Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Yuri!” Victoria grabbed the edge of the tub so she didn’t fall in. She’d known this could happen if she didn’t go into protective custody, so now it was time to suck it up and face her worst nightmare.
Her ex-husband.
The pitter-pattering dead center in her chest was her heart trying to beat its way out.
Aside from the thick beard he’d grown, he still looked the same, only more muscular.
The harsh gleam in those dark brown eyes hadn’t changed.
If anything, it was harder. His hair was slicked back with gel, emphasizing his brutal features.
The dark pants and green long sleeve Whitney Florists shirt that looked ready to split at the seams explained how he’d gotten inside her building without her buzzing him in, but not how he’d gotten into her apartment.
“How did you get in here?” she asked automatically, though the details of his uninvited presence were of no consequence whatsoever.
“I learned a lot of useful trades in prison. I have you to thank for that.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” His lip curled in a vicious sneer. “You and that FBI agent you ran away with.”
“I didn’t run away with anyone. You nearly killed me! If you want to blame someone for putting you in jail, look in the mirror.”
Oh my God. Had she actually said that? Yes, and it had felt good. Triumphant!
“You pizda!”
Calling her a fucking bitch was something she’d gotten used to. His words no longer hurt, but when he took a step toward her, his fisted hand readying to strike her…
Survival instinct kicked in, but there was nothing in the bathroom that would qualify as a weapon. There was only one thing within her grasp—the toilet brush.
“Don’t touch me, you bastard!” She jumped up, raising the brush over her shoulder, fully intending to deliver a blow to his head. For whatever good that would do.
Yuri stopped, shock evident in his cruel face. How had she ever considered him handsome? The man standing before her was an ugly monster. If he came at her again, she’d do as much damage as a toilet brush could do, because things were different now. There was someone else to protect.
Her unborn child.
He froze, his eyes going ridiculously wide. “You, fighting back? Where is my frightened little field mouse, crying, begging my forgiveness?”
Clearly, he didn’t know who he was dealing with anymore. Calling her a frightened little field mouse and assuming she’d take it lying down again, only spurred her on more, unleashing the decade of rage inside her.
She raised the toilet brush higher over her shoulder.
“So, this is how it is going to be, Vika?”
All this time in the United States, and his Russian accent was still as thick as ever, making him sound like Count Dracula in the movies. Her parents both had thick accents but with them, that had never occurred to her.
Maybe it was because Yuri was a blood-sucking asshole.
“Yes, this is how it’s going to be.” She prayed he didn’t catch the slight tremble in her voice and couldn’t hear how fast her heart was beating. “Come near me, and I’ll kill you. I swear it.”
“Vika, Vika.” He let his arm drop to his side. “I came here to show you how much I love you. I want to make things up to you. You have to believe me.” He held out his hands in a pathetically pleading gesture she didn’t believe for half a second.
Ten years ago, she would have bought into his glib lies, having been so brainwashed and emotionally beaten down she could no longer separate fact from fiction. He was disgusting, lying filth. How she could have stayed with such an ogre was unfathomable to the woman she was today.
“I don’t have to believe a word that comes out of your mouth.
” Despite the tremble in her voice, she couldn’t hide the contempt.
“I’m not the same person. We’re divorced, and I no longer want you in my life.
This is my home, and I want you out of here.
For good!” She lifted the toilet brush even higher, fully prepared to whack him over the head with it if he made another move toward her.
Yuri’s upper lip quivered, a sign that he wanted to unleash his rage and was struggling to hold it back.
“Dorogaya. Sweetheart,” he said in a smooth tone she knew was intended to be soothing.
Instead, it put her on full alert. “All I want is another chance. You used to love me, as I loved you. As I still do. There was a time you couldn’t live without me, you know there was.
We can have that again.” Slowly, step-by-step, he inched closer.
“No, Yuri. We can never have that again. I want nothing from you, except for you to leave.” Her voice shook more, and dammit! There was no stopping it. His nearness dredged up old fears, as he knew it would. That was how he operated. That was how all domestic abusers operated.
The days of him mentally manipulating her were over. That didn’t stop the brush from shaking in her hands.
“Now, dorogaya,” he repeated softly, then lunged, taking her off guard.
He knocked her to the tile floor, then wrested the brush from her hand and flung it away. He pinned her arms over her head and sat on her hips, holding her completely immobile.
She struggled, twisting beneath him, but his weight was too great. And he was strong, much stronger than she remembered. “Get off me, you animal!” The chemical stench of his over-gelled hair made her want to puke.
“No. You’re mine now.” His upper lip curled into the evil smile she remembered. The beast from her past had revealed itself again, like she knew it would.
She continued to struggle, the feel of him on top of her driving her crazy with loathing. Giving in was something she would never do again. “I’ll never be yours. I don’t love you.” What had she ever seen in him in the first place?
“Of course you will.” He chuckled in a way that made the hair at her nape stand on end. “Not to worry. This is always the way between us. You do something bad, we fight, then I forgive you and we make up.”
Right. And in between all that were the beatings, emotional and physical. “You’re insane. That’s not the way it is anymore. I. Don’t. Want you!”
“If there’s another man in your life, you can forget about him. I will kill him,” Yuri said matter-of-factly.
“Not likely.” Kyle could easily take down this barbaric spawn from hell. He’d done it once before. He could do it again.
“Not likely?” He laughed. “Are you referring to your FBI lover? I’ve been watching you for two weeks. Where is he? Not here. You will be mine until the end of time. Whenever I decide that will be.”
“I don’t have a lover.” Not now, anyway.
“Come, come, dorogaya. You and Alex Tarankov were lovers. I know that now. You were working with him to put me in prison.”
“That’s ridiculous! I didn’t know he was an FBI agent any more than you did.”
Yuri slapped her across the face. The sting made her want to cry out, but she refused. Crying was what he wanted, what he craved—ultimate power over her. He slapped her again. Her face throbbed with pain to the point where she had to bite her lip to keep from screaming.
“Don’t lie to me, pizda. I know you were fucking him the whole time, and I know you’re doing him now.”
The psychologist in her couldn’t ignore that Yuri had been flip-flopping, calling her “sweetheart” one minute and “fucking bitch” the next.
His insanity was in high gear, and there was no point in trying to reason with him.
Kyle might not be here, but there were two FBI agents stationed outside.
Eventually, one of them would figure out something was wrong.
Yuri’s grip softened, and he removed one hand, still holding both her wrists with the other. Slowly, he slid the backs of his knuckles down her cheek.
What little she’d had for lunch roiled in her stomach. She tried turning away, but he caught her chin in his hand.
“Look at me!” he hissed when she shut her eyes. “You used to like it when I did that.”
In your dreams.
The next thing she felt was Yuri’s sharp, wet tongue pressing against her lips and the springy hairs of his beard biting into her skin. He tried thrusting his tongue inside her mouth, but she twisted away.
“Blyat,” he snarled. “Fuck this.”
He gripped her shoulder, his fingers digging into her flesh as he rolled her over and onto her stomach.
A jarring pain shot through her shoulders as he wrenched her arms behind her back and tightly bound her wrists with something that bit into her skin.
He hauled her upright, then dragged her into the living room and threw her onto the blue overstuffed chair.
His nostrils flared like a bull’s as he leaned over, bracing his hands on the armrests. “You know what I want.” Hot, cigar smoke-laden breath hit her in the face, making her wrinkle her nose. “Don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” she lied. She knew exactly what he wanted––the money and her, neither of which she could ever give him. If she stalled for time, someone might come. Or, she could scream. She opened her mouth, inhaling a deep breath.
Yuri parked his big hand over her mouth. “If you scream, I will beat the shit out of you.” And probably kill her baby. “Do we understand each other, Vika?” When she nodded, he removed his hand and stood to his full height.
She clamped her mouth shut. If he hit her, eventually he would resort to kicking. It was his favorite method. Fists first, then knock her down and kick her in the ribs. Making him believe she was compliant might be the only way out of this.
Under the circumstances, forcing an expression of fear to her face wasn’t difficult, but she prayed her acting skills were good enough to hide her true feelings of loathing and disgust. And, her thoughts about how to get out of this deadly mess.
“That’s better.” He sat on the end of the coffee table, nearly toppling over the enormous new bouquet of flowers that hadn’t been there before.
“You have something of mine. My money. I can see you haven’t spent it on yourself.
” He waved his arm to indicate her sadly furnished apartment. “You will get it for me.”
“Okay.” She nodded. Yuri still thought the money was in the bank boxes in Chicago. He had no idea it wasn’t, let alone that most of it was gone and what remained had been seized by the FBI two weeks ago.
Stalling for time was all that mattered. When she didn’t leave for work tomorrow, those agents outside would know something was wrong. People would know she was missing. Tracee and Brad would know.
Between TSA and all the police swarming the airports, he couldn’t risk taking her back to Chicago on a commercial flight.
He might be planning to drive, which would take around twelve hours.
Twelve hours during which she could plot her escape.
Allowing him to take her to Chicago only to find she’d closed those safety deposit boxes years ago would result in only one thing.
Her death.
She swallowed, tilting her head back to stem the pooling tears.
Yuri thrived on her tears. It was all part of the power he would need to reassert himself over her.
Come to think of it, there could be wisdom in making him think he’s won.
For now. Short of getting hit again, if playing his game was what it took to keep her and her baby alive, she could do it. She would do it.
Yuri took a small brown bottle from his pocket, along with a small cloth. As he twisted the cap off and turned the bottle upside down onto the cloth, warning bells went off in her head.
“What is that?” Those bells rang louder. Chloroform?
“Something to make this easier on you.” He stood and leaned over her.
The smell of cut hay emanated from the cloth in his hand. As it neared her face, the smell intensified, becoming sweeter.
“No. No!”
He placed the cloth over her nose and mouth. She held her breath and tried twisting away, but he yanked down on her hair, holding the back of her head still and pressing the cloth down harder.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to inhale. Eventually, she did.
Her last thought was worry over what the chloroform might do to her baby. And of Kyle.