Chapter 12
“Shit.” I drop the needle and stick my middle finger into my mouth, lightly sucking the pain away.
Artem gives a light chuckle from his chair in the corner of the living area.
“It’s not funny.” I pull my finger out to assess the damage.
“That’s the third time you’ve pricked yourself since you started.” He puts aside his phone, leaving it on the coffee table and makes his way over to me. “Let me see.”
“It’s a small needle prick. I’m fine.” But then I contradict myself by sticking my finger back in my mouth. It’s throbbing.
He sinks down to his haunches and places his hands on my knees, looking up at me. Amusement dances in his eyes. He’s at least trying to keep himself from laughing at my expense.
“You like to see me hurt,” I mutter.
He raises an eyebrow. “There are a lot of things I like to see when it comes to you, but hurt isn’t one of them. Now let me see.” He tugs my hand from my mouth and brings my hand up between us to inspect it.
“It’s not bad; it just hurts.”
“I can see why.” He flicks his gaze to me. “You’ve been using your finger as a pincushion.”
I sigh. He’s not wrong. “I’m still getting used to holding my hand in the right place.”
“When you hold your work in your left hand, curl your fingers around the loop and use only your right hand to do all of the needlework. You don’t need to use your left hand at all, just your right.” He takes the small hoop from my lap. “Like this.”
Easily he picks up the thin needle and works it through the cloth. I watch as his thick fingers make several stitches effortlessly, his left hand holding the small loop. No fingers being pricked here.
“You know how to do needlepoint?”
He grins. “My mother worked at a seamstress shop when I was young. When she wasn’t mending or making clothes, she liked embroidery.”
I accept the loop back when he offers it and lay in my lap. “My mom tried teaching me, but I always thought it was boring. She said it was a good stress reliever.”
“Stress relief? You always look more stressed when you work on your project late at night.” He chuckles.
“You know it’s creepy that you were watching me, right?” I put the needlepoint aside.
“I was protecting you.” He moves to sit on the coffee table edge, making the wood creak beneath his hulking weight.
The man is made of pure titanium steel, how any simple wood furniture can hold him boggles me.
“By watching me needlepoint in bed?” I challenge.
He picks up my hand again, running his thumb over the pad of my injured finger. “You were in grave danger almost every night.”
“Oh, you’re hilarious.” I yank my hand away. “I’ve never heard you talk about your mother before, or any of your family.”
His amusement fades at the edges.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” I say softly when the hurt in his eyes makes my chest tighten. I know that pain. Loss and grief.
He rests his hands on my knees, stilling my fidgeting.
“My father left when I was too young to remember him. My mother remarried when I was around seven. That man was my father, but he died in a crash when I was twelve. My mother worked as a seamstress when she wasn’t working at the cafe on the corner from our apartment.
I was in charge of watching my sisters.”
“You have sisters?” I’ve known him for years and never have I heard him mention any family. He’s probably as overbearing with them as my own brothers are with me.
His fingers tighten around my knee. His expression hardens.
“I did.”
An ache builds in my chest. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Artem.” I lean forward, covering his hands with my own.
“When I was sixteen, my sisters—twins Anya and Natasha—were nine. After school they would go to the cafe to work on their homework until her shift ended, and then they’d all walk home together.”
His expression darkens. Like he’s facing a storm and daring it to crash down over him.
“There was a robbery. Two men.” His eyelids slide lower. “My mother was alone with Anya and Natasha. No customers that afternoon.”
I squeeze his hands as though I can transfer more strength to him.
“My mother offered the money if they would leave, but they wanted more than cash.”
Heaviness sinks into my chest.
“Artem.” I want to tell him that he doesn’t need to say anymore, but I think he does. Sometimes giving voice to the ghosts gives them a way to find their way to freedom.
“They locked the doors and took all three of them into the kitchen. They killed the cook right away. But they took their time with my mother. Both of them raped her with my sisters only a few feet away. They promised her they’d leave my sisters alone if she didn’t fight them.
But when they were done, they shot both of them before killing her.
Then they took the two hundred dollars in the cash register and my mother’s thirty dollars in tips and left. ”
“They were caught? By the police? I mean if you know all that…” My words trail off when I see the small shake of his head.
“I found them myself.”
“But you were only sixteen.” At sixteen, I was sneaking out of the house to go to house parties.
“I worked at a butcher shop owned by Vladimir Volkov.”
“My grandfather? You worked for my grandfather?”
“Not directly. He split his time between Russia, Chicago, and Boston. I never met him face to face. When the guys I worked with found out what happened to my family, they helped me track down the two men, and then they let me find justice for my family.”
He doesn’t go into any details, and he doesn’t need to. My imagination can fill in the blanks. I didn’t grow up around my brothers and not learn how violent retribution can be.
“Is that how you started working with my brothers?”
A dark smile crosses his lips. “Word got back to your grandfather, and I was sent to Chicago. I was given a job and a place to stay.”
I lean back in my chair. “You must think I’m the biggest spoiled brat in the whole world.”
His gaze jumps to mine. “Why do you say that?”
“Artem. Your family was stolen from you in the most violent way possible. I’m surrounded by my brothers and complain about it constantly. And then I betrayed them.”
He grabs my chin, dragging me forward until he’s only a breath away from me.
“Did you start seeing Tony DeAngelo as a way to get back at your brothers?”
“No.” I pull my brow together. “I didn’t know about his family for a while. But once I found out, I didn’t break things off.”
“Did you tell him anything about your brothers?”
“Of course not.”
“Did you tell him you loved him?” His question knocks the wind from my lungs.
It’s not a question to determine if I betrayed anyone. He wants to know in order to see how far I went with Tony. I’ve already said I didn’t love him, but did I say the words to Tony?
“No. I never told him I loved him.”
“You betrayed no one, Elana.”
“What about you?” I whisper and he lets go of my chin as though it’s too hot to hold.
“Me? What about me.”
“You think I didn’t see you watching me? That I didn’t know you kept tabs on me, even when my brothers didn’t tell you to?”
His jaw tenses.
“Are you going to lie to me and say you weren’t?”
“No. I won’t deny it.”
“You work for my brothers. Nothing can ever happen between us, and I knew it. I thought if I found someone else…” I sigh. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“You thought if you found someone else you could forget me?” He rests his hands on my thighs. The warmth of him radiates through my leggings, straight to the very core of me.
He slides his hands up my thighs, to the hem of my sweatshirt.
“It matters. Tell me.” He glides under my shirt, his warm touch sending shivers through me.
“Tell you what?” I’m barely able to breathe, let alone keep track of our conversation. And it’s his fault because he’s cupping my breast.
After my shower, I decided against the constraints of a bra today, opting to put on an oversized sweatshirt. My choice of comfort has given him direct access to my body.
He pinches a nipple.
“Tell me you were trying to forget about me. Tell me it was me in your thoughts when you put your head down to sleep at night. Tell me it’s me you think of when you slide your hand between your thighs and touch your pussy. Tell me.”
The whole truth would be to tell him that even when Tony was touching me, fumbling around my body as though he had any idea of what he was doing, it was Artem that crossed my mind. It took herculean strength to push him from my thoughts.
Artem twists my nipple. Lightening hot pain streaks through my body.
“Tell me, Babygirl. You’ve been so good today… Let me give you your reward. But first you need to be honest with me.”
When I lower my gaze, he knuckles my chin to bring our eyes back in line.
“Last chance.” He twists a little more, and I arch my body. Craving more and less at the same time.
The brain is a fucked-up organ.
I grip the arms of my chair and bring my gaze directly in line with his.
“It was you.” I hiss when he pulls my nipple toward him. “For a long time, it’s been you.”
“Good girl.” He licks at his lips and releases me.
A new pain, white hot, rushes my nipple, and I whine.
He reaches for me, brushing his fingertips across my cheek. I bite down on the inside of my cheek, sucking in slow breaths until the burn in my breast subsides.
“You’re beautiful like this. Taking the pain for me.” He brings his face close to mine, taking my chin in between his fingers and staring down at me as though he’s seeing straight through me.
The burn in my nipple fades, but I’m barely aware of it. I’m too lost in his eyes. I’ve looked at this man for years. Admired his build, his sex appeal. Heat rushed through my veins whenever he was near, but this close is different.
The intensity is almost too much.
My breath gets stuck. My thoughts muddle together.
One man shouldn’t be able to have this effect on a girl.
“You’ve been running for a long time,” he says, dragging his knuckles across my jaw. “It’s time to stop.”
I swallow. He’s not just talking about leaving Chicago after the Tony debacle.
There hasn’t been a time in my life where I didn’t feel like I’ve had one foot out the door ready to take off. Maybe because my father was so eager to cast me aside or because I knew the only thing keeping me from living in the streets was the generosity of my brothers.
But Artem isn’t something I want to run from.
Not anymore.
He’s an anchor.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I try to push on a smile, wanting to lighten the air. It’s getting too heavy to breathe.
“And you’ll run again the moment you feel out of control.” He cups my cheek, brushing his lips across mine.
“I won’t be anyone’s burden.”
He huffs. “Who’s in charge now?”
“What?”
“Chaos is all around us. The Irish are looking for us. Janis has put a bounty on your head. Your brothers are blowing up my phone with demands about your whereabouts.”
“Are you trying to ruin the mood?” I press my hand against his shoulder.
He chuckles. “Tell me, who’s in charge right now.”
I swallow, realizing what he wants to hear, what he needs to hear.
“You seem to think it’s you.”
He laughs. “And you? Who do you think it is?”
My body hums. “This exact moment?”
“Yes. This exact moment, who is in charge. Me? Or you?” He slides his hand along my jawline, then beneath my hair at the base of neck.
Chaos is exactly what’s happening on the outside of this cabin. But here, in his grip, locked into his eyes, there’s a calm. And it feels amazing to be able to breathe like this.
I’m tired of always being one step ahead of every situation.
I want the anchor he offers.
“You are.” I breathe the words, then add, “Daddy.”
He growls like an animal unleashed. His hand fists in my hair and in the next moment we’re both on our feet.
“Let’s go.”