Chapter 7 Elena
CHAPTER 7
ELENA
Four walls, a thin mattress, and still no form of heating in the ice-cold cellar. Elena wrapped her arms around her legs, rubbing them in a desperate attempt to get warm. Viking hadn’t even sent her a blanket. It began to sink in that her dire circumstances may not be temporary. Viking had changed. And it wasn’t just the added tattoos. Not that she was surprised. It had been sixteen years, and neither of them was the same person anymore.
If I could turn back time…
She leaned a cheek on her knee. Just a week ago, they had seen each other for the first time in sixteen years. It had been at Club Flux, and there had been a shooting. She had barely made it out. Once outside, just seeing him had made her ache, like she did when they first met. Though he had pushed her against a wall outside the club, the second gunfire erupted, he had protected her with his life. Just for a few minutes, she had found shelter in his protective frame, knowing that with him by her side nothing could touch her. Then, once he’d gotten her to safety, he’d whispered into her ear, his words doused in malice.
Can’t have you die on me just yet. You will suffer first.
With those words, any thoughts she’d had of him protecting her had vanished into the night. He had left her behind in a parking lot, alone, hurt, and scared. It just wasn’t fair. Everything she’d ever done had been to protect him, and all it had gotten her was his hatred. The worst thing was that somewhere in the back of her mind, in that fairytale she’d been living in, she’d never given up hope on them. When things got really bad, the possibility of them reuniting one day had been what kept her going. Believing there would come a day she could explain to him. That one day she could look him in the eye again and see love instead of hatred and rage. Nowhere in that silly concoction of a fantasy had she dreamed she’d end up his prisoner.
Maybe Viking truly intended for this room to be her tomb. Maybe he hadn’t spoken merely in anger when he’d said she’d never leave this place.
The discerning thought made her shiver, and she pulled the tattered jacket—the only stitch of clothing she had—closer for some warmth. It didn’t help. Her toes had turned into little ice cubes, and a shiver took hold of her body. She slumped onto the cot she slept on and made herself small. She needed to save her energy. If Viking intended to keep her here, she might have to fight her way out.
Speaking of fighting. Her body felt stiff and sore as she pushed herself up and went searching for pieces of broken glass from earlier. Viking had just grabbed her weapon from her and thrown it away. He hadn’t even bothered to take it with him, thinking she wasn’t a threat, anyway. He might have been right about that, once. But she’d spent the last decade learning to fend for herself and her daughter. Learning to kick ass was part of that. For his sake, she hoped he didn’t find out about her knifing skills up close and personal. Her lips tightened when she remembered the ease with which he’d taken her weapon. She hadn’t been prepared for him then, but she would be now. Whatever happened, she was getting out of here, alive. Giving up was not part of her vocabulary.
She found the shard of glass lodged in a barrel on her left. She held in a hiss when it cut into her finger. Blood trickled down her palm, heating her skin. Stifling a curse, she dropped back onto the cot.
Weapon. Check.
Another shiver wracked her body, and a clammy heat chilled her. Damn, she needed to preserve her strength. She needed a decent meal. No food had been delivered all day, and she wondered if he was trying to starve her. So much for tiramisu-filled days.
Viking Skarsgard was now both the knight and the villain in her story.
Thinking back on that same morning, how her body had responded to him, she felt herself flush. Sheer madness was what it was. Even after all this time, even though her heart and brain knew they were over, her body longed for him. He had been the only man she’d ever slept with. There had been no one else before or after him. He had been so patient with her for their first time, doing everything he could to make her feel comfortable and not hurt her. That tenderness hadn’t lasted long, nor had she wanted it to. Once her body got accustomed to his size—and he was big in every way—Viking had let the reins loose. He had owned every inch of her body, taking what he wanted, and giving her everything she needed in return. Being near him and not touching him had been an impossible task. They said diamonds were a girl’s best friend, but hers had been Viking. He had been her best friend, her lover, her everything. Never in a million years had she expected for them to end up like this; from the highest high to the lowest low.
She firmly shut the door to memory lane and concentrated on Vicky. Was she okay? She had reacted to her message, which was a distress call on her behalf, and—as rehearsed—had thrown away her phone. Vicky needed to be untraceable when Pedro went looking for her. Unfortunately, that meant Elena hadn’t been able to reach her again, either. Vicky was supposed to look for Viking the second she got that message. Viking hadn’t mentioned her, though, and finding out he was the one to throw her in this damp place, she’d been too stumped to ask. She knew he would never forgive her, but she needed to see her daughter. Needed to know Vicky was okay.
Just when she thought another day would go by without any food, Baran came, or as she’d dubbed him, snarky jerk.
“Rise and shine, treacherous rose.”
“I-I’m freezing,” she said through chattering teeth. “Can I please have a blanket?”
“I’ve got delicious day-old, somewhat-stale bread and water,” he said, ignoring her plea. “At first, I wanted to get you Turkish tea, which is the best tea in the world, but then I decided that your drink should resemble your heart. You know, cold. Ice cold.”
The single light bulb made his pitch-dark hair and black custom-made suit shimmer. She caught the gold glint of a crescent moon and star pendant around his neck.
Her hand went to her lion pendant. The necklace hadn’t left her neck since the day Viking had put it on her. Right now, though, she debated using the pointy end of it to gouge out his eyes.
Baran sauntered up to her and put a tray and a cup before her.
She scooted off the mattress and went for the cup. Her heart sank when she noticed it was truly plain water. Ice cold water. No coffee or tea to warm her up.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, his dark eyes inspecting her, as if she was some kind of novelty he couldn’t figure out.
“So, you are the legendary Elena? The one that got away.”
Judging by his tone, he wished her to be gone far, far away.
For a second the world spun, but she ignored that. This might be her one chance to get out of this crypt. Although Baran was tall and toned, he didn’t have the muscle Viking packed, which meant she had a shot to overpower him.
His brows furrowed when she walked up to him, keeping her hand holding the concealed shard of glass.
“If you don’t take me to my daughter, I will be the one who slits your throat.”
He cocked a brow. “Will you now?”
Before he could blink, she pressed the glass against his throat. He didn’t even flinch. Either he was tired of life, or truly fearless. Her mother’s words came into mind.
People without fear simply have nothing to lose. If you have nothing to lose, it means you have nothing you love. If you don’t have anything you love, you’re already dead inside, or perhaps, you simply wish to die.
She wondered if there was any truth to them.
“As I said, I need to talk to my daughter.”
“Let me guess. I’m going to help you with that?”
At least he wasn’t slow. “Bingo.”
Holding the glass pressed against him, she nodded toward the door.
He sighed and started walking. She practically had to stand on her toes to keep up with him. Her heart fluttered when he opened the door. She could almost smell the victory, the way to her sweet freedom.
Baran came to a halt on the steps. He craned his neck, looking up the stairs.
“What exactly do you plan to do after you get upstairs? You’re in Kristoff Romanov’s house. There are a dozen soldiers in here. None of them give a shit if you nick me in the throat. They will take you out the second they spot you. So, what’s your game plan?”
Oh no. She was in Kristoff Romanov’s home? The one man Lorenzo had feared above all. He might have plotted and planned to take him out, but he also saw him as some kind of mythical boogie man.
“That’s none of your concern,” she quipped, and gave him a shove, feigning confidence she didn’t feel.
A snort was her answer, but it got him moving. Her legs trembled and spurts of cold and heat washed over her body, making her feel dizzy. Keeping her weapon against him while going upstairs felt like pushing a boulder up a mountain.
She was puffing and coated in sweat once they finally reached a hallway. The thick Persian carpet underneath her feet felt like heaven, though it didn’t help to de-ice her toes.
As it so happened, the first “soldier” they encountered was the last one she wanted to see—Viking. He ended a phone call when he spotted them. Two hundred-something pounds of muscle, clad in ripped jeans and heavy army boots, walked up to them as if he was going to pounce on her.
For a second, she debated between making a run for it, or running back to the cellar.
Be a lion, Lena.
Be a freaking lion.
Viking looked annoyed. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Finally, someone was taking her seriously. “Are you blind? I’ve taken him hostage.”
His lips thinned. “I wasn’t asking you.”
What?
Her “hostage” laughed, tempting herto press her weapon deeper into his throat, just to make a point.
“I’m bringing you your baby momma,” Baran said.
“Like this?”
Baran shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? Break her wrist?”
Viking looked partial to that idea. “Get over here,” he growled.
Again, it was Baran who he talked to. Before she realized what was happening, Baran made some weird twist and got away from her grip. Her cheeks heated as she realized he’d been toying with her.
Viking’s eyes raked over her body, and she shivered. This time it wasn’t from the cold or the dry heat that had draped over her like a blanket.
She dropped her paltry weapon and looked at him pleadingly. “Please. I need to see Vicky. I need to know she’s safe.”
His eyes flashed. “You think I’d hurt my own daughter?”
“I don’t know what you are capable of anymore.” She regretted the words the second they came out and recognized them for what they were: a means to hurt him, just like he was hurting her.
He grabbed her hair and pulled it back until her face turned up to him.
“Guess you’re going to find out soon.” Then he leaned closer to her ear and whispered, “You took my child from me. My daughter!”
The possessiveness in his voice couldn’t be missed. His words settled a fear inside her; whatever may happen to her, he would never turn his back on his own flesh and blood, just as she’d predicted. Vicky would be safe.
Then it hit her what he’d just said. Her heart sped up. “You’ve spoken to Vicky? She found you? Listen, you have to—”
He threw her over his shoulder and walked down the stairs again, back to her prison. He dropped her back onto the mattress, towering over her like a vengeful god.
“Don’t ever tell me what to do. Me bending over backward to do your bidding is over.”
Dammit! He wasn’t listening to her. She jumped up, ready to plead her case, when he froze. His eyes went to her chest, and a hand wrapped around the lion necklace she was still wearing.
She panted as he glared into her eyes, his breath hot on her cheek.
“You bitch,” he whispered. “You two-faced, backstabbing, baby-stealing bitch.”
Every word was a shard of ice that lodged in her heart. Piece by piece, they ripped her apart, so much so that she feared that one more word would make her shatter into a million pieces.
Irrevocably broken.
She stared at his firm lips, so close to hers. Maybe it was a way to stop him from destroying her any further, or maybe she was overcome by sheer madness. Whatever it was, something inside her switched and she pressed her lips to his.
Warmth. Delicious warmth and a taste that she had never forgotten.
A curse left his lips, then he turned her around and pushed her onto the mattress, face down. The next second, a wall of heat dropped on top of her. Her ass was to his groin, her back to his chest. He gave off so much heat, she immediately felt toasty warm. The dark, cold world around her disappeared and was replaced with Viking’s warmth.
He ripped away her coat and spread her legs. Heat infused her body, and she felt herself get slick.
A hand wrapped around her throat and pulled her head up to the point of pain. She tried to turn and look him in the eye, but he didn’t allow it. He pressed her face back into the mattress, his hand still resting around her throat, a sign of his ownership. His teeth grazed over her earlobe, then bit her neck.
The sound of his zipper sliding down was like a cannon shot in the room that was filled with nothing else but the sound of her panting.
Viking forced her legs wide and settled between them. Then he pushed inside her, hard, making her cry out.
“I hate you,” he whispered, as he kept pounding into her. “Fucking. Hate. You.”
He planted his hands on her shoulders, holding her down as he began a punishing rhythm. The room was filled with the sound of the slap, slap of their bodies colliding.
This wasn’t making love. Far from it. She recognized it for what it was: a way to get her out of his system. Because, as much as he hated her, his body didn’t. And wasn’t that the sick twist of their situation?
She gasped as he pushed deeper, stretching her wide, making her hurt. Sweet, sweet hurt. With a roar, he came, filling her to the brim with his hot load. Then he reared back, launching himself off of her.
Feeling battered and bruised, she turned around, hoping to find a speck of kindness in his eyes, but there was none. He seemed even angrier than before, the self-hatred clear on his face. Refusing to feel ashamed for what happened, she raised her chin.
Taking a deep breath, she got back to her feet. This wasn’t about her pride or his. She had her daughter to think about. The very reason she was in this position to begin with.
“Viking…We need to talk…”
“Shut up,” he growled, zipping his pants back up. “You betrayed me. Not once, but twice. You really thought you could steal my kid and get away with it? Count your lucky stars. If you were a man, you’d be six feet under. After I beat the crap out of you.”
He didn’t understand. Didn’t know what danger Vicky was in. When she tried to tell him, he clamped his hand over her mouth.
“You don’t get to talk unless I tell you to. And you’re right. You don’t know me anymore. Like I never really knew you. But let me tell you one thing, Mrs. Morelli. Your life as you knew it? It’s over.”
He pulled his hand away as if she were something dirty.
Tears burned her eyes, but she stood tall until he left. Then the cold returned, wracking her body with violent shakes until she swayed on her feet and dropped onto the floor. She heaved and, then…nothing.