Chapter 13 Slava
SLAVA
The glass in my hand holds nothing but water now.
I finished it a long time ago, and the ice has long since melted. The last guest left almost twenty minutes ago, and I’m standing here watching the event staff cleaning up.
I still haven’t managed to put this glass down.
I can't.
There’s a smear of pink lipstick on the rim. A perfect crescent where Bella's mouth pressed against the glass and she took a hesitant sip on the balcony.
I took the wrong glass when I walked away after the kiss.
I know I took the wrong glass. I knew it the moment my fingers closed around it and I felt the ghost of her warmth still clinging to the crystal. I could have turned around and picked up my own.
Instead, I raised it to my lips when I came back inside, lined my mouth exactly where hers had been, and pressed it to drink.
The whiskey inside burned, but it’s nothing compared to the heated smear of her lip print.
Fuck.
I do it again now. Tilt the glass, press my lips to that pink crescent, let the watered-down nothing slide across my tongue, and swear I can still taste her on my tongue. I swear I can still keep kissing her without actually touching her.
The kiss replays behind my eyes for the hundredth time. Her chin tilting up. Her lips parting. The soft dare in her voice: do your fucking worst.
Then she closed the gap between us, and the universe fucking broke.
See? Nothing, she said.
She lied and I know she lied because there was a microsecond where the flicker of something raw and intense almost overwhelmed her before her composure slammed back into place.
The kiss was supposed to unsettle her and throw her off her game. Instead, it had left me so rock-hard for the rest of the night that I almost wished Nico was back. Because then, I might have an excuse to kill something to distract me from the feral urge to claim her for myself.
But there’s no one else for me to take my frustrations out on, so I’m forced to play nice for the rest of the night, smile, nod, and say all the right things.
And the whole time, my eyes kept finding her while my mind replayed the slick of her sweat on my fingers and her pulse fluttering under my fingers.
Fucking hell, this woman…
She’s the living reminder of that piece of shit who played a part in destroying everything good in my life. I should want to see her ruined, broken, and begging.
I want her begging, all right.
Just not for mercy.
I’ve never had a plan fall apart as quickly as this one is right now, and it pisses me the fuck off because it means she’s somehow slipped under my skin.
And truth be told, I have no idea just when it happened.
From the corner of my eyes, I glimpse a flip of dark hair, and all thoughts crumble into dust as Bella walks into the elevator, alone.
She spins around on her pair of modest toe pumps that are laced up around her ankles, her cocktail dress fluttering for a moment to give me a tantalizing glimpse of bronzed skin, and her eyes lock with mine for a second.
Then, the elevator door closes and she’s gone.
Fuck it.
My legs are moving before I give them permission and before she’s gone for good.
When the elevator door opens, I see that she’s already stepping on the curb. Her eyes are glued to her phone, and her pink tongue darts out to wet the lips I want to taste again.
"Where are you going?" I ask as I start walking towards her.
Bella's shoulders stiffen at my voice and her fingers tighten around her phone. "Home."
I start walking towards her. "In what?"
"A cab. A Lyft.” She gives me a quick glance over her shoulders, rolls her eyes, and starts walking to the corner. “A horse-drawn carriage, for all I care."
Then, she turns, and I can see the same unsteadiness I'm feeling reflected back at me even from here.
"I'm a grown woman, Slava. I know how to get home."
"I can drop you off."
"No."
"Bella—"
"The lady said no.” Some dumb fuck who thinks he can play the white knight pipes up, unprompted. “Take a hint, buddy.”
“If you want to keep your brains inside your head,” I snap. “I suggest you mind your own business.”
But in that time, Bella has already crossed the street and now she’s lifting her hand to flag down something that isn't here yet.
Except something is here.
A black van suddenly lurches from its spot by the corner and screeches to a halt right in front of her, blocking her from my view.
She shrieks for half a second before she’s muffled. The door slams shut, and before I can react, the van is shrieking down the street with murderous intent.
"BELLA!"
My feet are moving before I realize. Not after the van. I know I won’t make it. Instead, I head to the SUV where the engine is already running and Alik is standing beside the door.
Without saying a single word, I wrench the door open, get in, and take off after the van.
It weaves through traffic, runs red lights, and takes corners so sharp that I almost lose it twice. Every time the taillights wink out at a turn, my heart nearly stops. It takes the on-ramp to the FDR, and once it’s on the highway, it speeds like a demon out of hell downtown.
Bella. Bella. Bella.
Her name drums in my chest, and I swear I’ll burn this entire city to ashes if I lose her.
I see the van take the exit towards a set of industrial warehouses somewhere before the Williamsburg Bridge. But by the time I catch up to it, the doors are open, and there’s not a damn person inside.
I'm out of the car without shutting the engine off, gun already in my hand, and the taste of adrenaline is bitter on my tongue.
My eyes spot movement nearby. A door opens, the hinges screaming, and I see one of Bella’s pumps outside a door.
There could be half a dozen men waiting for me on the other side. This could be a trap for all I know. But I don’t care right now.
The only thing that matters is getting to her.
I open the door and storm in, and hear rough men’s voices laughing as they talk.
"—teach you some fucking manners," one of them says from deep within. "You think you can just touch our boss without consequences, you cunt?"
Red seeps into my vision from the way they dare to talk to her. Rage burns and I welcome its cleansing flames burning away all doubt from my mind. I force air into my lungs in slow measured breaths as I move deeper into the warehouse. I have no intention of missing.
"Fuck you." Bella's voice is steady despite her predicament.
Attagirl.
"See, that pretty mouth of yours is your problem," another one says. "Someone should've taught you a long time ago what that mouth is good for."
Bella snarls something incomprehensible, but that sound quickly turns into a muffled scream as something is shoved into her mouth.
I start running. When I round the corner, I finally spot them.
And her.
She’s tied to a metal chair under the harsh light. Ropes are laced around her wrists and her ankles. Her dark gown is torn at the shoulder, exposing a single black lacey bra strap. Her hair is a mess, but unquenchable defiance still burns in her eyes.
There are three D’Ambrosio thugs around her. Unlike the men that accompanied Nico, these men don’t bother with the pretense of suits and respectability. They’re the kind of men who do dirty work for dirty people without ever losing sleep over it.
And one of them has his gun down her mouth.
"Come on, sweetheart." He laughs. “Show us how that pretty mouth works."
Everything happens in a blur. The world slows down, and my focus is reserved for the bastard with the gun down Bella’s mouth. My gun kicks against my palm, and his wrist explodes in a shower of blood and bone. He jerks his hand back, screaming.
Bella wrenches her head to the side, and the gun clatters to the ground.
I shoot again, and his head snaps back once before his body crumples like a marionette with its strings cut.
The second man turns and spots me. But he’s too slow.
My gun fires again before he can reach his.
The third man is the smartest of the bunch because he takes this moment to run.
But he’s not nearly fast enough. I shoot him once in the leg and watch with savage satisfaction as he falls face-first to the ground.
He claws at the warehouse floor, and tries to turn himself over. I shoot his hand as he reaches for the gun by his hip. Then, with calm steps, I relieve him of his weapon and kick him over so that he can look me in the face.
Recognition spreads across his face when he sees me.
I kneel down on his uninjured hand, place one foot on his throat, and rest my gun on my knee so that he can see it. I look over at Bella in her disheveled state and then back at him.
"Did you do that to her?" My voice is steady despite the rage still pounding between my ears.
"We weren't going to actually hurt her!" He's struggling now. "Just rough her up a little. Teach her a lesson. What's it to you, Romanov? She's just a fucking nobody—"
Wrong fucking answer.
I shove the gun down his mouth. His eyes widen and he tries to plead uselessly against the hot barrel.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I whisper. “She’s not a nobody, and you were stupid enough to touch her.”
The roar of the gunshot is the sweetest fucking thing I hear.