Chapter 8
Shanice
The warehouse was dark and cold, and I couldn't move.
My hands were bound behind me, zip ties cutting into my wrists. I could hear voices, rough and angry, echoing off the concrete walls. Footsteps getting closer.
"Please," I tried to say, but my voice wouldn't work.
A door slammed open. Light flooded in, blinding. I squeezed my eyes shut, but I could feel someone approaching. Could smell cigarette smoke and sweat. Fear was lodged in my throat so tightly that my voice dissipated into nothingness.
"Found you," a voice said. Katrina's ex, Marcus. But he was dead. He was supposed to be dead.
"No," I mouthed. "No, no, no."
Hands grabbed me, hauling me up. I tried to fight, tried to scream, but nothing worked. I was frozen, helpless, drowning in fear.
"You should've stayed hidden," he said, his breath hot against my ear. "Now you're mine again."
"No!" I finally screamed.
I jerked awake with a gasp, my heart slamming against my ribs. My room was dark, the shadows thick and suffocating. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only feel the phantom grip of hands on my arms, the terror clawing at my throat.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to ground myself.
You're safe. You're in the mansion. He's dead. He can't hurt you.
But the fear wouldn't leave. It wrapped around me like a vice, squeezing tighter and tighter until I thought I might shatter.
My door flew open.
Mikhail stood there, backlit by the hallway light, his hair mussed and his shirt wrinkled like he'd been sleeping. His eyes found me immediately, sharp and assessing.
"Shanice," he said, his voice rough. "You okay?"
I tried to answer. Tried to say I was fine, that it was just a bad dream. But the words got stuck, and instead, a sob broke free.
Then another.
And suddenly I was crying for the first time since the kidnapping. Two months of holding it together, of being strong, of pretending I was okay, and it all came pouring out in ugly, wrenching sobs that I couldn't control.
Mikhail crossed the room in a few strides and pulled me into his arms.
"I've got you," he murmured, his hand cradling the back of my head. "I've got you. You're safe."
"I'm sorry," I choked out between sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize."
But I couldn't stop. The words tumbled out with the tears, a torrent of everything I'd been holding back.
"I miss Zara," I sobbed into his chest. "We used to spend all day together, and now she's in school and therapy and I barely see her.
And Katrina, God, she's pregnant and happy and I'm so glad for her, but it feels like we're not friends anymore.
Like she doesn't have time for me. And I know that's selfish, I know it is, but I miss her. I miss my best friend."
Mikhail's arms tightened around me. He didn't speak, just held me and let me fall apart.
"And it's my fault," I continued, the words spilling out faster now.
"The kidnapping. I should've been smarter.
I should've been more aware, more careful.
But I wasn't, and I got grabbed. Now I'm a liability and everyone has to protect me which I hate.
I hate being weak. I hate being scared all the time. "
"You're not weak," Mikhail said, his voice low and fierce. "You survived, Shanice. You made it through something that would've broken most people. That's not weakness."
"I don't feel strong. I feel like I'm drowning." I clutched his shirt, my whole body shaking. "And I'm so tired of pretending I'm okay when I'm not. I'm so tired."
"Then stop pretending." He shifted, pulling me more fully into his lap, cradling me against his chest. "You don't have to be okay. Not with me. You can fall apart, and I'll hold you together."
The gentleness in his voice broke something in me. I buried my face in his neck and cried harder, letting everything out. The fear, the guilt, the loneliness, the exhaustion. All of it.
Mikhail held me through it all. His hand stroked my hair, his other arm banded around my waist. He didn't try to fix it, didn't tell me to stop crying or pull myself together. He just held me and let me feel.
Eventually, the sobs slowed. My breathing evened out. The tears stopped, leaving me hollow and wrung out.
"I'm a mess," I mumbled against his shirt.
"You're beautiful. Crying is human nature and you're hurting. That doesn't make you less than who you are. I say, you're the most exquisite woman I've ever encountered. "
I pulled back enough to look at him. His face was shadowed in the dim light, but his eyes were warm. Concerned. Assessing.
"Thank you." I whispered. "And thank you for not making me feel stupid."
"You're not stupid. You're traumatized. There's a difference.
" He brushed a strand of hair from my face.
"And for the record, Katrina still loves you.
She's just figuring out how to be a wife and a soon to be mom.
Give her time. And Zara misses you too. Kids are resilient, but they notice when someone important is gone. "
Fresh tears welled up. "I don't know how to do this. How to move forward."
"One day at a time. And you don't have to do it alone."
I rested my head against his chest again, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat. It was soothing. Grounding.
"Will you stay?" I asked quietly. "Just for tonight?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
He shifted us both until we were lying down, me tucked against his side, his arm around me. I should've felt awkward, should've told him to leave. But I was so tired, and he was warm, solid, and safe.
Within minutes, I was asleep.
I woke to sunlight streaming through the window and the feeling of being wrapped in warmth. For a moment, I didn't remember where I was. Then I felt the arm around my waist, the solid chest at my back, and the steady breathing against my neck.
Mikhail. He'd stayed all night.
I shifted slightly, and that's when I felt it. The hard length pressing against my lower back. Heat flooded my body.
Oh. Is that all him? I wondered.
"It's normal," Mikhail said, his voice rough with sleep. "Natural. Doesn't mean I'm going to try anything."
I swallowed hard. "What if I want you to?" Because my body was already responding to how good he felt wrapped around me.
His breathing changed, deepening. His hand splayed across my stomach, fingers flexing.
He pulled me flat against him, letting me feel the length of his body along mine.
I couldn’t remember the last time that I’d had sex with someone, which meant it was much too long.
Taking care of Zara and hiding out limited my interactions with people, only what was necessary.
That wasn’t the case any more. I arched into him, aligning what I needed with what he could give me.
"Shanice," he warned.
"I mean it." I turned my head slightly, trying to see his face. "Last night, you held me together. And this morning, I feel safe for the first time in forever. Because of you. So what if I want more?" I put my hand over his, caressing his fingers.
For a long moment, he didn't move. Then he leaned forward, his nose brushing along the column of my neck. He inhaled deeply, a low growl rumbling in his chest. I held my breath, unable to ruin the moment.
"You smell so fucking good," he murmured.
Then his lips were on my neck, hot and soft and devastating. I exhaled, then gasped, as I relaxed against his hold.
His hand moved up, cupping my breast through my thin sleep shirt. He found my nipple, already peaked and sensitive, and rolled it between his fingers.
"Mikhail," I breathed. “Please.”
"Shh." He kissed the spot just below my ear, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. "Just feel."
He worked my nipples with expert precision. Tweaking, rolling, and tugging until I was squirming against him. His mouth never left my neck, kissing, sucking, and biting gently. I was sure that he would leave marks that I'd see later and remember this moment.
The pleasure built, coiling tighter in my core. I couldn't believe this was happening, that he could make me feel this good just from touching my breasts and kissing my neck.
"That's it," he murmured against my skin. "Let go for me."
He tweaked my nipples harder. I rotated my hips against him creating the friction that I needed, and I shattered. The orgasm rolled through me in waves, making me cry out and shake in his arms. He held me through it, his hands gentling, his lips pressing soft kisses to my shoulder.
When I finally came down, I was panting and boneless.
"Holy shit," I whispered.
Mikhail chuckled, low and dark. "Yeah."
I turned in his arms, needing to see his face. His eyes were black with desire, his jaw tight with control.
"Why did you stop?" I asked.
"Because you're not ready to be mine yet.
" He cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my lower lip.
"When you are… When you're healed, whole, and sure without trauma hovering over you, then I'll fuck you.
I'll take you every way I've been dreaming about.
I'll fill you with my come and watch my baby grow inside you. But not yet. Not while you heal."
My breath caught. "You want that? A baby?"
"With you? Yes." His voice was absolute. "I want everything with you, Shanice. But you need time. And I can wait."
"What if I don't want to wait?"
"Too bad." He kissed my forehead, then settled me back against his chest. "Go back to sleep. We've got time."
"Mikhail—"
"Sleep."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him I was ready, that I wanted him now. But exhaustion was pulling at me again, and his heartbeat was a lullaby I couldn't resist. There was so much to say, but now wasn’t the time. I was feeling too much and he’d dropped yet another bomb in my lap. A baby?
I closed my heavy eyes, and within moments, I was asleep again. Safe in his arms, but knowing that we needed to talk about all this soon.