Chapter 9
S amara
Tearing off my wig, I pushed my long, tangled hair out of my face and called Yelena again. “Yelena, call me back. Code Red! Code Red!”
I had already left her four voicemails.
Where the fuck was she?
We had to get out of town. Now.
Worst case scenario, if I couldn’t get ahold of her, we had a Plan B in place, for just this scenario. We would meet up at a small house we bought in Montreal and decide where to go next.
Still, I would feel better knowing she was safe.
If Gregor was here then that meant that his brother Damien probably was as well.
I know he and Yelena had sparred with one another in the past. Plus, he was probably really pissed that she continued to work that racetrack scam.
If Gregor found me then there was an exceptional chance Damien had found Yelena. Fuck!
Gregor’s car had barely pulled away from the curb before I was grabbing my purse and sneaking out the back door. I had changed cabs four times on my way back home in case I was followed.
It was probably all for nothing.
If he knew where I worked then he knew where I lived, but I clung to a sliver of hope.
I had no choice.
Fuck.
I wish I hadn’t been so stupid as to leave my fake passports and IDs at home.
Yelena had taught me better. I should have had them with me at all times.
I was in a hurry this morning and got sloppy.
Now I had no choice but to risk going back because I obviously couldn’t use the Gwen Stevens ID and credit cards anymore, and I definitely didn’t have enough cash on me to flee to another country.
Maybe it'll be okay?
Maybe he hadn’t recognized me after all?
He did leave.
Why did he do that?
Was it just to mess with me?
To get in my head?
Well, it's fucking working!
Finally, I was back at my loft. There was no sign of his Escalade on the street.
With shaking hands, I punched in the key code to enter the building
I paused in the hallway and placed my ear to my apartment door.
Everything seemed quiet and still. Holding my breath, I carefully slipped the key in the lock and turned it, cringing when the lock gave with a loud metallic click.
I paused. Nothing. I let out the breath I was holding.
Pushing the door open slightly, I peeked inside. Nothing seemed amiss.
Shuffling inside, I pivoted to close the door quickly.
A man’s arm reached over my head and stopped it from closing.
Letting out a shocked scream, I dropped my purse and keys on the floor, my gaze rose to face a pair of platinum gray eyes.
Gregor stood before me like a vengeful god.
“Welcome home, Gwen .” His voice was dark and low… controlled.
I opened my mouth to scream.
His hand closed around my throat. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. I can’t have you screaming like that, malyshka.”
My fingers clawed at the back of his hands.
“You’ve been a very bad girl, Samara.”
His grasp prevented me from speaking. After he could see I would no longer try to cry out, he lowered his arm. Straightening his suit cuffs, he ordered, “Now be a good girl and invite me in for a chat.”
It was hard not to feel like Mina inviting the fiend Dracula in.
Like Dracula, Gregor seemed to exude a dark energy which fed on my own fears and desires.
Knowing I had no choice, I complied.
“Won’t you come in?” I responded through clenched teeth as my hand grasped my throat.
Taking a step forward, I shook as he made his presence known directly behind me.
This was bad.
Very bad.
I quickly scanned the open area of the loft. There was no sign of his brother, Damien. We were alone. Was this why Yelena wasn’t answering her phone? Had Gregor’s brother already captured her?
Fuck!
If I had any chance of getting out of this, I needed to reach my bed.
Under the pillow was one of two .38 specials Yelena and I bought for protection when we were in Mexico the first few months we were in hiding.
Taking a few more hesitant steps, I waited till I was close, then lunged for the mattress.
Falling across it on my stomach, I slid my hand under the pillow.
There was nothing there.
Horrified, I turned on my back and looked up at Gregor. He was standing close to the bed, legs spread wide as he towered over my prone form. Reaching behind him, he pulled the revolver free from his waistband. “Looking for this?”
With a cry, I rolled onto my stomach and tried to scramble away across the rumpled bed sheets. He grabbed my ankle and pulled me toward him. Reaching down, he fisted my hair and lifted me up.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” I cried out as I reached up to try to dislodge his grasp.
Gregor dragged me across the room and pushed me against one of the wide, timber support beams that dotted my loft space.
I watched as he inhaled deeply but said nothing.
As if he needed a moment to control his emotions.
This was not a man to piss off, I reminded myself.
As I waited for his next move, I looked him over. While still handsome as hell, his face now had an even harder edge to it. The sharp angles of his jawline and lowered brow heightened the sense of dangerous power he exuded.
I stayed silent. My fingers gripped the smooth wood of the beam behind me in an effort to ground myself and my rioting emotions.
Gregor ran the back of his knuckles over my cheek. “You shouldn’t have run, Samara. You’ve caused me a great deal of trouble.”
“I’m sorry,” I whimpered.
What else could I say?
“Are you?” he challenged.
His dark gaze lowered to my breasts as his fingers undid the first button of my cardigan.
Oh God.
“Please. Please don’t hurt me.”
Gregor looked into my eyes. I could feel his warm fingers brush my skin as he undid another button.
“If you don’t want me to hurt you, then you need to be a very good girl and not anger me.”
Grabbing my jaw with his full hand, he pushed my head back till it connected with the beam. I watched in captive silence as his gaze moved from my eyes to my open lips and back.
“Tell me why,” he ground out.
He didn’t honestly expect me to tell him why I didn’t want to marry him?
To his face?
“I… I… please.” I faltered.
He lowered his head. His mouth brushed mine. “That’s not an answer, malyshka.”
His other hand moved to span my belly. My entire body trembled.
I could feel the scorching heat of him through my thin sweater.
My traitorous body hummed as I waited to see if he would slide his hand higher or lower.
How could a man who terrified me deep in my bones make my body quake like this? It was wrong. Sick. Dangerous.
My fingernails dug into the wood beam. “Please, Gregor. Just let me go. You could have anyone you wanted.”
“I want you. I own you.”
I watched as his eyes flashed with unmistakable need as the possessive power of his words rang in my head.
I realized I would never be free of this man.
No matter how long or how far I ran he would always give chase.
I just couldn’t understand why. This couldn’t possibly be about the money he loaned my father?
I hadn’t spoken to my parents since the night I ran, but surely my father had paid him back by now. It had been three years.
My teeth chattered with fear. I had to clench my jaw to even speak. Taking a deep breath through my nose, I risked it all. “You don’t own me. You’ll never own me, because I’ll never marry you.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I turned my head and braced for the violent blow I was certain was coming.
I didn’t care.
I was tired.
Tired of running.
Tired of always looking over my shoulder.
Tired of watching the real me slowly disappear in the mirror.
I just wanted it to end.
My tiny bit of rebellion in speaking my mind had taken the last of my resolve.
If it hadn’t been for his powerful presence pressing into my front, I would have collapsed to the floor as my knees buckled.
After an agonizing stretch of silence, nothing happened.
I hesitantly peeked at him through my lowered lashes.
His dark gaze studied my face as his jaw tightened. “You don’t have a choice.”
“Why would you want to marry someone who doesn’t want to marry you?” I cried, desperation making my voice high-pitched and thin.
He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I have my reasons.”
His lips skimmed my cheek before crashing down to claim my mouth. Balling my hands into fists, I beat on his shoulders and chest as I twisted my head away. With a growl, he clasped my jaw in his hand and pushed my head back.
“Open for me,” he commanded.
This time when his head swooped down, I had no choice. The tips of his fingers pressed into the sides of my face, forcing my jaw open. His tongue swooped in to take possession.
This was the kiss that had haunted my dreams every night for the last three years.
He gave no quarter. His tongue dueled with mine as his free hand cupped my breast. He tasted of mint and tobacco and of bittersweet memories and longing.
With a cry, I kissed him back, my fingers clawing at his lapel as I stretched up onto my toes.
His hips ground against my own. The threatening press of his hard cock against my stomach both terrified and excited me.
This was precisely what I was worried about… this all-consuming feeling of being swallowed whole, body and soul, by him.
I pulled away, gasping for air. Clinging to him even as I yearned to be set free.
“Please,” I begged, crushing the silk of his jacket in my fists. “I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be the girl you want.”
Three years of independence had strengthened my sense of self and showed me what I did and didn’t want out of life.
My dreams of being an artist may have been fading, but that didn’t mean it prepared me to resign myself to a life as the wife of Gregor Ivanov and nothing more.
Even as an unsophisticated, immature teenager I knew I could never be the biddable accepting wife he probably wanted and expected.
Someone who thought only of her husband’s needs and never of her own.
Someone with no identity outside of her marriage vows.
My mind ranted and raved at being put into such a tiny box for the rest of my life.
He stroked my bottom lip with his thumb. “Ty milaya malyshka. To, chto ya khochu pryamo seychas, ochen' prosto.”
I was almost startled to hear him speak Russian. It had been so long. Out of precaution, Yelena and I only spoke English, and we avoided the Russian neighborhoods in the cities we had been hiding out in, knowing the extensive reach of Gregor Ivanov and his family as well as my own.
I licked my lips, all too aware of his gaze focused on my mouth. He said what he wanted in this moment was very simple. I was afraid to ask but knew he would keep me here, imprisoned against this pillar all night if I didn’t.
Bracing myself for him to demand sex, knowing that no matter how much I may protest, in the end, my body would probably betray me. I was no match for his strength and skill.
I exhaled on a sigh and lowered my gaze before asking, “What do you want, Gregor?”
“I want you to say you were a very bad girl.”