Chapter 30
Irelynn
“Are we telling this story again?” I jump at the sound of Ilya’s amused voice, my eyes snapping wide as I whip around to see him leaning in the entrance much the same way Tara had not long ago.
My head is spinning. The story Tara told me—it couldn’t be true.
She had to be messing with me.
Stiltedly, I turn away from the predator at my back to blink wide eyed at the woman. I breathe, “You’re not serious?”
“Oh, I’m very serious.” She turns to busy herself with the tea pot on the stove. “He pulled me into the car and stole me away to Russia. I remember being not only terrified, but enraged, and filled with so much grief for the family I’d been forced to leave behind.”
“He—the man—he kidnapped you?”
“He did,” she confirms gently. “He stole me from that sidewalk, and no one blinked an eye. I’m not even sure, to this day, that anyone spoke as a witness in my abduction. It was broad daylight, and no one came forward.” She gives an amused chuff of laughter. “Of course, now I know why that is. But then, I’d been infuriated. How couldn’t anyone have seen him take me? How could no one speak up?”
“Why didn’t they?”
“Mother,” Ilya growls low. He’s far too close now, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from Tara.
“Not only was Alexei Volkov the sole proprietor of the Volk Vault Bank in Russia and much of Europe, but he was the owner of multiple highly successful businesses in America, as well. He was and is an Oligarch; a highly successful, enormously rich, man. But that wasn’t why no one spoke up about my abduction. They remained quiet because Alexei Volkov was also the Pakhan—or head—of the Russian Bratva.” Her eyes bore into mine. “No one goes up against the head of the Bratva.”
I feel as though I’m falling, but something strong and warm and hard catches me before I hit my knees. Iron bands around my belly pin me in place as I blink through the ringing in my ears—and then I understand it’s not just my ears ringing, but the pot on the stove whistling.
“Take her to the table, Ilya,” Tara instructs softly, and I’m scooped up in strong arms.
My head is still spinning. Young Tara was taken from her home in America by the head of the Russian Bratva. And she was alive? The horror she must have endured. How can our stories be so similar and yet—wait—did she say Alexei Volkov?
Volkov as in Ilya’s last name?
Horror lands like a whip lash across my heart as a fresh burst of panic lances the wound of this new revelation. Ilya is the son of the head of the Russian Bratva.
He lowers me into a chair, and I sit stone stiff. No, I’m not stone stiff. I’m trembling like a leaf. He’s so close. Too close.
I’ve kissed him. He’s made me come.
I sleep tucked in close to him every night.
I’ve come to feel safe in his arms.
He’s killed people. He comes from a line of brutal men. Brutal killers.
A whimper escapes from between my lips as he pulls a chair close to mine. I close my eyes. I’m afraid to look at him.
I think my teeth are chattering.
A cup clinks on the table in front of me. The soothing scent of chamomile wafts below my nose, infiltrating the invasive scent of winter and flame, spiced berries and sin. Of him.
My lip quivers.
Another chair scrapes against the floor, and then a soft voice says, “Give us girls a minute, Ilya.”
“No.”
“She needs?—”
“No.”
“Very well.” Tara sighs. “Please look at me, my darling girl.”
When I feel a small hand touch my arm, another whimper escapes my lips. I shake my head. I’m trying my best to hold myself together, but I feel as though I’m crumbling. I’ve been kidnapped by a very bad man.
Of course, I knew he was bad. He kills people. But his family is Bratva. Bratva.
I can’t cope with this level of bad.
I’ve been falling for him. Falling into—no.
“You are safe,” Tara says, but it’s a lie. It can be nothing but a lie.
I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me now that I know.
I’m going to die.
Is that my heart beating fast in my chest? I gasp in breath. One, then two. My hand comes to my chest as my eyes pop wide.
Oh God, he isn’t going to have to kill me because I’m already dying.
My heart—taken one too many hits—is failing me.
“Fuck.” Ilya scoops me into his arms again, even though this time I try to fight him. Like all the times before, I’m no match.
But unlike the times before, this panic can’t be subdued.
I don’t know how we travel from the kitchen to his bedroom. I don’t see my surroundings, don’t even register that Lucy is there or that Ilya is standing with me beneath a spray of cold water in the shower, Lucy perched on the lid of the toilet seat, yellow eyes wide.
Sensing I’m coming to, Ilya sets me gently on my feet. His hands come to either side of my face, tilting my face up so he can peer into my eyes. I feel so incredibly raw.
“I wasn’t ready to tell you,” he says gently. Even though his voice is gentle, there’s a roughness to it that makes me think he’s—could he be afraid?
But of what?
Suddenly, it dawns. My heart gives another unsteady lurch in my chest. Was he keeping his blood ties to the Russian mafia secret because he was afraid that, if I did manage to escape him, I’d tell someone? Scream it from the highest rooftop I could find?
Oh God—does he mean to kill me now?
Can he take the risk that keeping me alive would pose?
“Are you—” I stutter, swallow, and begin to shiver again. “Are you going to kill me?”
“Christ.” He bites out. “No, Irelynn. I will never kill you. I could never kill you.”
At a loss, I shake my head. His blue eyes bore into mine, as though he’s drilling for the core of my soul.
My shaking intensifies. He leans over me to adjust the temperature of the water.
Capturing my face between his big palms once again, he bends over to speak gently, as though he’s talking to a frightened puppy who’s been kicked one too many times. And I have been kicked. Life has kicked me over, and over, and over again.
“Listen to me, Irelynn. I will never harm you. You could spend the last drop of my patience, betray me, tear my beating heart from my chest and I. Would. Still. Love. You.”
“You don’t love me.” My teeth are chattering even though the water is warm now. My clothes are still cold. Icy cold. They cling to me like a second skin.
“I love you like I’ve loved nothing else.”
“You’re obsessed—” I stutter through my shivers. “That’s not—l-love.”
At this point, I’m not sure if I’m cold or if my nerves are just shot and this is adrenaline. Or maybe it’s an adrenaline crash.
Jeez, I’m not even sure why I’m trying to convince my captor that what he feels for me isn’t love, but obsession. Maybe he’ll hurt me if he realizes.
Ilya just sighs. “You’ll understand in time.” His eyes sweep over my face. “Fuck. Your lips are turning blue.” He leans beyond me again to adjust the temperature. On the toilet seat, Lucy watches us closely. “I’m going to undress you now. I need to get you warm.”
I don’t have it in me to object. He’s seen me naked more than once. He’s touched me everywhere. He’s made me come unstitched in a way that has my body in a state of constant hunger for him.
Besides, I know him well enough now to know he wouldn’t listen if I objected, anyway.
Carefully, he strips me of my clothing until I’m standing only in my underwear beneath the hot spray of water. His eyes don’t rake over me with desire, but instead study me with worry. Even though I’m overstimulated, my mind overwhelmed, I can’t help but feel a tickle of soft response inside for the way he appears to care for me.
It hurts to know how damaged I am. How hungry I am for another person to care for me. How alone I’ve been for so long. How I can crave this monster’s affection even now, when I know he’s born of an evil I can’t even fathom. Because I am so shamefully desperate for someone, anyone, to care for me.
I can’t help it when a new swell of emotion surges inside me. It leaks from me in rivers of tears and torrents of sobs that has the monster before me gathering me into his big, strong arms, falling to his knees. He rocks me against his chest under the hot spray, and even though it’s messed up and entirely wrong, my violent sobs are soothed by the prison of his arms. Twisted as it is, in my new cage, I feel so impossibly adored. So. Impossibly. Loved.