Chapter 7 Dahlia
DAHLIA
The Porsche had piqued my interest the instant we went inside, but I knew it would be a no-go.
So, I used all my negotiation tactics by hopping into one outrageous car after another.
He had to pick the one he thought was least dangerous.
Perks of knowing him, but also that he’s utterly weak when it comes to my wishes.
Except one, apparently. But I won’t let that nagging thought disrupt my joyous win.
Ignoring the guards, I jump into his arms. Mika catches me with ease, his steel arms enveloping me in pure bliss. Home has always been here, with him. For a few moments, we’re trapped where nothing else exists but us—what a heavenly experience.
His silver eyes flash with adoration, inflating my heart to bursting. I brush my nose against his, and his fingers dig into my waist. How I wish he’d hold on to me and never let me go.
I catch his eyes lowering to my mouth, and I lick my bottom lip in half desire and half expectancy. Clarity sets in when I realize how exposed we are. I slide down and don’t let the impossibility of us sour my victory.
“I always get my way,” I sass.
“I know,” he sighs.
I flick my thumb toward my new car. “Let’s go for a drive.”
He glances at his black Audemars Piguet Royal Oak watch. He has an empire to run, but in the last few days he has spent so much time with me that I have forgotten about his other responsibilities.
I shift on my feet, my head slightly dipping down. “I’m sure you have work to do.”
He tips my chin up, his eyes boring into mine. “You’re my number one priority,” he says with such determination that it revives my hope, making me feel like I am the center of his world.
“Sure?” I ask, not wanting to get my hopes up.
He arches a brow, pinning me with a serious stare. “Did I stutter?”
Swaying my hips, I walk toward the car. A low groan rumbles in his throat as he follows me.
Smiling under my breath, I get in the driver’s seat, spotting the keys sitting in the center console.
He climbs inside, taking up most of the space.
Even in elegant tailor-made suits, he emanates something raw, his rugged edges adding to the dangerous aura.
Clothes don’t make him; he makes the clothes.
Just like everything around him, he uses them to his advantage.
Yet, all I’ve ever felt in his presence is safety.
His decadent scent mixes with the leather, dizzying my senses.
I forget what to do next as my finger hovers over the start button.
“Whenever you’re ready, baby girl,” he says, softness lacing his voice.
Excitement courses through my veins, making me giddy when the engine purrs under me. I haven’t driven a car since my kidnapping. This is just further proof that I am ready to shed that scared, insecure girl and become the woman I was always supposed to be—fearless, strong.
The asshole makes the sign of the cross, and I jab my elbow in his side.
He bursts out in deep, rich laughter. It’s been years since I heard him laughing. We’re so in tune with each other that it’s as if our souls are in a symbiotic relationship. How can one be okay when the other isn’t?
We can’t change the past, but we can shape our future.
Maybe along the way, he will stop seeing me as the girl he had to break to become the woman who can be by his side.
I’ve never feared what that would mean. Being the Pakhan’s wife.
Being the partner of one of the most dangerous men who has graced this world.
Gripping the wheel, I floor the pedal, the force thrusting us back in the seats. The tires squeal.
“DAHLIA,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation.
I stick my tongue out at him. “Stop being a buzzkill.”
“Stop trying to kill us. I swear to God if you hurt yourself—”
“You’ll kill me?” I ask, batting my lashes at him.
He grumbles under his breath as I speed away, the guards’ eyes taking us in with wide eyes and a gobsmacked expression.
I don’t know how long I’ve been driving.
And I don’t care as the sun sets and the deserted road spreads infinitely in front of me.
Sucked into a vortex of fantasy, I wish we could just keep driving, forget who we are, and start a life far away from here.
I’d drive to the end of the world if it meant I could be with him.
Keeping this powerful beast under control for so long tires me, and a yawn parts my lips. Sensing my increasing tiredness, his hand palms my thigh, and he gives me a gentle squeeze.
I nod, already knowing what he requests.
As I round the car, our hands brush, and our pinkies latch onto the other. It feels like he doesn’t want to let go of me either.
There’s no one else here. The forbidden demands to be gratified, but as I steal a glance at him, he stares at me with a pain so great it butchers my desire.
“If only I were someone else,” I say, deflated.
Suddenly, he turns around and cups my face. My breath hitches, heart pounding a crescendo that threatens to unsteady me.
He rests his forehead on mine, breathing harshly, and I clutch the lapels of his jacket.
“Nothing hurts more than loving you. The only thing that will kill me is this unrequited love,” I whisper against his lips.
He squeezes his eyes shut, but not before I see the turmoil wreaking havoc behind his lids.
“It’s not your fault. It’s not even mine,” I murmur, lifting on my toes to brush my lips against his soft yet firm ones. I linger there for a moment longer, and his grip on my neck intensifies as if he struggles too, fighting with himself.
He brought me so much happiness today; I don’t want to torment him for a second longer when I know my presence alone is the biggest torture.
Maybe he’s a masochist, too, because he can’t stay away either.
He wants to push me away, build a wall between us, but I either climb it or slip through the cracks.
That’s the reality. One that nothing can change.
My time is running out. Once my brother returns, we’ll have to go back to nothing but a platonic, sister and brother relationship we have pretended to have.
I will set him free by going away. I will even if I die trying, but he owes me a few days to indulge in the bittersweet fantasy.
Even if it hurts him, the need to please me overpowers everything else.
Maybe I am an awful person for forcing him, but I can’t find it in me to fight this all-encompassing love.
My forlorn heart chokes on longing, suffocating me slowly.
His chest vibrates under my palm, the ripple of anguish clear.
I fucked his life over.
But damn it, so did he.
“Dahlia, baby girl…” His voice is uncharacteristically soft and pleading.
He’s not strong enough to withstand me, which is ironic, asking me to put a stop to the one thing I desire most.
Don’t push him over before you get your wish. With a force that is beyond me, I take a step back. But something tells me I lost.
I climb into the passenger seat. Leaning my cheek against the window, I look at the landscape passing by, returning to familiar surroundings. I drove for a hundred miles.
Plucking out his phone, he connects to the stereo, and my music blares through it. This is a playlist of the compositions I haven’t released.
They are ours—sacred. Pain brings out the best music because it makes you bleed for it.
I wonder if he feels that it’s not only a haunting pain and pitch darkness of not knowing if I would make it, the loss of innocence.
After every heart-wrenching movement comes one with more pep, a joyous high because even in my darkest hours, he was there.
He didn’t have to say a thing. His eyes did it for him. He’d die and kill for me. And he did.
Every composition has a meaning for us. His favorite title is Regret. It fits because he’s the king of regret.
His phone hasn’t stopped ringing, but he ignores it, solely focused on the road. Driving as if one slight distraction would crash the car.
“I’m sorry I am keeping you from work,” I say in time for the melody to hit another low note that has him clenching his hands around the wheel.
He’s back in that headspace made of threads of barbed wire, keeping me out.
“I want to talk about those three days,” I insist, needing to get through to him.
I wish for nothing else than to rewrite our story, but that’s impossible.
In my head, if we just talked about that horrific experience, he would see himself as someone other than my rapist. I hate that he thinks that. Because if he raped me, I raped him too. He didn’t have another choice, and the stubborn idiot knows it, but he hates himself, nonetheless.
“No.” His voice is clipped.
He wants to be the villain so badly, but all my life, he has been the hero. He could slaughter anyone before my eyes, and I would see him as nothing less.
“I’m a Mafia princess, Mika. Something you so conveniently forget. A fairy-tale life, a sunny boyfriend, were never in my cards.”
“Dahlia,” he grits out.
“You can say my name a thousand times. It won’t change my reality,” I snap.
“I want the fucking best for you. I won’t accept anything less,” he snaps back.
I raise my arms in the air, shouting. “You are that for me, you stubborn idiot.”
A ripple goes through him as if he were electrocuted. “Stop saying shit like that.”
“If you stop thinking you raped me,” I mumble, crossing my arms over my chest.
His jaw hardens into a harsh line, and I expect him to crush his teeth. “Were you in any capacity capable of giving your consent?”
And we’re back to that.
“No, that—”
“Exactly.”
“You had to do what you had to do,” I press. He’s stubborn, but so am I.
He shakes his head, eyes narrowing into slits as if he could go back in time and slaughter them before they got me. “I should have known.”