Chapter 33
33
Quinn
T he voices outside call me, telling me to come to the door. Saying I can’t hide forever.
They’re right—I can’t. I was naive to think I could bury my head and pretend to be someone else.
My uncle will find me now, of course. What then? The whole sordid story will come out; drug-addled dad, frightened mom. Big debts, big risks, and big mistakes. Mistakes that cost them their lives.
I didn’t meet my Uncle Julian until the will was read. My parents had nothing to bequeath to anyone, but if they had, it wouldn’t have gone to him; he despised my mother and always had.
In the aftermath of my parent’s deaths, he was determined to gain custody of me and made impassioned pleas to the family courts until they relented and granted a guardianship order. When he moved into my house, I understood what a bad person he was.
As a foster carer, Julian was entitled to money from the state, supposedly to pay for my care. That was all he wanted; a free house and hand-outs so he could spend his time watching porn and drinking with his nasty buddies.
I learned quickly how to do my own washing, and at school, I was always clean and tidy, so no one suspected a thing. I distanced myself from my old friends out of shame; at home, I became a slave, cooking and cleaning for my uncle and his cronies.
I was thirteen when the threats began.
You can’t hide forever, Quinn. Get your fat ass out here and let my buddies show you a good time!
I would lock myself in my bedroom and barricade the door, hoping they’d lose interest, and eventually, they always did.
I overate, trying to put them off with my ample curves, and somehow, I made it to fifteen without being raped. I lived in fear daily and spent as much time out of the house as possible.
Then Julian announced we were moving with some friends to start a business in Harrisburg. He wouldn’t tell me what it was, but he told me I would be ‘homeschooled.’
Every inch of me was seized with a primal terror, and that same day, I raided Julian’s wallet and fled for New York City without a backward glance.
Now I’m the love interest of a Russian billionaire. Or the fuck toy of a manipulative, controlling asshole, depending on your perspective.
Roman’s voice emanates from the TV, pulling me from my thoughts. He’s standing in front of glass doors, looking calm and composed, as if he has not a care in the world. Figures.
“This speculation is overblown, to put it mildly,” he says. “Miss Sullivan is the manager of a bakery my company recently acquired—I’m happy to confirm that.”
I shift in my seat, the dull throb of my pussy reminding me of last night. Will he deny me now and claim I don’t matter?”
“The nature of my relationship with Miss Sullivan will become clear in the fullness of time,” Roman continues. “Until then, you may regard it as business and pleasure.”
I blush and wrap my arms around my knees.
“I’m used to this kind of attention. That said, I am furious about this crass invasion of Miss Sullivan’s privacy, and therefore, I insist all journalists and news outlets leave her alone.”
He stares straight down the lens. “I mean it. Desist now, or you’ll be in court tomorrow. Thank you.” Then he gives his back to the camera and goes inside, ignoring the barked questions and flashbulbs.
Outside, I hear car doors and engines firing up. The press pack must have been watching and are taking Roman’s threat of legal action seriously. Within a couple of minutes, the street is empty, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I return to my bedroom and dig in the closet to find my phone. It’s down to ten percent battery, and I plug it in just as a message pings up.
Hi Rusalka. Are they gone?
I tap out a reply.
Yes. What now?
Stay put. My friend Leon will collect you. Pack an overnight bag.
Where are we going?
You’ll see.
I’m zipping up my holdall when a car horn sounds outside. I open my lounge window to see an attractive man in a shirt and slacks looking up at me. He’s leaning on the hood of a Porsche SUV.
“I’m Leon,” he shouts. “Are you ready to go? We gotta shift it, princess. I promised your man I’d take you somewhere safe.”
My man.
“I’ll be right down.”
I’m on the street a minute later, and Leon takes my bag.
“Relax, Quinn. It’s gonna be alright. Do you like boats?”
Two hours later…
After a virtually silent drive to the harbor, Leon busied himself with phone calls, so I left him pacing the deck and kept out of his way. The yacht’s crew is discreetly efficient, and nothing is too much to ask.
When we boarded, I was immediately shown to a beautiful, spacious cabin, and a waiter brought me a dish of smoked salmon with caviar, blinis, and chopped fruit. The yacht set sail shortly after, and I got nervous, so I stayed in my room, unsure what to do next.
Roman hasn’t been in touch. I could text him, but I feel he should be the one to reach out first. In the meantime, it’s easier to go with the flow; besides, I’m safer here than anywhere else.
I head up top and find Leon on one of the loungers, holding a glass of something red. A pitcher sits on the table beside him.
“Take a load off, kid,” he says. “Have a Bloody Mary. It’s the only thing that helps me with the permanent headache Roman gives me.”
I sit and sniff the contents of the pitcher. “I think I’ll pass. What’s going on here? Where is Roman?”
Leon dips his head, looking over his sunglasses at me. “You will come to realize that knowing things makes no difference. Roman Kazanov is a force of nature, and you are caught in the storm. All you can do now is buckle up and hope you make it.”
His words are coldly cryptic, and my distress must show on my face. “Okay,” he tops up his glass, “you have questions, I get it. I’ve known him since we were kids, so ask away, but if I can’t or won’t tell you, you gotta drop it. And don’t ask about today.”
“Is he in danger? I helped him sew up the bullet graze on his shoulder. Are bad people after him?”
Leon laughs. “Don’t worry about it. Roman can take care of himself, believe me. It’s what he’s best at—keeping other people at arm’s length so his enemies don’t use them to get to him.”
“He’s never been in love?”
“Nope.” Leon crosses his arms behind his head. “He doesn’t indulge in emotional entanglements. Or, more accurately, he didn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
The sound of an outboard motor gets Leon’s attention, and he stands, looking toward the shore. “Speak of The Devil, and the fucker shall appear, as they say.”
A speedboat is gaining on us, following the yacht’s wake. Roman is at the helm, flanked by Viktor and a man I’ve never seen before. The skipper stops the yacht at the boarding ladder, and the crew helps everyone aboard.
Roman is dressed in a smart tuxedo. Viktor’s outfit is similar, and he’s holding two garment bags. Roman takes one and throws it over his arm.
“Come with me,” he says brusquely. “Right now.”
I follow him to the cabin, growing more confused by the second. As soon as he closes the door behind us, he’s upon me.
“Fuck, you look beautiful.” He crushes his body against mine. “I want you so much, but it’s got to wait.”
Despite my bewilderment, I’m powerless to resist. After his abrupt departure this morning and deafening silence all day, the reassurance that he still wants me is too delicious to defy. My nipples stiffen beneath the fabric of my dress, and he growls deep in his throat. Then he stops and pulls away, leaving me breathless.
“No, not yet,” he says. “There’s no time. We have to get on with it.”
“With what?”
“Our wedding.”