand. Scarlett watched me, her eyes dull, stunned.
I licked the blood off my skin. It tasted like iron. Like victory.
"A taste of what's to come, Scarlett," I said.
I turned and walked toward the bathroom. I didn't look back. The ledger was balanced for tonight. But the interest? The interest was just getting started.