CHAPTER 22
NIKOLAI P.O.V.
I threw the heavy soundproof door shut, the metallic click of the lock echoing like a gunshot in the vacuum of the suite. I didn't look at her. I didn't need to. I knew exactly where she was—sprawled on the plush red carpet where I’d shoved her, scrambling backward like a cornered rat.
The audacity. The sheer, unmitigated stupidity.
I paced to the center of the room, my blood running so cold it felt like liquid nitrogen pumping through my veins.
It wasn't just rage. Rage is hot. Rage is messy. This was clarity. I’d spent weeks keeping her breathing, calculating every move against the Driskos, keeping her father’s debt from turning into her funeral, and she sprints for the gate the second a guard looks the other way.
She was tearing at a loose thread in the carpet, her eyes wide, hazel irises blown out with panic. Good. She should be panicked.
"Not a word, Scarlett," I said, my voice low. "Not one goddamn sound."
She froze. Her chest was heaving, the ruined silk of her slip clinging to her sweat-damp skin. She smelled like the cold night air and the dust from the driveway. It clashed with the sterile, expensive vanilla scent of the Red Suite. It smelled like disobedience.
I stopped by the armchair. I took my time. I unbuttoned my blazer, sliding it off my shoulders and folding it over the back of the chair with precise, surgical care. I smoothed the fabric. Then I went for the cuffs.
Movements slow. Agonizingly deliberate.
I undid the left cufflink, the gold catching the light, and dropped it into my pocket. Then the right. The silence stretched until it was thin enough to snap. She was watching my hands. She knew what those hands could do.
"Take a good look at this room," I said, rolling my sleeves up to the elbows, exposing the thick cords of muscle in my forearms. "This is your life now. You had the run of the house. You had privileges. You threw them away for a sprint to nowhere."
She flinched as I turned back to her. "I..."
"I said not a word."
I closed the distance in two long strides. I didn't grab her yet. I slammed my hand against the wall right beside her head, the impact shaking a painting on the far side of the room. She pressed herself back, trying to merge with the drywall, her breath hitching in her throat.
"You risked the life of every man who serves me for a foolish promise," I snarled, leaning down until my face was inches from hers. "Did you think I wouldn't find you? Did you think you could just walk away?"
"I was afraid," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Someone said—"
"Someone lied." I cut her off. My hand moved, not to strike, but to grip her chin.
I tilted her head back, forcing her to look at the ceiling, exposing the throat I owned.
My thumb traced the sharp edge of the diamond choker.
"Look at the price of your freedom, Scarlett.
Fifty million dollars. A war on three fronts. And this collar."
I pressed down. Just enough to make it uncomfortable. Just enough to remind her it was there.
"The collar stays. You will wear it, or I will use it to chain you to the radiator. Your choice."
She shivered, a full-body tremor that vibrated against my chest. "He told me you were going to sell me to Malen Drisko. He said I had an hour."
My eyes narrowed. The mole. I knew there was a leak, but hearing it confirmed by her terrified babbling made my trigger finger itch. "Who? Give me a name."
"I don't... it was one of the new guards. The one with the scar on his lip."
Jenson. Dead man walking.
I released her chin and stepped back, brushing a speck of nonexistent dust off my shirt.
"Jenson is dead. As of right now, he is a corpse that hasn't stopped moving yet. And everyone he knows. Everyone he’s spoken to.
Every dead man's blood will be on your hands, Scarlett. The price of your vanity."
"I thought I was strong enough to go," she said, tears finally spilling over, hot and angry.
"Strong enough to what? Be gutted by the Drisko scum? I bought you. You belong to me. You are not a person with agency, Scarlett. You are collateral. Remember that."
She wiped her face aggressively, smearing dirt and mascara across her cheek. "I hate you."
"Hate is fine. Disobedience is not." I pointed to the center of the room. The marble floor in front of the fireplace was hard, cold, and unforgiving. "Kneel."
She hesitated. Just for a second. A flash of that Vance pride that got her father into this mess and was going to get her killed.
"Kneel, Scarlett," I barked, the command cracking like a whip. "You broke the law, and now you will remember the cost of my patience."
She crumpled. Her knees hit the marble with a solid thud that made me wince internally, though my face remained stone. The silk slip pooled around her legs. She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking.
I walked around her slowly. A predator inspecting a trapped animal. My leather shoes squeaked softly on the polished stone.
"They think I’ve gone soft," I said to her back.
"My own men. They think the collateral is worth more than the Enforcer.
They think I'm compromised because I haven't put a bullet in your head for the trouble you cause.
" I stopped directly behind her. "I risked my empire for you, and you repaid me with a sprint for the fence. "
"I didn't know," she sobbed into her hands.
"Ignorance is not a defense." I reached down and gripped a handful of her dark auburn hair, yanking her head back. She hissed in pain, her neck arching, her tear-filled hazel eyes forced to meet mine upside down. "Look at me when I speak to you. Do you understand the depth of your mistake?"
"Yes," she choked out.
"No. You don't. Not yet."
I released her hair and grabbed her upper arm, hauling her off the floor. She stumbled, her legs numb, but I didn't let her fall. I propelled her toward the bedroom. The heavy oak door swung open with a thud.
"You know the language we speak best, Scarlett. Let’s speak it now. The debt must be paid in pain and total submission."
I threw her toward the king-sized bed. She caught herself on the edge, breathless, watching me with wide, fearful eyes.
I reached for my belt buckle. The metallic clink of the silver tongue unlatching was loud in the quiet room.
I pulled the leather strip free from the loops of my trousers with a sharp zip.
I didn't need the belt. My hand was enough. But she needed to see it. She needed the symbol.
I dropped the belt on the floor. It coiled like a black snake.
"On the bed," I ordered. "Face down. Now."
She swallowed hard, her gaze flickering from the belt to my face. "Nikolai, please—"
"The longer you resist this, the deeper the hurt will go."
She scrambled onto the mattress, crawling to the center and lying flat on her stomach. She knew the drill. She braced herself on her forearms, burying her face in the pillows. I could see the tension in her spine, the way her shoulder blades poked through her skin.
I walked to the side of the bed. I didn't rush. I lifted the hem of her ruined slip, pushing the material up high, bunching it around her waist. Her skin was pale, marked with faint bruises from where I’d grabbed her at the gate.
"You carry my marks, Scarlett," I murmured, running two fingers down her spine. She shuddered. "I own the skin you walk in."
I pulled my hand back and struck.
The sound was a sharp crack, like a pistol shot. It landed square on her right cheek, instantly stinging. Scarlett gasped, her body jerking, her legs kicking out instinctively.
"That is for the attempt," I said, my voice devoid of anger, perfectly controlled. "Stay still. You move, it gets worse."
I struck again. Harder.
And again.
I fell into a rhythm. Heavy, stinging blows that turned her skin from pale to pink to a deep, angry crimson. I wasn't losing control; I was applying a lesson. I needed the memory of this pain to overwrite the memory of the open gate. I needed her to associate freedom with suffering.
She started to cry. Not the silent, stoic tears she usually tried to hide, but open, ragged sobs. She gripped the sheets, her knuckles white.
"That is for the lie you told yourself—that you could live without me," I said, landing another strike that made her cry out into the pillow. "You are mine. Say it."
I hit her again. "Say it!"
"I... I can't..."
I leaned down, my hand resting hot and heavy on her sensitized skin, stopping the assault. I put my mouth right next to her ear. I could smell the salt of her tears and the metallic tang of her fear.
"Say it now. Tell me who you belong to, or I swear to God I will use the belt next. Say, 'I am Nikolai Smirnov's property.'"
She turned her face into the mattress, sobbing. "I'm yours. I'm Nikolai's."
"Louder."
"I belong to you!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "I belong to you! Please!"
Victory. It tasted better than scotch.
I flipped her over. She was a mess—face blotchy, hair wild, chest heaving—and she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The lust hit me like a sledgehammer, dark and primal. I tore the rest of the slip down the front, ripping the silk in two.
"Good girl," I growled. "Now, accept your consequence."
I pinned her wrists above her head with one hand, grinding her into the mattress. Her eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated, swimming with tears and adrenaline. But she didn't fight. She looked at me like I was the only thing anchoring her to the earth.
"You belong here. Under me. Always."
I didn't bother with preparation. She was wet—fear and arousal were wired together in her broken little brain, just like they were in mine. I positioned myself and thrust into her, burying myself to the hilt in one fluid, brutal motion.
Scarlett screamed, her back arching off the mattress, her head thrown back.
"Welcome home, collateral," I gritted out against her neck.
I set a punishing pace. I wasn't making love. I wasn't even having sex. I was claiming territory. I was stamping my name on her insides. Every thrust was a statement. Mine. Mine. Mine.
She wrapped her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my back, pulling me deeper. That was the betrayal she couldn't hide. Her mind might want to run, but her body was a traitor. It craved the cage.
"Fight all you want, Scarlett," I panted, gripping her hips, leaving marks that would last for days. "Your body will always surrender to mine."
"Bastard," she hissed, breathless, her nails digging into my shoulders. "Harder!"
"Say my name!" I drove into her, hitting that spot that made her unravel. "Say your Master's name!"
"Nikolai!" She tossed her head, biting her lip until it bled. "Nikolai, please!"
She was close. I could feel her walls collapsing. I stopped moving. Dead stop. I held myself deep inside her, twitching, feeling her grip me like a vice.
"Say 'Please, Master,'" I demanded, staring into her eyes.
She shook her head, tears flying. "No..."
I started to pull out.
"Please!" she grabbed my arms. "Please, Master. Don't stop. Please."
That was it. The final lock turned.
I hammered into her, letting go of the leash on my own control.
I drove us both over the edge, the friction burning, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.
She shattered beneath me, screaming my name, convulsing as the pleasure ripped through her.
I followed her seconds later, groaning as I poured myself into her, marking her, owning her.
I collapsed on top of her, my weight crushing her into the mattress. Neither of us moved. The only sound was our ragged breathing and the hum of the air conditioning trying to cool the sweat on our bodies.
I stayed there. I refused to pull out. I let the silence settle, heavy and absolute.
Slowly, her arms came up. She wrapped them around my neck, her fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape of my neck. She wasn't pushing me away. She was holding on.
I lifted my head, looking down at her. Her lips were swollen, her eyes red-rimmed but clear. I brushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead.
"If you try to leave again," I whispered, my thumb tracing the line of her jaw, "I will break your legs and keep you silent. Do you understand me?"
She stared up at me, touching the jagged scar on my throat with a trembling finger. She didn't look scared anymore. She looked resigned. She looked like she finally understood the rules of the game.
"Yes," she breathed.
"You are collateral, Scarlett. And I am the man who collects the debt."
She closed her eyes and pulled my head back down to her shoulder. She didn't argue. She just breathed me in.