Chapter 10 Willow
WILLOW
All three of the Voronin brothers are draped over various pieces of furniture in their living room.
Ransom is reclining on the couch, looking languid as a god, while Vic and Malice sit in chairs, using them like thrones.
Malice gestures me closer, and I go to him on my knees, my heart pounding and my clit throbbing as I crawl toward him.
He reaches down and grabs a handful of my hair, and I moan at the pain that sparks over my scalp. That tingle of pain runs down my body, pulling my core tighter, making my body ache with the need to be touched.
I want him. I want all of them, and there’s no hiding it now.
Not when I’m undone like this. They can see everything, all of me, and I don’t even want to hide it in this moment.
“Good girl,” Malice growls, and the dominant note in his voice makes me shiver. “You can start by sucking my dick.”
My pulse speeds up as I get his pants undone and pull out his cock. It’s rock hard and hot in my hand, the velvety, tattooed skin sliding against my palm as I stroke him.
I dip my head and take the tip into my mouth and then glance up, wanting to see the look on his face when I wrap my lips around him.
I expect to see intensity, heat, and desire burning in the stormy gray depths of his irises. Maybe even triumph in there somewhere.
But instead, there’s nothing.
No heat. No emotion.
I’ve never seen Malice of all people look flat and blank before, but he’s reacting to me sucking his dick the way someone might react if they were watching the weather.
I blink, my stomach clenching—and then I’m on the couch with Ransom. His hands run up and down my body, tweaking my nipples, dragging reactions out of me. He pulls me down onto his pierced cock, and I moan out loud, my head tipping back as I feel him punching through the last shred of my virginity.
It feels so good as we rock together, the heat and friction growing between us. I can feel Vic’s eyes boring into the side of my head as Ransom fucks me, but when I glance over at him, it’s the same as it was with Malice.
Nothing.
He’s dead-eyed, as carefully neutral as always, but somehow even more removed than usual.
When I turn my head to look back to Ransom, he’s the same way. His hands are tight on my hips, and he keeps pulling me down, making me take more and more of his cock, but there’s nothing there in his expression. He might as well not even be present.
There’s no glint in his blue-green eyes, no teasing smile. Nothing.
Once Ransom comes, filling me up with his release, he passes me off to Malice. I’m out of breath, body keyed up and sore, draped over the arm of the couch.
Malice fills the space between my legs with his body, staring down at me.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice cold. “I knew you were a perfect little slut, deep down.”
There’s no emotion in his words, and the emptiness in his eyes finally breaks me. Tears start to trickle down my cheeks, and a sob gets trapped in my chest. My heart aches as he presses his thick cock into me, filling me up and fucking me hard and fast.
My body reacts to it, my pussy soaking wet and tightening around his cock over and over again while he makes me take it. His fingers bite into my skin as he keeps me where he wants me, and the gasps and moans spilling from my lips are the same as they would if this were normal.
But it’s not.
Nothing about this is normal. Nothing about it is good.
It all means nothing.
I may as well just be an empty body. A hole for them to pass around and fuck. They don’t give a shit about me, and that knowledge hurts all the way down to my bones.
Malice comes inside me, and I slump back onto the couch. My heart is racing and I fight to breathe, trying to get the tears under control as they stream down my face.
Vic gets up and joins Malice and Ransom, and the three of them surround me, staring down at me. I know what I must look like, fucked out and messy. I’m naked, my arousal and Ransom’s and Malice’s cum mingling on my skin, trickling out of me to smear across my thighs.
I keep waiting for something to register in their faces. Some sign that they feel anything about this. About me. A flicker of heat, or even disgust at this point, would be better than the empty blankness I see in their expressions.
It feels like they’re closing in on me, and the pressure is too much. Staggering to my feet, I hastily grab my clothes and push past them as I head toward the door.
None of them stop me, and in the back of my mind I can hear the words I read in Vic’s message repeating over and over again.
“Worthless.”
“Whore.”
Over and over and over.
I run as fast as I can to get away from them, stumbling through the front door. But instead of ending up on the street, I find myself in the abandoned house where Ilya brought me.
I hit the ground hard, and before I can get up and get away, there’s a heavy body on top of me.
“No!” I scream, thrashing and trying to get away. When I finally manage to look up, it’s to see the cold, cruel eyes of Nikolai’s brother as he holds me down.
“Maybe I should fuck you,” he sneers, his thick accent turning his words even harsher. “You’re an ugly little thing, but I’m sure your pussy is tight enough.”
He grabs me, hauling me up to my feet, and I struggle to get away, but he’s just too strong. His hand is huge as it wraps itself around my throat, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing.
Like I mean nothing.
Those fingers bite into my skin, cutting off my air as I fight to get him to drop me.
But it’s no good. He’s too strong.
The looming feeling of death grows stronger and stronger, and the scent of smoke floods my nose.
The fire.
It’s big and out of control, consuming all the rotten, splintered wood behind Ilya. The flames leap and snap, the light flickering and making Ilya’s shadow rise up behind him like a dark beast.
My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest, and the word ‘no’ plays on repeat in my head, even though I can no longer speak.
I don’t want this.
I don’t want to die like this.
I don’t—
My legs twist in the sheets as I snap awake in bed, drenched in a cold sweat.
It takes a second for me to realize where I am, my new apartment still a bit unfamiliar. It doesn’t help that things have been in such a state of flux lately, with me going from the guys’ warehouse to my grandmother’s place to this new apartment so quickly.
In the daytime, this apartment is a dream. It’s nice and spacious, all clean lines and tall ceilings. But at night, it almost feels too big. It’s too open, and it makes me feel exposed somehow.
I push my hair out of my face, grimacing as the blonde strands stick to my forehead with sweat.
My heart rate gradually starts to slow, returning to normal as I lie on my back and stare up at the vaulted ceiling.
It’s late. I should try to go back to sleep, but even though I’m no longer feeling as panicky as I did when I woke up, I don’t know if I want to close my eyes again.
I’m worried that if I do, I’ll have another nightmare.
The thought of seeing the Voronin brothers and their blank expressions is almost as painful as the idea of reliving the attack from Ilya all over again, and I just can’t do it. Not right now.
I feel gross, covered in sweat and shaky. I guess going from an intense and heartbreaking sex dream to a nightmare of almost being killed will do that to a person.
“Dammit,” I breathe, scrubbing a hand over my face. “You’re such a fucking mess, Willow.”
Shoving the covers back, I slide out of bed, then pad down the hall to the bathroom. Usually, I run the shower as hot as I can stand it, luxuriating in the fact that this building has water heaters that don’t take a full ten minutes to heat up only to give you five minutes max of hot water.
But this time, I let the shower stay cold, hoping the icy water will shock my system out of all the emotions still swirling inside me.
The anger, the fear, the hurt.
I just want to wash them all away, even though I know it’s not that easy.
Still, I do feel a bit better after the shower. After toweling off, I head back to my room and get dressed in a fresh sleep shirt and some loose pants.
My phone is on the nightstand, and it lights up with a message as I walk back toward the bed. I frown at it, reaching down to pick it up.
It’s just after three a.m. Who would be texting me in the middle of the night?
I swipe the screen to unlock it, and a little jolt of shock shoots through me when I see who the message is from.
VICTOR: Can’t sleep?
My hand tightens around the phone, my lips pressing together. Victor Voronin doesn’t ask idle questions, and there’s only one way he would know that I’m awake right now.
They’re watching me here just like they did at my old place.
A whole new rush of anger fills me, and I open the message, typing back a curt reply.
ME: Do you have fucking cameras here too?
VICTOR: Yes.
The answer comes quickly, and as usual, there doesn’t seem to be a hint of remorse. That only makes my blood boil more, and I glance around the room, trying to spot them. But of course I can’t, so I return my attention to my phone and tap out another text.
ME: Did you put them here?
VICTOR: No, Malice did. When he came to see you.
Of course. Of course it wasn’t just to see me. It wasn’t just because he couldn’t stay away. There was an ulterior motive to it. A way for them to exert their control, even when I told them I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. I send a message back, my fingers flying over the screen.
ME: Jesus. You don’t know when to leave well enough alone, do you? Where the fuck are they?
To my surprise, Victor doesn’t refuse to answer or try to talk his way out of it. He tells me where they all are, listing the locations where he had Malice put the tiny cameras.
Stomping around my apartment, I go through each room and take them all down, then stash them in a drawer and pick up my phone again.
ME: Is that all of them?
VICTOR: Yes.
ME: You sure about that? Why should I believe you?
VICTOR: Because I didn’t lie to you. I told you where Malice put them.
That soothes some of the anger in me, but not all of it. It’s so them to do this, even when I’ve made it clear as fucking day that I don’t want them in my life anymore. That thought crashes around the inside of my mind until I can’t stop myself from asking.
ME: What do you want with me? I told you we were done.
VICTOR: Do you want the truth?
ME: Of course I do. Why else would I have asked?
VICTOR: We’re worried about you.
I furrow my brow, taken aback by that.
ME: I’m fine. You don’t have to worry.
It takes a minute or so before Vic’s reply comes through, and for a second, I think he’s decided to leave well enough alone. But of course, that’s not the case, and he answers eventually.
VICTOR: Are you?
I frown, putting the phone down for a second to really think it through and consider my emotional state at the moment.
I do feel so lucky to have found my grandma and to have her in my life now.
Being part of a family—an extremely wealthy one, at that—is like nothing I could ever have imagined, and I’m grateful for everything Olivia has done for me since we met.
But at the same time, so much has happened in such a short time, and I feel like I’m not on solid footing at all. It’s been one thing after another, and I haven’t really had time to process any of it. Maybe that’s why I’m still having nightmares every night.
I’m objectively so much better off than I was before, but the truth of it is, I’m also a little… sad.
I stare down at the message on the screen, reading those two words from Vic’s last text again. I can imagine the way he would say it, the way he’d look at me with that practiced neutrality in his expression, only a little hint of his true feelings behind his eyes.
I consider not responding at all, but that’s probably just as damning as the real answer, so instead, I type out the truth.
ME: I’m not sure.
Victor doesn’t harp on it. He doesn’t ask if there’s anything he can do or what’s wrong. He probably just files the information away, the way he does with every little thing he observes.
Instead of asking what my last answer means, his next few texts are a series of questions, as if he’s trying to fill in the pieces of what’s been going on that he’s missed.
VICTOR: So you’re back in school? How are classes?
VICTOR: Is your grandmother treating you well?
VICTOR: Is your new apartment like all of your home improvement shows?
I answer each text, although I’m not even sure why, really. I probably shouldn’t be talking to him at all, considering I told Malice to get out and that I didn’t want anything to do with them since they lied to me.
But there’s something soothing and comforting in answering Victor’s questions. It calms me down, in spite of everything.
I tell him about my summer classes and how Olivia walked into the dean’s office and got him to agree to her terms without ever raising her voice.
I tell him about her house, so massive that it’s basically a mansion, and all the fresh flowers everywhere.
I roll my eyes at the comment about my home improvement shows, remembering how Victor was so disdainful of them when he was at my apartment before.
That was the last night I ever spent there.
Surprisingly, Vic is much more communicative over text than he’s ever been in person. It’s as if with a screen between us, he hides less of himself.
VICTOR: Ransom ate some of my peanut butter yesterday. Because Malice ate the last of theirs.
I can’t help but chuckle at that, imagining how upset Vic must’ve been to find his private peanut butter jar tampered with. Knowing Ransom, he probably tried to hide the evidence, but that’s not easy to do when your brother has the observation skills that Vic does. I bet he noticed immediately.
Biting my lip to hold back a grin, I crawl back into bed, settling in with my phone in my hand.
ME: One of the first things I bought when I stocked my new place was the good peanut butter. None of that crunchy bullshit in this house.
I don’t admit that I thought of him when I bought it, or that I bought the exact same kind he used to have.
VICTOR: Glad to hear it. And you don’t have to worry about anyone (Ransom) eating it out of the jar with a spoon. I think I might be jealous.
That draws an actual laugh from me, and I cover my mouth quickly before I remember that Victor can’t see me anymore with the cameras down. For some reason, I don’t want him to know how much this conversation has made me smile.
But even so, I don’t stop texting him, even as my eyelids start to get heavy. I curl up on my side, tapping out messages as I cradle my phone in my hand.
It’s still there when I eventually fall asleep.