Chapter 4
4
Quinn
I could refuse to go with him, but something tells me he’d brush off my reluctance like a fly. He clearly never heard a ‘no’ in his life that he couldn’t flip. Who am I to defy a man who has cops at his beck and call and sewed up his shoulder like he’s done it a thousand times?
It’s not only that. Something in the universe is moving me toward an unforeseen future. I have no idea what the stranger wants with me, but his eyes are filled with penetrating intensity like he’s dropped an anchor into my soul and intends to remain.
What do I have to stay for? I will be fired for this, so I may as well consider myself destitute. I have nothing left to lose except my life. Well, fine. Que sera sera , as they say.
I climb into the car and slide over the seat, enjoying the velvety feel of the upholstery beneath my palm. To my surprise, the stranger gets in beside me and closes the door. Without a word, we pull away from the curb, and I avert my eyes as he taps away on his phone screen.
“I should introduce myself,” he says, turning to me. “You can call me Roman.” He smiles. “Don’t panic. You got me out of a tight spot, and I always return favors.”
“Where are we going?” I say, irritated at the shakiness of my voice.
“Somewhere you’ll be safe and able to get some rest,” he replies. “There may still be people out there looking for me, and I’m not prepared to risk your safety.”
“Why?”
His eyes soften. “Because you’re innocent, Quinn. So utterly and completely naive. I already wish I hadn’t gotten you involved, but dirt has a way of sticking, so here we are.”
I fall silent. God knows what he’s talking about, but it may be unwise to ask too many questions.
Roman glances at me, his gaze sliding down my body, and I tense, pinned by his attention like a butterfly to a board. He leans over to me, his arm crossing my chest, and I squeeze my eyes closed.
He’s gonna touch me. Oh no, what do I do?
He tugs the seatbelt around me and clicks it into place. I open one eye to see his face inches from mine, his breath warm on my face.
“Silly girl,” he says as he sits back in his seat, his voice a deep rumble of rebuke. “Safety first.”
We stop outside The Mandarin Oriental Hotel, and I never felt more ashamed of my smudged apron and sugar-dusted hair. Roman helps me out of the car, and I can’t help but stare. Of course, he is so accustomed to such luxury that it barely registers.
When the concierge sees us, he darts out from behind his desk. If he notices Roman’s lack of a shirt beneath his winter coat, he doesn’t comment. It’s as though his life depends on satisfying his every whim, and who knows, maybe it does.
“Mr. Kazanov, welcome back!”
“Serge.” Roman acknowledges the man with the slightest of nods. “My suite has been serviced as I requested in my message?”
“Of course. I walked it through myself. If there’s anything else?—”
Roman dismisses the man with a wave. “It’ll be fine. When Leon arrives, receive him in the private lounge. This lady is not to be disturbed.”
“As you say, sir. Good evening.”
The elevator ride is suffocating. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the air thick with tension. Roman’s presence is overpowering; each second feels like an eternity, the silence broken only by the distant hum of the elevator’s mechanics. Beneath the coppery scent of blood, there’s something else. Tobacco flower, amber, clean skin. It makes me want to breathe him deep into me and hold him there.
When the doors open, Roman leads me into a vast suite that redefines my understanding of luxury.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking city view, and the elegant furnishings are a mix of modern and classic. The room is bathed in lamplight, illuminating every detail, from the intricate patterns on the rug to the glistening crystal chandeliers hanging from above. Each step is like walking into a dream world where everything is perfectly placed and nothing is out of reach.
My companion watches me, his face unreadable. “We’ll stay here a while,” he says, his voice carrying a note of command I’m beginning to recognize.
What does he think I am? He can’t just do what he wants with me, can he?
Yes. Yes, he can.
“But…with you?” I say, glancing around. “I—I can’t?—”
He shakes his head. “No, rusalka . I should have explained. There are two bedrooms. I’m not going home now; people there’ll want to talk, and I’m tired. My shoulder hurts like fuck. All I need is Tylenol and sleep.”
We stare at one another. This isn’t a trick; he means it. I’m not used to people telling me the truth, and it must show on my face.
“You’ve had a hard life, haven’t you?” he asks. “I see it. Why don’t you have anywhere to live?”
“I was sharing an apartment with an old lady, and when she got sick, she moved into a care home. It was her tenancy, and the landlord wanted to me to sign on for quadruple the previous monthly rate, so I had to leave.”
Roman scowls. “Doesn’t sound like it was worth whatever you were paying in the first place, let alone four times that.”
His sneering judgment of my former living situation catches me off guard, and an angry sob escapes me. “For your information, I liked it a lot,” I say, feeling a pang of loss for my run-down apartment. “It wasn’t much, but it was mine. Now I have nothing—less than nothing, even.” I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “ You could never comprehend that.”
“Maybe not. Let me show you to your room.”
He opens a door to reveal a bedroom straight out of a movie. The bed is massive, dressed in the finest linens, and the amber glow of the lamps bathes the room in warmth.
I’m dazzled and a little bit lost. I’ve never seen anything like this nor dared to dream of it. My eyes land on a pile of women’s clothing strewn across a nearby chair, and I can’t help but feel uneasy.
“Do you have many women staying here with you?” I ask, my curiosity fighting against the knot in my stomach.
“I do not.” He laughs, showing me those attractive dimples again, and runs his hand through his hair. “Serge got you a selection of garment choices for your comfort. Put your work things outside the door for the laundry. You’ll find your ensuite stocked. Now, excuse me, but I need to go to my room and shower, then go back out.”
“Um, yeah. Sure.”
Roman turns to leave, but something stops him, and he steps toward me, closing the space between us. My calves bump into the bed, and a high-pitched gasp of alarm jolts me as he reaches for my throat. I turn to ice, panic tearing through my chest.
A memory flashes through my mind as Roman’s hand touches my neck.
A cruel grip, a sneering face. You’re worthless, he’d say, his breath hot against my skin.
The fear, the helplessness—it all comes rushing back.
“Jesus, Quinn,” Roman whispers. “Someone fucking hurt you, didn’t they? Tell me.”
I gulp like a fish on dry land, trying to swallow my feelings even as his proximity engulfs my senses. He’s so physically overwhelming, yet his hand caresses me, his thumb moving over the tendon.
Roman’s cell phone starts ringing. He hisses through his teeth and releases me to answer it.
“ Dobryy utro , Leon. ETA? Great. See you then.” He hangs up and glances at me. “Get some rest, rusalka . Everything will be fine.”
Then I’m alone in the room, breathless and reeling from the intensity of those few moments.
Calm down. He’s gone.
I hear the shower starting up in the bathroom, and I close the bedroom door. Despite it all, my mind is crowded by the image of Roman naked and wet, soaping his corded muscles, the water running over that beautiful inked skin and down to his?—
You’re insane, Quinn , my inner voice says. She’s never liked me much, and try as I might to ignore her, she always has my ear.
You’re nobody. He’s just toying with you.