Chapter 7
I should have learned Russian. My brothers spoke it enough when I was growing up; I could have picked up the language if I’d tried.
But it was one more way to keep me separated from the real Volkovs. Another rebellious act of my youth that has come back to bite me in the ass. I know a few phrases here and there, but Artem is talking too fast for me to pick up anything more than random words.
His brow pulls tight as he talks. One hand rests on his hip, making him look like an impatient father.
I’ve seen him in this mode before. He’s conducting business. Giving orders, telling people what to do, where to go. All to clean up a situation or prevent one from happening. He’s a one-man security team.
While he’s on his call, I wander through the apartment. It’s small. Or maybe it’s only that way because he’s in it with me.
He takes up so much space, not only with his enormous build, but his personality. There’s always been less air in any room he’s been in with me.
Or maybe I just had a hard time catching my breath when he was around.
Everything gets turned upside down whenever I think too much about him.
Every word and gesture gets analyzed until I remind myself he’s out of reach.
He works for my brothers. Looking at me too long could cost him his job, or knowing how easily Alexander overreacts—his life. He’d never chance that for me.
I’d come to accept he and I could never, would never happen. Then I’d made the worst decision in my whole life.
I drop my coat over the back of an armchair and sink into the cushions. There isn’t even a television in here.
Brushing my hair away from my face, I tuck the wet strands behind my ear. It’s going to be a frizzy mess by the time it dries.
Artem walks past me, still talking in that deep, commanding voice of his.
My coat slips from the chair, flipping over to reveal blood smeared on the sleeve. I wipe it off with my fingers, smudging the bright red into my skin. It’s not mine.
It could belong to any of the five men Artem killed tonight.
To save me.
My throat clenches. He didn’t hesitate, not even for a moment. He just took their lives so I could keep mine.
Grabbing the coat, I take it to the bathroom. The sink turns red as I wash the blood from the sleeve and then my hands, but my hands still don’t feel clean.
“Elana?” Artem’s voice is soft, coaxing when he finds me standing at the stink, staring at the ring of blood twirling around the drain.
I lift my eyes to meet his in the mirror.
“They’re dead because of me,” I say.
His jaw tightens and he grabs my shoulders, spinning me to face him.
“The moment they drew their weapons against you, they’d sealed their fate. That’s on them, not you.”
Feeling tears forming, I suck in a long breath and close my eyes. There’s a bigger goal at stake.
“Who was on the phone?” I change the subject.
His left eyebrow twitches, and for a moment I think he’s going to push me.
“Janis has put out a bounty.”
“A bounty?” I laugh. “Is this the Wild West?”
“Elana.” He squeezes my shoulders. “He’s willing to pay a million dollars to anyone who brings you to him. Another if they kill me doing it.”
Cold runs through me.
“He wants you dead.”
“Like you said, I killed five of his men.”
I lean back against the counter, lowering my eyes to his chest. It’s not enough that I’ve made a mess of my family and my own life, now I’ve put a bounty on Artem’s head, too.
“You should go back to Chicago,” I say with finality.
“Yes. With you.” He nods.
“No. Alone. I’m not going home yet.” I shake my head.
He stares at me like I’ve just started speaking French.
“I’m not leaving you here.”
“Artem. They want me. They won’t chase you to Chicago. And besides, I’m not done here.”
“Done? What are you trying to do here, anyway?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
He grabs my arm when I try to push past him.
“It does.” He presses. “What is it you think you’re going to accomplish here? And why Boston?”
“I appreciate you saving me tonight, I really do, but you need to go home.”
His lips thin. A dark storm rolls into his eyes that sends a shiver through me.
“What was your business with Janis, Elana?”
“Artem, I’m telling you to go home.” I pause. “Like an order. I’m giving you an order.”
He works for my brothers, the Volkov family. Which means, he follows Volkov orders.
And as my brothers enjoy reminding me, I am a Volkov.
“You’re giving me an order?” His eyes narrow, his hand drops from my arm.
My mouth dries. It’s the way he’s looking at me, like he’s unsure of what he’s seeing.
“I’m telling you to go home.” I take advantage of his momentary shock and slide past him and out of the bathroom.
I barely reach the hallway when his hand snaps around my elbow, and he yanks me to the right. He slams the door behind us and spins me toward it.
“She’s giving me orders,” he laughs to himself, shoving me against the door.
“Artem, what are you doing? Let me go.” I try to push away, but he spreads his hand across my back, between my shoulder blades. I’m pinned.
“Not yet, Babygirl.” His voice is lower, more determined.
He takes the coat from my hand and throws it to the floor.
“Artem!” I wiggle harder when he hooks his thumb into the waistband of my leggings. “What are you doing?”
His body presses against my back. His breath warms my cheek as his mouth hovers over my ear.
“Tell me what you were thinking to do? What was the point of meeting Janis?” There’s a warning in his tone. One I’ve never heard from him before.
He’s always been there, in the shadows, watching over me. Even when I insisted on not having security with me, I knew my brothers would send him to be sure I was safe. He’s always respected the boundary though, staying out of sight and not getting in my way.
Even if I couldn’t see him, I felt him. And knowing he was there, hiding away and watching over me, was a security blanket. Safe, warm, dependable.
Sneaking around with Tony had been more difficult with him than anyone else on the security team. But I’d thought Tony would always protect me. I’d fallen into his trap so neatly.
Tony had been option B, and I’d been blind to anything other than trying to find something to replace what I knew I couldn’t have.
“Last chance, Babygirl. Tell me what you’re up to.” I’m squished against the door.
I wiggle my hips again, trying to get his hand off my leggings, but when I do, my ass comes into contact with something else.
Something long, hard, and thick as hell. I freeze.
He must realize what I’ve noticed because he chuckles.
“Okay, we can do it your way.” One yank, and he has my leggings down around my knees.
“No!” I increase my struggles, but it doesn’t do me any good. My panties are ripped down next.
“I gave you plenty of chances.” The jangle of metal and the ripping of leather against denim sends a shiver through me.
“Artem! I swear to god. If you do what I think you’re going to do…I’ll…I’ll….”
“You’ll what, Babygirl? Run away? Call home and tell on me?” Keeping his hand pressed against my back, he folds his belt over and tucks the buckle into his palm.
“Yes!” I stomp my foot, slap at the door. He’s in my peripheral, and the determination in his expression kicks my heart into overdrive.
The room stills.
I close my eyes. Thank God. He’s listening to reason.
“Then I better make sure this is worth it.” Before I can even blink, a hot streak of pain slashes across my ass.
I howl, rise up to my toes.
“Stop!” I scream, but the sound is swallowed up by leather slapping against skin.
“Enough coddling. Enough giving into you.” Another strike. “You’ve had this coming for a long time, Babygirl.”
“No! I don’t. Stop! Artem! Stop!”
Another blow and then another. No amount of wiggling helps me evade his punishment. Over and over again, he straps me with the thick leather. Until tears roll down my cheeks, until my breathing comes out in gasps.
“All the lying and the sneaking around stops right now.” He lowers his aim, striking the tops of my thighs.
I practically jump out of my skin.
“You’re going to tell me the truth, all of it. Every bit of it, and until you do, you’ll keep finding yourself having trouble sitting.” Another lash.
“Please.” I claw at the door. My throat aches from my screaming.
Hasn’t anyone heard me? Where are his neighbors?
And then I realize—no one is coming for me. He’s it. He’s the only one who is here for me.
“Artem!” Anger takes over. “You’re insane!”
“Am I?” He drops the belt to the floor with a clamor and presses his body against my hip. Moving his hand from my back, he wraps it around my waist to pin me to him.
Somehow the man manages to keep me completely immobilized while he spanks me. Like I’m no more than a spoiled little brat, he brings his hand down across my ass over and over, raising his knee up so I lean over it.
“Artem!” I shove against his body, but it doesn’t do me any good.
“No, Babygirl. Not Artem. Not to you, not anymore.” He sinks his hand into the back of my hair, fisting it at the root as he yanks me up to my feet.
His face comes into full view as I’m spun around to face him. Hard, unyielding eyes. Tense jaw. But there’s something more, something underlining all his irritation.
“What?” I swallow. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Babygirl.” He trails his knuckles across my cheek, brushing away my tears. “When you’re in trouble, when you’re over my knee, you don’t call me Artem. Not anymore. Things have changed now.”
“You shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s a broken whisper. And a lie.
Against all reason, a craving like I’ve never felt before has taken over. My gaze settles on his lips, and all I want is for him to kiss me. To anchor me. I’m tired of floating.
“You’re right. You still haven’t told me what I want to know.” He walks us to the bed. He sinks onto the edge, yanking me over his lap.
“No! That’s not what I meant!”
“I know, but you’re still not telling me the truth.”
“Artem!” I kick my legs out, which sends my leggings and panties flying. I’ve already lost my slide-on shoes somewhere along the way.
“Like I said, when you’re over my knee, you don’t use my name.”
I huff. “What am I supposed to call you then? Asshole?” I shouldn’t have added the last bit, but something inside me won’t be stopped.
He chuckles, but it’s dark and low and dangerous.
“When you’re bare-assed over my knee, being punished, being taken care of, you don’t use my name.” He trails his fingertips over the hot streaks on my ass. “You call me Daddy.”