Captured

Chapter 18

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

JONAH

Viktor’s house is massive. I didn't take it in when we arrived because everything happened too fast. From the inside, it feels old. It has high ceilings and heavy moldings. Stairs branch into different wings. Too many doors. Most of them are locked.

I left Viktor asleep upstairs because I felt restless.

Now I walk the corridors without a destination.

My steps are quiet against the floors. He’s safe.

That should mean my part in this is done.

I should feel relieved, but my chest feels hollow.

I’m thinking about the hospital, the trailer, the life that probably already moved on without me.

Someone else is likely sleeping in my bed.

Everything I owned fit inside that metal box, and now it’s gone.

My bare feet sink into the thick carpet when I reach the first floor. I pass a closed door, then another one left slightly ajar. I slow down. I shouldn't be opening doors that aren't mine. The last time I let curiosity win, I was traded like a piece of livestock to settle my father’s debt.

It feels both recent and impossibly far away since the Morozovs locked us in together. Everything has changed. I have changed.

I push the door a fraction wider and blink at what is inside.

An instrument sits by the window. Dark wood catches what light there is.

For a second, the pull of the piano overrides my hesitation.

I take a step in, then stop short. There’s a guard in the corner.

He doesn't move, but he tips his gaze toward me and watches. He looks like he’s been told not to interfere unless I do something wrong.

“What is this place?”

“The Winter Room.” His accent is thick. He doesn't move an inch.

“What’s in here?”

“Nothing for your eyes,” a voice growls from the hallway.

I turn. Viktor stands in the doorway, barefoot, with sweatpants riding low on his hips. His hair is a mess. A faint crease from the pillow still marks his cheek. The stitches at his ribs pull when he breathes. He doesn't bother hiding the pain.

“I couldn't sleep.”

His eyes move past me, taking in the room, the wood, the guard. He steps inside and the guard straightens immediately. Viktor doesn't look at him; he just gives a small nod. The guard leaves without a word. The door closes behind him with a soft click.

“Come on, wanderer. Come back to bed.”

I shrug, but my cock perks up at the proposition. My body is already answering him before I can think of a protest. “Didn't mean to steal anything.”

A corner of his mouth lifts. He takes my hand. His is larger than mine, cupping my fingers entirely with ease. Together we head back to his bedroom. “I’d have caught you.” His thumb tightens around my fingers.

“Yeah?”

With a sudden push, Viktor throws me back onto the bed.

I laugh as I roll onto my back and watch him hover over me.

“What would you steal, krasavchik? Hm?” He grabs the edges of my shirt and tears the material.

I laugh harder, trying to wiggle out of his hold, but he’s too strong.

He’s a mountain of heat and muscle pinning me down.

My heart is thundering, not from fear, but from the realization that I want him to keep me here.

“I—don't know…”

“Not good enough.” He rolls down my pants.

He lets out a hum when he sees my throbbing cock.

It’s leaking already, twitching for him.

I’ve never been this responsive, this desperate.

It’s like he’s rewritten my nerves. “Tell me what you’d steal from me.

Give me a reason to come after you.” He lowers his mouth.

He traces his tongue over a nipple, sucking it in before giving it a bite.

My hips jerk as I scramble for an answer. “Um—money.”

He looks up, amusement flicking in his eyes. “Money, yeah? And where would you find my money?” He goes back to tormenting my nipples, flicking his tongue against the nub.

“I’m sure you have a s-safe somewhere.”

“Hmm, we do.” His mouth trails across my chest and up to my throat.

He climbs over me until he’s half sprawled on top.

His jaw is coarse with stubble. I drag my teeth along it.

He pulls in a sharp breath and kisses me.

His tongue pries between my lips as he takes my mouth.

His cock is hot where it presses against mine.

“My little thief,” he murmurs between kisses.

“I’d have to punish you. How would you like to be punished? ”

His fingers reach down, trapping my cock between our bodies. I moan before I can stop myself. Viktor chuckles. He dips his head to my neck and fastens his mouth there, leaving his mark. My eyes slip shut. I love when he does this. I love being marked by him.

“There. Now you are my little thief. Now, as for that punishment…” He moves lower. By the time his mouth reaches my groin, my cock is aching, slick and pulsing. He closes his lips around it.

“Ahh—” My lower body jerks up on instinct.

My head falls back into the pillows. He grips my balls, drawing them down and working them until my thoughts scatter.

His free palm travels over me, possessive and rough.

I last maybe a minute. I try to hold on, but he’s everywhere at once.

It’s overwhelming. “I’m gonna…fuck—” I try to warn him. “Viktor, I’m gonna—hnnn!”

The words break apart as I spill into his mouth.

He takes everything, pulling it from me until I’m hollow and shaking.

When the rush ebbs, I reach for him with needy fingers.

He comes back up and gathers me in, letting me tuck my face into the hollow of his neck.

He’s still hard, untouched, but he settles against me like time isn't pressing.

“Thank you. No one’s ever done that for me.” I murmur the words into his chest, my voice thick with the aftershock.

He lifts himself slightly, bracing on his forearms so he can look down at me. “Really?”

“Really. I was too busy looking after Mom, then I was homeless. Then I was offered an internship at the hospital. I worked my way up before they offered to pay for my tuition to become a qualified nurse.”

“You’re a good nurse, Jonah.” He brushes hair out of my face and presses a kiss to my temple. “Because you care.”

I shrug, heat creeping up my neck. “I like being in the background. It’s easier.”

“You’re not in the background.”

“You know what I mean.”

I look down at his hand. He still has his fingers hooked in the waistband of my sweats, anchoring me. The heat from his calloused palm seeps through the fabric and into my skin. It is a constant reminder of how easily he could pull me back against him. How easily he could crush me if he wanted to.

He studies me for another second. “Did you like it?”

I let out a shaky laugh. “Do you need a chart? Yes. Obviously.”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Good.”

“Are you gonna let me return the favor?” My fingers slide down between us. I find him and wrap around his thick length. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Because you’re kind of… still very…”

“Hard?”

“Yeah.”

He closes his eyes for a second. I feel his whole frame tense, then force itself to relax. “Not right now,” he says. “Doc said to take it easy. I’m not putting weight on this side again until I’m sure I won't rip the stitches.”

“I could be on top,” I say before I can stop myself.

“Don't tempt me.”

I swallow. “Okay. Offer stands.”

He drags his thumb across my lower lip. His gaze tracks the jump of my pulse like he is memorizing the rhythm of my life. He finally lets go. He smooths my hair back, his calloused palm barely grazing my skin. “I want to show you something. Walk with me?”

“Is it the safe?” I follow him out of the bed. I’m still shaky from the way he just took me. “Because I’m still waiting on those stacks of cash you promised. I have a trailer to replace.”

Viktor’s lips twitch. A flash of amusement breaks through his heavy expression. He doesn't look back, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. “You’d be a terrible thief, Jonah. You had my life in your grip for three days and you didn't even check my pockets for a wallet.”

“I was busy stopping you from bleeding out,” I mutter. “And your pockets were empty anyway. I checked.”

He huffs a rough sound. “Smart boy. But I told you before. Money is for people who have something to lose. I have something better.”

He leads me to the corner of the room where another door waits. A keypad I didn't notice lights up as he enters a code. There’s a soft click. I follow him inside and stop short.

The room is filled with knives. Blades and edges are mounted on the walls. Two pistols sit on a workbench and a case rests on the top shelf. Everything is arranged with precise care. It looks like a shrine to violence. It looks like the heart of the man I’m falling for.

I swallow hard. My eyes move over the steel and the matte finish of the guns. “You know,” I say, the joke dying a little in my throat. “When I asked about the safe, I was thinking along the lines of an expensive watch. Something I could hock.”

Viktor turns to me, his palm resting on the edge of the workbench. “And now?”

“Now I think I’d have better luck stealing from a museum. Or a small army.”

“A thief after my own heart.” He reaches for a small dagger with a leather grip. A symbol is etched into the blade. “This was Babushka’s,” he says quietly. “She taught Father with it. Then he taught me.”

He turns the blade so I can see the sigil carved into the steel. A bear’s head over Cyrillic script.

“Our—”

“Your family mark,” we say at the same time.

Viktor’s eyes flash. His gaze drops to my mouth for a split second before returning to mine. He doesn't correct the slip. He just lets the weight of the word settle between us.

“The Morozov bear,” he confirms. “It’s the only brand that matters.”

“That’s right, krasavchik.” He runs his thumb along the flat of the blade, not the edge, like he’s greeting something familiar. “She could hit a target blindfolded. From twenty feet. Father said she taught him discipline by throwing at his feet until he learned to stop flinching.”

I don't know whether to laugh or stay very still. He looks at the blade with more affection than most people look at their children. He glances at me, then sets the dagger down carefully before reaching for another. “Don't be fooled by its size. This one’s deadly.” He holds it out.

“Viktor—”

“Take it.”

“I’m not—”

“I’m asking you to hold it.”

I reach out. My fingers falter. “Babushka used to say you can't understand a man until you see what he puts in his own palm.”

The Morozov sigil catches the light. His fingers close over mine, guiding my grip.

The cold steel is a shock against my skin, but his hand is hot over mine.

It’s a terrifying combination. “I’m not giving you this to fight with.

I’m showing you where I come from. Who raised me.

What they expected. And what they tried to take. ”

My throat tightens. He gently takes the blade back and locks the cabinet. “Right now,” he adds, his voice lighter, “you bring me back to bed. I feel like my legs are about to give out.”

They do. I barely catch him before his knees buckle. “You stubborn man,” I mutter into his hair as I help him back onto the mattress.

“Perhaps,” he says, settling. “That’s because you belong to me. That means I’ll kill anyone who tries to take you.”

“Your uncle?”

“Dead soon.”

“When did your parents die?”

“Mother when I was thirteen. Lev was eleven. Father when I was fifteen. We came here after. Sergei had already taken his throne.”

“But you were named the next leader.”

“I was. So for years we kept things separate. Business was too good. His greed has no limits.” He pulls me close, humming when I press my leg over his. “He failed. Now, close your eyes. Mine are already drifting.”

Viktor makes me feel safe in ways I never imagined.

He makes me feel seen. But as I lie there, my thoughts won't still. He says I belong to him. I don't know what that means when the blood is washed away and the war is over. I’m a nurse from a trailer park. He’s a prince of a dark empire who keeps daggers in his bedroom.

I wonder if I’m just a part of his recovery. Something he needed to survive the basement, but something he’ll outgrow once he’s back on his throne. The thought is a dull ache behind my ribs. It hurts more than the fear ever did.

I rest my forehead against his shoulder and breathe in the scent of his skin.

Viktor doesn't fix things because he dismantles what no longer serves him. I look at my hands against his scarred chest and wonder if I am a prize he’s decided to keep or just a tool he’ll discard once the wound is finally closed.

“Sleep, Jonah,” he murmurs, sliding his hand down my spine.

I close my eyes and try to drown out the doubt with the heat of his skin. He’s holding me today. I just don't know if that will be enough to keep me upright when he finally lets go.