Chapter Twelve
Elena
The absolute, arrogant bastard!
I hurl a jagged rock into the sea, watching it cut through the choppy harbor water with a satisfying splash.
The sun this morning is bright and blinding as it reflects off the gray waves, but it does nothing to clear the fog of pure frustration in my head.
“Argh!”
I can still feel his touches from last night lingering on my skin. I can still hear every annoying thing he said!
The suffocating heat in the bedroom, the heavy weight of his gaze, and the agonizing, slow burn of his rough thigh pressed firmly against mine under the blankets…I can’t stop thinking about him.
He knew exactly what he was doing. He did it completely on purpose, using that low, teasing baritone to shatter my defenses just because he could. He wanted me spun out, confused, and thoroughly bothered. And the worst part? It worked.
Oh, Elena.
“I shouldn’t even be thinking about him,” I mutter fiercely to myself, tapping my finger aggressively against the screen of my new work tablet.
I look out at the horizon, trying to force my mind back to the shipping schedules.
“This doesn’t make any sense. I shouldn’t care about any of this. As far as I’m concerned, he’s my abductor. I have a plan for my life, and I am not going to let a pair of charming gray eyes derail me.”
I turn on my heel and walk back into the small, shadowed dockside office, determined to bury myself in more work.
I’m halfway through reading a manifest, with a cup of coffee raised to my lips, when a heavy thud echoes just outside the door.
Fear seizes my breath in my throat.
With all that’s happened within the past few weeks, my first thought is that something has just gone horribly wrong.
But the sound comes again, and it sounds different: sloppy, heavy, and frantic.
Before I can reach for anything to defend myself, the door bursts open and someone stumbles into the room.
“Lee…”
Only one person consistently calls me that. And that voice?
No way!
My heart soars, then drops into my stomach at the sight before me. “Henry—oh my God! Henry!”
He’s barely recognizable.
The sandy-blonde Malibu Ken model figure I’ve worked with for months is bloodied, battered, and heavily bruised.
His perfectly sculpted face is swollen, and a dark crimson stain blooms through his torn shirt. He sags against the doorframe, his knees buckling as he struggles to stay upright.
I rush forward, catching him before he hits the concrete floor. “Oh my God, Henry! Talk to me. What happened? Who did this to you?” I gasp, my hands shaking as I try to support him.
He gasps for air, and his words come out in painful, fractured pieces. “They were dangerous men…Elena, strange, dangerous men. That night…they jumped me.” He winces, clutching his ribs. “They were the ones who…who forced me to call you. They wouldn’t let me go to the marina.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper. Terror grips my chest. “So you weren’t with Stephanie?”
He shakes his head.
My voice catches in my throat. “You were…you were being held somewhere against your will?”
He nods, and my free hand flies to my mouth, covering a sob before it escapes.
The events of that night are still fresh in my mind. I remember the panic that swallowed me whole when I thought my life was over.
I can’t imagine what my friend must have gone through, being tortured and held captive for days.
My heart breaks for him, but I can’t understand this.
Henry is one of the best people I’ve ever met. He’s kind, generous, and wouldn’t hurt a fly. It makes no sense whatsoever that he’d be roped into something where the mafia was involved.
My brows crease when I look up at him. “Why you? Why would anyone do this to you, Henry? Did you owe them money? What…what happened?”
His face twists in pain as he tightens his grip on his ribs.
“They knew about the Russians smuggling on the Mona,” he chokes out, and his eyes grow wide with a manic, primal fear.
“They needed a distraction so they could spy on them that night. That’s why they targeted you…
they used me to get to you. And now, I’m going to die. ”
“Hush,” I scold firmly, hiding the quiver in my voice. “Stop talking nonsense. You’re not going to die.”
He releases an agonized cry, and my heart races against my ribs like a trapped bird as I take in the full extent of his injuries—the deep purple swelling around his eyes, his split lip, and the way he can barely keep his head up.
Whoever did this is an evil maniac who desired to hurt him.
The marks on his body are brutal, physical manifestations of the world we’ve both been dragged into.
“Elena, you don’t understand,” he whispers, his breathing shallow. He grips my arms, his fingers trembling violently. “They left me like this…they let me crawl to you because they know. They know he doesn’t forgive loudmouths or traitors or anyone who’s not on his side.”
“Who, Henry?” I plead, almost desperately. “Who doesn’t forgive?”
“Leonid Nazarov. Once he finds out I compromised his operation, he’ll kill me.”
My heart starts beating faster for a different reason. “Shh, just breathe. I’ve got you,” I reassure him softly, trying to keep my voice calm.
I want to be an anchor for him, but internally I’m completely panicking. He’s been promised death at Leonid’s hands, and my husband is definitely capable of killing him.
To say I’m terrified is an understatement.
The wheels begin spinning in my head as the reality of this life I’ve been pulled into crashes down on me with suffocating weight.
If it wasn’t clear before, it’s clear now: this isn’t a game. Someone’s life is on the line. Henry’s life is on the line. And the man who will decide his fate is my husband.
The doors of the office slam open.
Speak of the devil. His men burst through the entryway, their boots thudding heavily against the concrete.
In a split second, a dozen guns are raised, all aimed right at Henry’s chest. The metallic click of safeties turning off resonates like thunder in the small room.
Henry lets out a choked sob, but as I step in front of him, shielding his battered body with my own, a fierce, desperate vow solidifies in my chest.
I’ll do whatever I have to in order to save his life, even if it includes begging Leonid to spare him. My pride is of no importance. I will get down on my knees if I need to, because Henry is completely innocent in all of this. He’s just a casualty of this nightmare.
The confrontation at the docks ends in a blur of shouting—mostly by me as I yell at them to take their stupid guns out of his face as they drag him away.
Less than an hour later, we’re back at the mansion, and the compound has settled into a tense, agonizing quiet.
With one mission in mind, I step into the bedroom, fully aware that Leonid is waiting for me.
His dark silhouette rests against the window. The air between us is still thick with the residual heat of last night, but the stakes have completely changed.
“I didn’t see you all day,” I say softly, crossing the room to stand just a few feet away from him. I swallow the lump of fear in my throat, forcing myself to look directly into his unreadable eyes.
“I was working.” His tone is icy, but his gaze even more so as he takes in my messy hair and Henry’s blood on my clothes. “Shouldn’t you be in a hurry to wash that off?”
I shake my head, then take a step forward. “No. We need to talk about it—about my friend, Henry. He’s the friend of mine who called in a favor that night on the docks.”
Leonid’s face stays blank. There’s no twitch of his eyebrows or the slightest pull on his lips as he speaks. He stares at me like he’s never felt a single emotion in his life.
“What about this…friend?”
I don’t hesitate. “He’s hurting and he’s terrified. Your men have him locked in the basement, but he shouldn’t be there. He has nothing to do with Vasili, or the ports, or the smuggling. He was wrongfully taken and tortured.”
I take another half-step closer, my hands clasped tightly in front of me to hide their shaking. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything.”
“You’ll kneel down and worship me?” he says in that flat, unmoving tone.
I clench my jaw and curl my fingers by my side. “If that’s what it takes.”
Now his eyebrows twitch. It’s slight, but it’s there, and it hints at displeasure before it disappears. “No.”
“Leonid, please…”
I knew without a doubt that he would make this process more unbearable than it should be. What he doesn’t know is that I’m ready for anything.
“You’ll kneel for his sake. You even beg for this man. Pathetic,” he scoffs. “He must be very important to you. Who is he? Schoolmate? Ex-boyfriend? Lover?”
The underlying jealousy is loud enough to distract me. I wonder why he says it like that, like it means anything to him if Henry was more than a friend to me.
But as swiftly as the thought comes, I disregard it, focusing on what’s more important.
There’s no way he’s jealous.
Right?
“He’s just a friend,” I stress, hoping he believes me. “A friend and nothing more. And he’s completely innocent.”
He listens to me in absolute silence, but a dark cloud masks his expression until there’s a visible flare just beneath his cold exterior—the subtle tightening of his jaw until a muscle leaps in his cheek.
I brace myself for a ruthless, flat-out refusal.
But then he speaks. “Fine.” It’s a murmur, a low growl that rumbles at the back of his throat. “He’ll live.”
That’s all he says before brushing past me and slamming the door behind him.
My mind is reeling, his dark voice stuck in my head.
He said yes.
And that’s a good thing.
I should feel a wave of pure relief. I should be jumping for joy and celebrating this unexpected win. Having Leonid agree to anything certainly calls for a few victory laps.
But instead, my blood runs cold. Because I know what this is. I can sense the heavy, suffocating growth of his possessiveness wrapping around me like a vise.
To Leonid, sparing Henry isn’t a mercy. After he kidnapped me, it became very clear that his concept of mercy is more twisted than what we know in the sane, civilized world.
His version of mercy is control. He’s granting me Henry’s life because it pleases him to show me who holds the ultimate power over everything I care about.
I realize, with a sudden flash of panic, the extreme danger of pushing a man like him even a millimeter too far.
Over the next two days, I feel worse.
Henry is alive. He’s fed and taken care of…and by that I mean Leonid has him under twenty-four-hour surveillance.
But my life in this house feels like a gilded cage. Everywhere I turn, it seems like the walls are closing in on me. The guards at every corridor feel like executioners in suits, and my husband’s rules conspire to trap me entirely in his dark world.
It’s hard to breathe.
I’m suffocating.
What I need is real freedom.
I need to know if I can break his hold.
And in a rushed, poorly thought-out impulse, I attempt an escape during Ace’s shift rotation, testing the mansion’s eastern wing.
I’ll have to go past the bedroom and down the stairs, and after the grand foyer, I’ll make it out through the massive door at the entrance.
I know it won’t succeed, but every instinct in my body screams at me to run. It’s a weak, pathetic plan born of pure panic, and I don’t even make it past the foyer.
Leonid catches me. Not Ace or Mikhail, but my husband himself.
I don’t need anyone to tell me I’m in loads of trouble. Who knows? This could be the day I finally die.
A few meters away from the living room, just down the corridor leading up to the kitchen, he steps out of a smaller door I could have sworn I’ve never seen before today.
There’s no one else in sight.
Leonid walks toward me as I skid to a halt, closing the distance like a predator tracking down a stray lamb, his dark eyes locked onto mine, with one hand stuck in the pocket of his navy blue pants.
“Going somewhere?” he whispers, and before I can even turn to bolt, he lunges forward.
My back slams against the cold stone wall, and the impact knocks the air from my lungs. He pins me there, trapping me between the hard wall and the burning, solid heat of his chest.
“Stupid plan,” he rasps, and mutters something else in Russian.
But I don’t say anything.
I can’t even argue.
My breath comes in ragged, shaky gasps, my chest rising and falling violently against his.
Adrenaline pours through my veins, but beneath the pure fear, my body betrays me completely. A treacherous, electric shock of awareness ripples through my skin everywhere we touch.
“Let go of me!” I hiss, struggling against his iron grip.
“No, ptichka,” he sneers. “What are you going to do about it?”
His grip tightens around my wrists, making sure they’re locked above my head against the cold stone, but the rest of him is pure, unadulterated heat.
I want to say I’ll bite him. I’ll bite him until he has no choice but to let go of me. But my brain shuts down the idea for a different reason.
The physical tension between us snaps like a live wire—a breathless push and pull where neither of us is willing to yield, yet neither can bear to pull away.
Every time I press against his chest to shove him back, my breasts ache against the sheer, flimsy fabric of my cotton T-shirt. Every time he leans in to assert his dominance, his grip softens just enough to feel like a caress.
He is entirely too close to me.
I look up at his mouth, and a sudden, maddening need ignites deep in my core, blinding in its intensity. It defies all logic. It overwhelms my survival instincts.
I’m burning up from the inside out, consumed by a wild, desperate urge to close the last bit of distance between us and lock my lips with his.
Heat travels over my body in a raging, electric rush.
It starts at the base of my spine, becoming a tingling current that shoots upward to the nape of my neck and plunges straight down to my toes.
The air around us is thick with the scent of rain and his expensive cologne, and a sudden shiver ripples across my skin, making every single hair on my arms rise in anticipation.
I’m shivering, not from the cold of the wall at my back, but from the terrifying realization that my body wants this monster just as much as he wants me.
But I’m also furious. I want to claw his eyes out; I want to run away from him until my legs collapse.
I’m utterly torn between a deep, rational hatred for what he’s done to my life, a paralyzing fear of his power, and a tingling, unwanted desire for the man who took everything from me.
But when he looks down at me, that dark, intentional smirk playing on his lips as he feels my heart hammering wildly against his own, I know that no matter how hard I fight this cage, I am already, entirely his.