Chapter 12 – Freya
How on Earth did I find the man attractive?
Surely, I hadn’t fallen down an unrealistic hole and landed in a world where I played the beauty and he played the beast. Those kinds of possibilities only happened where they originated from—the movies. And they stay there. Here, in the real world, there was good and evil, right and wrong, moral and immoral…and the list went on and on.
Here, in the real world, men like him who threatened innocent people with the lives of their loved ones deserved to face the full wrath of the law, and women like me had a right to be free, living my best life and working a job I loved.
In this world, a woman like me could not give the slimmest chance to a man like him. His methods were illegal, and it didn’t matter that he had the touch of a skilled artist and a gentle lover. Those hands had blood on them. His head was a moving target. And the life he lived was questionable.
I hated him.
At least, I convinced myself that I did.
Egor Yezhov never failed to prove me wrong. Every time I thought things with him couldn’t get worse, he’d rise and do something to surpass my expectations. If it wasn’t worse, it was definitely just as bad as his previous actions.
I sat rigidly in the backseat with curled fingers on my knees, deliberately refusing to look at him. My eyes were fixed on the venue ahead when we pulled up. Egor stepped out, his movements fluid, confident, and arrogant, like he truly was. His dark suit glistened under the flashing lights from the cars behind, and the green in his eyes was a lighter shade. But I couldn’t bring myself to follow.
A turmoil brewed inside me, and my mind swarmed with unanswered questions. I wanted to know if this was some sick, twisted game, to know where he was taking me and what he had planned.
The driver up front, scary Anatoly with deadly eyes and inked hands, sent me a glare from the rearview mirror, silently questioning my decision to anger Egor. I pretended not to see it and avoided the caution.
As I hesitated, Egor appeared at my door, his hand extended in a gesture that seemed almost...chivalrous. I looked up from his outstretched arm to his face and, for a fleeting moment, forgot who he was—the man who had kidnapped and threatened me.
I’d expected him to snatch my wrist like he did at the parking lot, drag me out, and issue a stern warning about a kitty testing the lion’s patience. Anything but having his hand extended to me.
In that moment, he’d assumed the appearance of a gentleman, offering his hand to help me out of the car, and I imagined what it would be like if he were genuinely kind.
But the fantasy was short-lived. Reality crashed back in as I gazed into his eyes, seeing the glint of amusement there. He knew exactly what he was doing. The asshole was playing on my vulnerability, toying with me like a pawn.
I placed my hand in his, trying to calm my jitters. His fingers closed around mine, warm and firm, as he helped me out of the car. Before I climbed out, I didn’t miss the eye roll Anatoly dashed at me from the front seat. I knew what it meant.
It didn’t matter how much I fought and scratched; Egor was always going to have his way.
I stood beside the six-foot-three stud, and he didn’t release my hand. I felt trapped.
He motioned toward the steps. “Shall we?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek to hold back a retort. He’d asked like I had a choice, like I could say, “We shan’t,” and not have to fear for my mom, Ruby, and Zeya’s lives being eliminated as a consequence of my defiance.
On second thought, I nodded and tried to appear calm as we ascended the fancy steps.
Up ahead, women and men were dressed in formal clothes like us. There were lots of ladies with more expensive outfits than myself, and soon, I realized why. As we made our way through the crowd, I noticed the sign with gold lettering: Dreams for All. It was a fundraising event, and it was already in full swing. We were late. But judging by Egor’s stiff expression, I didn’t think he cared.
The rest of the people we passed seemed to think differently. His presence did a number on the crowd gathered. Some stared in awe, a few cleared the path in fear, and others spoke in hushed whispers, especially the women. They stripped him with their eyes and mumbled sultry remarks when he walked by, all the while shooting daggers at our joined hands.
I heard one mutter, “Who is she?” before we passed.
As we went deeper into the throng of people, his grip on my hand tightened, securing me beside him. Even if the event fronted a noble cause, I wondered why he chose to bring me here.
Before tonight, I had never been to a fundraiser, and not being experienced in handling this type of crowd made me uneasy. I scanned the room of people chatting and laughing, secretly searching for any familiar face I could run to, but before I could ponder further, the lights dimmed, signaling the end of the main event.
The after-party was about to begin.
Egor led me to a secluded section of the hall where the elite guests gathered. A few men in dark suits stopped to exchange greetings, and he spoke to them in a thicker, more rapid Russian than I was willing to understand.
A server with a tray filled with wine glasses worked the area, and I tapped him to get a glass with liquid that resembled water and a toothpick with an olive on it. Since the day I’d turned sixteen, I stayed away from bars and alcoholics and wasn’t good with drinks. I never even bothered to learn their names.
Egor watched me disapprovingly and was about to make a comment when an older man with twinkling gray eyes came up to us.
He was tall like Egor, had the same hard lines, and appeared sharp and smart in a navy blue suit and sleek leather shoes. He looked somehow familiar and had the one thing on his face that Egor wouldn’t be caught dead wearing—a genuine smile.
“ Korol .” He extended a frail hand, and Egor shook it. I appreciated his style, with his white hair and beard and a thick lace of Russian on his tongue.
“ Dedushka.”
Grandpa .
I understood that one, at least, and their resemblance suddenly made sense.
“Good seeing you here. Was starting to think you weren’t going to make it. I bet five hundred with Ulyan that you weren’t going to show up.”
Egor’s lips crooked to the side. “Sad to know that you have little faith in your own blood. You seem to be spending more and more time with Ulyan. Wait, isn’t Ulyan the ho? Ulyan, your maid?”
I found it weird that Egor had that much information about his grandfather’s private life. But then again, the Yezhovs were not exactly the best example of an ideal family.
His grandfather’s response was sharp and cautious. He scratched his brow. “Don’t stick your nose in your old man’s business, kid.”
Egor didn’t bother with a comment. The true meaning hung in the air like an inflated balloon. It was Ulyan the ho and the maid.
“When have I ever not kept to my words? I told you I was going to be here. It’s not like I had a choice.
“With the great korol , there’s always a choice. You get to do whatever the fuck you want, with or without proper caution.”
I might have concurred with a nod if it wouldn’t have gotten me into trouble.
Ride on, Grandpa.
He spoke facts. The great asshole was his own authority, and as much as I didn’t want to acknowledge it, I saw the admiration and respect he had for his grandfather, despite how gruffly they interacted with each other. It was my first time seeing him with family, even if, frankly, I hadn’t thought his grandfather was alive. No one at the department had. Whatever the man did to maintain a low profile worked. However, it was strange to see the almighty and powerful having someone he could answer to.
His grandfather was still speaking, and their conversation took an interesting turn: marriage.
My ears perked up.
While they talked, I took sips from my glass to calm my nerves, and judging from his body language, the topic obviously didn’t sit well with my captor. He looked like he was about to commit another round of murder.
“Forty-one is only nine years away from fifty, kid. You can’t keep this up till then. What do I have to do to get you to make a move? Darya’s here; did I tell you? She’s a doll. She’s—”
Egor interrupted him with a brief, throaty cough, and that was when the older man looked at me.
He took a step back, and his hand went into one of his pockets. He adjusted the jacket on his body with a quick swipe and glanced back and forth between us. “Who’s the pretty girl?”
Egor faced me, and, with wide eyes, like a deer caught in headlights, I stuck the toothpick with the olive into my mouth.
His eyes were on me when he answered his grandfather. “This is Freya Fox— my girlfriend whom I have every intention of marrying. Freya, meet my grandfather, Kir Yezhov.”
Girlfriend ?
Freya Fox?
Wait, that was me.
Shit.
The olive went down the wrong hole, and I choked, sputtered, and gasped for air while dropping the emptied glass on a random tray.
I thought I saw a stretch of worry on the king’s face when he held me close and rubbed my back. “What happened, love?”
Was he joking? He called me his girlfriend, whom he was planning to marry , and had the guts to ask what happened. Where the heck did that narrative come from?
I wiped a tear from my eyelid, careful not to ruin the make-up, before dragging my eyes to his, and was astonished to know that I hadn’t imagined seeing the worry on his face. It was there, alright.
And didn’t he just call me love ?
What exactly was going on?
Did I fall and hit my head somewhere? The last I remembered, I was his captive, his prisoner, and he was my abductor. Last I remembered , he was threatening me in a parking lot, and there was nothing love-y about that.
I tried to read through his guarded expression, tried to understand the ploy of this new plot twist. And I found the crack I was looking for after he blinked.
This was just an act.
Nothing about this was real. From the conversation, I’d been able to deduce the situation. His grandpa was on his case about getting married, and Egor, being the rebel he was, had taken matters into his own hands.
He looked on expectantly, waiting for me to fall into character.
I reluctantly obliged.
I put a hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him, prompting him to widen his eyes ever so slightly. “I’m good now, my love. I was only shocked, is all.”
His grandfather hadn’t moved from where he stood, regarding me with close scrutiny and a lopsided grin on his face. “And why is that?”
I felt jittery and needed to do something with my hands, so my fingers glided up Egor’s neck and teased the back of his hair. For a split second, I got lost in the softness of it. “Um, initially, we agreed that we’d host a formal dinner, invite you over, and then tell you about, um, our plans.”
I looked at Egor for help, and he was looking at me with caution.
“But, as you said, he decides what to do when he wants to do it. I love him that way. I’m just finally glad the cat’s out of the bag. Keeping secrets is such a huge deal.”
That cracked his grandfather up, and he stopped assessing me like a security trigger.
“It’s good to see him ready to settle down now. Trust me, dear, it’s been a long time coming, and you seem like a sweet soul. You’ll be good for him.”
“And he’s good for me, too.”
I let out a soft, mid-century woman giggle and hooked my arm in Egor’s. The comment and action clearly surprised him.
We talked more about the fictional upcoming wedding plans, joked about how many kids we were going to have, and had a surprising question flung at me by his grandfather.
“So, how did you two meet?”
Egor’s head snapped to the side, and we exchanged glances, wondering what story we would share. I knew my own version.
We’d met in an interrogation room. He was the culprit, and I was the detective. Funny how, in less than a month, we’d swapped roles. Now, I wore the handcuffs, though invisible, and he held the key.
I smiled at the older man and saw a smirk brightening Egor’s face. He was also waiting to hear the story I’d cooked up.
“We met at a party…a party in a club.” I bit my tongue, hoping I sounded believable. I’d never gone clubbing, so this was a hard one. “I was dancing, and he was—”
“I asked Arlo to find out who she was and bring her to me. The rest was history,” came his low response from beside me.
The old man laughed. “Typical Egor.”
I laughed, too, somewhat grateful for the quick save. “It was a hate-love at first sight, but now I’m fully convinced that I’m crazy about him. He’s different in a very special way. And he treats me like a queen.”
“Ah. The king now has a queen.” His grandpa and I shared a laugh while Egor watched me from the corner of his eyes, subtly deciphering my words.
He didn’t really think there was any truth in them, did he?
“Good, good.” His grandpa nodded and exchanged some words in their language.
More of his extended family trooped in from all corners and joined in on the conversation. Soon, our small group became large, and the topics deviated to business.
I felt uncomfortable, and Egor noticed when I slipped out of his hold. Before I made it a few steps away, he held me back, pressing me into his side with his lips to my ear. To the others, we must have looked like a couple in love when, in reality, he was trying to keep me caged in.
“Where are you going?”
“Not far.”
Without drawing attention, I shrugged him off and moved away, not looking back to see the murderous expression he must have had on his face.
Away from them, I finally felt like I could breathe.
I went over to the bar, which was close to where they stood, and ordered the best of whatever they had on the menu.
Lemon drop shots, the bartender called it. And after careful consideration, I asked for three.
I wasn’t even certain I could stomach one, but taking three didn’t sound so bad at the moment.
The buffy bartender pushed three pink crystal shot glasses to me with a wink and went over to the side to serve another person.
From where I stood, I could see Egor. And he saw me, too. His gaze from across the room swept over me, leaving an electric shiver—hot and clearly lustful. The worst part was…I didn’t feel as repulsed as I rightfully should have. Knowing he wanted me stirred an excitement that buzzed between my thighs.
Or maybe it was the anticipation of having three shots of the vodka in front of me.
Tearing my gaze away, I lifted one of the glasses to my lips. In went the first one. Sweet, sour, and tart. I shut my eyes and hissed through clenched teeth.
The initial sweetness hit my taste buds first, followed by a wave of citrusy sourness. Then, the vodka kick came next, leaving a slight tartness and a refreshing aftertaste. It was similar to sucking on a sweet and sour lemon candy but with a grown-up twist.
“I could get addicted to this.”
“Wait until you try red-headed slut.”
My head snapped to the silvery voice, and I was surprised to see an actual redhead leaning across the counter with an empty glass. Her smile was radiant, illuminating her face and making her blue eyes sparkle like sapphires.
I moved closer with a smile of my own. “That’s the actual name?”
“Uh-huh.” She beamed and shot a sultry smile to the brunet working the bar. “Carvill makes the best ones. Wanna try some?”
I stole a glimpse at my unfinished two glasses. “Maybe some other time?”
“Nope. Not taking it. No one says no to Rosalyn.”
“No one,” the bartender concurred with a concupiscent glance of his own.
“Live a little.” She handed me a green crystal glass, and Carvill filled it. “You’ll thank me later.”
I fought my concerns and swallowed everything with a mouthful.
“Shit!” I hissed.
Shit!
Like the lemon drop shots, the sweetness hit first. But an herbal and bitter note followed after. I tasted a bit of cranberry in the mix, which left a fruity and slightly tart aftertaste.
But, God, it was strong.
She laughed at my scrunched-up face, adjusted her mini dress, and extended a hand. “If you keep it up, you’ll get used to it. I’m Rosalyn.”
I coughed and chuckled. “I figured. No one says no to Rosalyn.”
“That’s right.” Her eyes twinkled. “Rosalyn Gallagher always gets her way. Especially when you have a brother that spoils you silly.”
My smile faltered when I heard her last name. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that a Gallagher would randomly be attending a fundraising event with Yezhovs swarming the area.
The red hair and blue eyes suddenly struck an uncanny resemblance to another Gallagher I knew—the very one Egor had attempted to murder, dragging us into this twisted mess.
Ronan.
If my guesses were right, Rosalyn was Ronan’s sister. The heir apparent to be crowned in the Irish mafia. And her presence in Moscow must have been strategically tied to the event. For all we knew, she could have been here to spy on Egor.
The effects of the alcohol kicked in, and there was a pressing need to use the bathroom.
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse me for a minute. I think I have to use the ladies’ room.”
“Sure.” She smiled and turned around to strike up a conversation with the eager bartender, and the second I spun around with my back to her, the smile slipped from my face.
What were the odds?