15. Sienna
SIENNA
H e's out of his goddamn fucking mind. Why won’t he just leave me be and let me sort out my thoughts? Then again, I haven't been able to do that for the last three months. And while the idea of throwing knives at printed, less-than-flattering photos of my ex feels silly … I'm itching to do it.
Nikolai practically shot down everything I said in my emotional outburst. Then he accused me of having a pity party and dared to question whose voice it is that I’m listening to. But he could never understand what it's like living in the spotlight, and perhaps I envy him for that.
I pause at that thought. Do I not like being in the public eye anymore?
I never had much of a choice in the matter, but it eventually became everything to me.
This whole being kidnapped thing has kept me isolated from the public and stolen my ability to scroll through my socials and engage with others.
I can’t use it as a distraction. I’m now forced to face my own thoughts as everything comes to a screeching halt.
Maybe the things I thought I built my life on are no longer the things I want.
But finding out that Michael and his new fiancée are having a baby?
That’s what kills me. Because it's the one thing I want most, and being unable to do it makes me feel defective.
I hate that I feel that way. I hate that it's bubbling up in vicious ways.
I despise that I'm so ashamed of the fact that I haven't even been able to open up to my best friends about it.
I exhale. Yes, perhaps it is a pity party for one, but someone as ruthless as Nikolai will never understand the nuances of craving a child.
I find it ironic that I was always so scared of how my body would be perceived when it changed through pregnancy, that the moment I was told that I couldn’t conceive, it suddenly took away all that fear and doubt and highlighted to me that it was the one thing I truly wanted.
Nikolai returns to my side, then he takes one of the knives and flips it with ease and grace. It’s obvious he's used to handling them. Then he offers it to me, handle first.
“Aren’t you scared I'll use it against you?” I ask, looking down at the knife. This is ridiculous, yet my fingers itch to wrap around the handle of the blade.
“I'd be disappointed if you didn't try, but you know there will be consequences if you do, mishka .”
My spine stiffens at the way his tone seems to threaten and entice me at the same time.
I let out a sigh and then take the knife from his hand; the handle is cool in my palm. “I'm serious, though. You can't kill him, Nikolai. He's about to become a father.” The truth is, I want him to fucking hurt but not die. I just don't have enough spite in me to ever wish that on anyone.
“How very boring of you,” Nikolai says evenly, and I ignore his disapproval as he drops his cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his heel.
He sets the other knives in the grass next to us, then steps into my space, crowding me from behind. His callused hand slides down my forearm to wrap around my hand where it grips the knife.
The hair on my arms rises as he engulfs me in his warmth, smelling of crisp citrus with a woodsy undertone that I can’t decipher. His breath wafts against my ear, and a low hum begins to stir between my legs.
“You seem flustered, mishka ,” he purrs, and I can sense the smile on his face.
“More like irritated,” I snap back.
A chilling chuckle vibrates against the nape of my neck.
“That is a very good start. Knives are light and delicate. First, is mastering control over force. It needs to flip through the air with ease, and the trick is to ensure that the blade always ends up on the target.” He shakes my wrist lightly.
“Loosen up a little, mishka . Stop trying to control everything by force. As you Americans like to say, just go with the flow.”
After a few times of going through the movement needed to properly throw a blade, he tells me this time will be for real. And the moment he whispers “release,” I let the knife fly from my fingertips.
The knife flips end-over-end through the air, then there’s the subtle thunk of the blade as it embeds itself in the tree, right between the eyes of my ex. I release a breath, caught up in the thrill of handling something so dangerous while also finding it rather … therapeutic.
“It feels good, doesn't it?” he asks over my shoulder.
“Yes,” I quietly confess. It's strange to admit that to him when I'm so used to fighting him every step of the way. But I’m eager to do it again.
He steps away to grab another blade and then hands it to me. This time he doesn't stand behind me, just quietly encourages me to throw the next one on my own.
I aim and release—missing terribly. The handle clatters against the trunk—of a tree I wasn’t even aiming for—and the knife drops to the ground.
Nikolai chuckles. “Did you think it was easy being a killer? ”
I glare in his direction and snap, “No, but I don't need you laughing at me.”
He hands me another blade. “Loosen up, little doll. Stop trying to be perfect, and just feel the release.” I notice how he refers to me as little doll in this instance.
Is that why he calls me that in front of others, because I’m seen as stiff like a plastic doll?
Suddenly, I miss the way he calls me mishka .
He crowds my back again, his hands roaming down my sides and over my hips. “You do like the feeling of a release, don't you?”
My breath hitches, my senses focused on every inch of me that he touches. One of his hands remains on my hip while his other straightens my posture before covering my hand where it wraps around the handle.
“Take a breath,” he instructs. I inhale deeply, focused more on his hand pressing against my hip than anything else. “Then release.”
He leads my hand, and the blade goes flying, sinking into my ex’s cheek on a different target. Another jolt of adrenaline runs through me.
His hand slides from my hip, along the waistband of my shorts, and comes to a stop over my bellybutton. I lean against him, my body knowing of other ways it can enjoy a release, and I find myself saying, “You're not taking advantage of your student right now, are you? ”
“That's precisely the type of guy I am. You didn't think my time was free, did you?”
I can't help but smile since I practically said the same thing to him before. But to my surprise, he steps away, even though I could feel how hard he was, his erection pressing into my back. However, he acts unbothered as he bends down to grab another knife.
As he hands it to me, he says, “I won't reward you with my cock until you're already hot and sweaty, mishka . Or until you hit the target on your own.”
I take the knife. “You say it as if I want your hands on me.”
An arrogant half smile spreads on his lips. And for some reason, I home in on the scar marring his otherwise perfect face, thinking he wouldn’t be Nikolai without it.
“Your body doesn’t lie. Now, throw,” he says as he takes a seat on a fallen log.
It's dark out here now, the light of the half-moon and the distant glow of the manor being all the illumination I have, but my eyes have already adjusted.
My aim, however, has much to be desired, and I grow more frustrated. Especially once all six knives have been thrown, and Nikolai stands to collect them and reset me.
I throw twenty times, sometimes hitting the target, but with a lack of force to embed them into the tree, and other times it simply hits handle first. But in that frustration, I find myself more focused and determined.
The more that I look at my ex-fiancé's face, the angrier I become. All those emotions that have been eating away at me bubble to the surface, and I find myself wanting more and more to hit the mark.
Because I know I can do it.
“Relax your wrist,” Nikolai instructs.
“I am relaxing my wrist,” I grit.
He nods in mock agreement as he moves through the dark to collect the other knives. “I thought you said you really hate this guy, but maybe you still have feelings for him after all,” he goads.
“I don’t still have feelings for him,” I bite out. Because that's the truth. I'm mad and hurt by what he did to me. But even before I found him cheating, I knew in my heart we were becoming disconnected, which is why I moved to London to be with him.
“Maybe it's not that you’re mad at him, and that you’re actually disappointed in yourself,” Nikolai states.
Something snaps in me, and I throw the knife at him, furious and intent on further marring that pretty fucking face of his. He moves only slightly, and I gasp as the blade slices his cheek before sinking into the tree behind him, smack bang in the forehead of one of the photos of my ex.
My hand comes to my mouth as I see blood trail down his cheek. “Oh my God. I'm so sorry. ”
I’m frozen in place when he smiles, his white teeth flashing in the dark, because it reminds me of a beast’s fangs when they're hunting their prey.
I hate that he’s right about me being disappointed in myself. It was because of how I overextended myself instead of prioritizing myself that makes me most angry. And the shame of having such a public breakup didn't help. Holding your head high when everyone knows your business is excruciating.
He casually wipes his cheek and then runs his thumb over his tongue as he stares at me. My instincts are screaming for me to run, but my feet won’t move.
I stepped too far this time. Who am I? Why the fuck would I ever throw a knife at a living person?
He starts toward me, the sound of dry grass crunching beneath his boots louder with each step.
My heart is pounding. I should run, but it’s too late.
He's towering over me now, raising the blade in his hand toward me. My throat bobs at the cool touch of the tip as it lightly presses under my chin. He uses it to angle my face up so I’m looking directly in his eyes.