Chapter 18
PAVEL
A lina was going to tell me everything I wanted to know—whether she liked it or not.
Soon enough, she was going to learn that I was not someone to be fucked with.
She needed to understand that I was a man to be obeyed, without question.
My hand snapped out, wrapping around the base of her throat, not hard enough to cut off her air, but firm enough she knew I could.
I pushed her against the wall and caged her in again, hovering over her so she couldn’t miss the differences in our bodies.
I wanted to impress our height disparity on her, how her thinness contrasted with my muscular build, and to remind her how my hard cock could impale her sweet little cunt over and over.
She was being a brat, and I needed to put an end to that immediately.
Things would not turn out well for her if she forgot for even a moment who she was dealing with .
I couldn't keep her safe if she didn't respect what I could do and fear the monster that I could become.
I caressed her cheek, my touch deceptively gentle as I leaned into her, pressing my body against her, my cock already hard as it settled against her soft stomach.
"Remember, sweetheart, I have very creative ways of making people talk. I'd rather have a civilized conversation over dinner, but if you would prefer a more… interesting way, that can be arranged."
She still refused. Her lips pressed together in a firm line, her jaw clenched so hard that her cheek twitched.
Her stubbornness was impressive, but there was still fear in her eyes. Her hands still trembled at her sides.
My patience was running thin, and I didn't know what pissed me off more—that someone was hurting her, threatening her, or that she was protecting them.
Neither was going to work for me.
All she had to do to end this suffering was tell me everything.
I knew that you attracted more flies with honey, and if I had the time, maybe I would coax the information from her.
Maybe I'd be inclined to be gentle, earn her confidence, or just tie her to the bed again and edge her until she broke.
I rather liked that idea. My cock throbbed with the need to do exactly that.
Too bad it wouldn't work. Not because I couldn't break her with pleasure and pain, but because I had already tested the limits of my control.
There was no way in hell I could see her cunt wet and dripping for me again, feel it gripping my fingers, my tongue, or my cock without losing my mind and fucking her so thoroughly neither one of us would be in any position to ask or answer questions, let alone form coherent thought.
Work first.
Lose myself in her tight body second.
I wrapped my hand around her throat again, tilting her head back, forcing her to look up into my eyes. I wanted to see the truth in those pretty, golden-flecked eyes.
She was a captive.
I was the monster holding her here, at least for now.
"Your disobedience is making me angry."
Her pretty eyes reflected the exact moment her resolve cracked. The tears that welled in them spilled down her cheeks.
I could see it—the moment she realized what she needed to do to survive. That was what she was, a survivor, and a natural submissive.
She wasn't weak, far from it. But what her mind wanted and what her body wanted were at odds.
I could use that.
She wanted to please me. Even if her mind fought it with every fiber of her being, her softening body, her hitching breaths as she hesitated were all I needed to see to know she liked the way I made her feel.
Her lips opened and closed a few times, like she was searching for the words.
I loosened my grip on her throat and leaned in to whisper into her ear. Coaxing the information from her lips. "It would please me for you to obey. I think you would much prefer the way I treat you when I'm pleased. "
Finally, she broke.
Her body relaxed against mine, and her eyes slid closed.
The confession poured out of her, and I knew the words were true.
"It's my grandmother," she gasped. "She's all I have in this world."
"Were you telling me the truth last night that you've had no contact with your father?" I asked, thinking about the man in the photos that clearly made her uneasy.
She nodded. "He used to just show up when he needed something. Usually money. He would bring gifts—things he had stolen—and he would act like a provider. Like Grandma and I were living off his generosity. Then he would disappear as soon as his debts caught up to him. They always caught up to him."
Alina's voice trembled as she continued her confession.
"My grandmother was diagnosed with early-onset dementia.
I couldn't take care of her, so now she lives in a nursing home in Virginia.
I go to visit her as often as I can. At first it was fine, better even.
She had Medicaid and a pension to pay for her housing, and I was living just off campus.
I missed her, but she was doing so much better. "
"Then what happened?"
"One day, she told me about these men dressed in black who came to see her. They were asking questions about me and my father, how she paid for the nursing home, and where I spent my time."
Her eyes cast down as she swallowed. I gave her only a moment to gather herself. Just as I was about to say something to urge her on, she kept going.
"At first, I just dismissed it as paranoia, or maybe some delusion, or something from the TV she thought was real—just the dementia talking.
But then the staff confirmed it. They had asked the nurses about me too, and a few of them were scared of the men.
There were three of them, and at least one of them had a gun. "
"And the staff just let them in?"
"They claimed to be cousins. I don't think the nurse saw the gun until they were leaving. They asked strange questions about my father. How often he visited and things like that. I didn't think much of it until later that night…"
Her words trailed off again. I tilted her chin up for her to look at me. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine.
She was terrified of whatever had happened.
Something twisted in my chest at the sight.
"I came home to find my apartment trashed.
Before I could take out my phone to call the police and make a report about what happened, three men burst through my door.
They told me that my father had debts. If I didn't pay them off, there would be consequences—starting with my grandmother.
They wanted to take more than just money…
but I agreed to pay the debt if they didn't hurt my grandmother. "
A long, shuddering breath left her body, and I took my hand off her throat and instead cupped her cheek, wiping away the tears with my thumb.
"What aren't you saying?"
She swallowed. "I had a roommate at the time. She came home, and I think if she hadn't, things would have ended…very differently."
The implication hit me like a physical blow. I fought the urge to pull her into a protective hug and promise her everything would be okay. That wasn't who I was. I wasn't the man who held a woman close to comfort her.
But I would be the man who ended the lives of everyone who hurt her.
"I had no choice. I dropped out of college, started working as a cleaner and bartender under the table. The debt was so large, I was doing anything I could to earn as much cash as possible."
The more she talked, the more my anger rose, like a deadly heat snaking up my spine.
I let her go and took a step back.
She kept telling me about every time they demanded more, adding fees for collection, and interest on the interest. She paced the room, her nerves on edge. But all I could feel was the burn of something vicious and unfamiliar inside me.
Rage. I thought I had felt it before, but this was different.
This wasn't a hot, uncontrollable fire. This was cold, hard, and all-consuming.
This rage wasn't aimed at her, it was for her.
Fueled by the trauma she had endured at the hands of others.
This rage was aimed at them.
The contradiction should have bothered me more than it did.
And I couldn't explain why .
Why did I want to rip these men apart for doing things I had done a hundred times? Hell, I had done significantly worse and reveled in it. I had only just met this woman. I shouldn't give a fuck what some other family did to recoup their losses on a bad loan.
But I did.
I cared, because she was mine.
If anyone was the monster in her life, it was me.
And yet…
From the moment I saw her, from the moment she looked up at me with those big, defiant brown eyes, I'd known. I didn't understand it then, but I understood it now.
She needed protection.
And I wanted to be the one to give it to her. It should've meant protecting her from myself. Resisting the urge to go after her, to take her, strip her naked and chain her to my bed.
But that was not how the real world worked.
Without another word, I grabbed a notepad and a pen, slamming them onto the table. "Sit."
When she hesitated, I picked her up and then forced her into the chair.
"Write down everything."
"Why?"
"Because I said so. Now. I need details. Your father's name. The names of the men who threatened you. The names of the group your father owes money to. How you paid them. Your grandmother's full name. The name of her nursing home. Everything."
"No. I can't. "
She didn't want to do it. She was protecting them from me. They wouldn't get mercy from me, and they didn't deserve her protection.
Standing behind her, I wrapped my hand around her throat again, tilting her head back so she was looking up at me.
The way my large hand covered her delicate neck felt right.
It just fit, and I couldn't help wanting to feel it over and over.
Her soft skin, her life in my hands, the way her pulse fluttered against my fingers as her heart raced.
I wanted her to see the malice in my eyes, to know what I was going to do with that information.
"Do it. It wasn't a question, it was an order."
"And if I don't want to obey?"
My grip tightened.
"Then I'll fuck you into submission. I will take you hard and fast, bent over this goddamn table, and then you will do it, anyway."
She picked up the pen with a shaking hand and started writing.
When she finished, I grabbed the pages and skimmed over the details.
She didn't know a lot. Her father's name, her grandmother's name. She paid in cash. They would just show up demanding payment at least once, sometimes twice a month. She knew the first names of the men who came: Carlos, Tony, and Rick. No mention of who they worked for.
It wasn't enough information to hunt down the debt, but it was enough to start.
Satisfied, I fixed her a plate of food, avoiding the caviar and anything too decadent or strong. She needed her strength, so I loaded the plate with simple, hearty foods. Black bread, roasted meats, carrots and parsnips roasted in a honey glaze.
Then I poured her a vodka and set both the plate and the glass down in front of her.
Alina looked at the food and made a face.
"Eat. You're going to need your strength, and we both know you haven't had a good meal in a long time."
"I'm not hungry," she said, pushing the plate away.
"I wasn't asking." I pushed the plate back toward her and crossed my arms.
Her shoulders slumped and she took a single bite, struggling to chew and swallow.
Her face twisted like the decadent food tasted like sawdust in her mouth.
"It's not that bad." I rolled my eyes. Actually, the food at this hotel was excellent. My cousin had stolen the chef from a top restaurant in Moscow, providing papers and a home for him and his family.
Alina barely moved, barely breathed, as she stared at the notepad like it had betrayed her.
"What is wrong with you?" I snapped. "Is the best food in this country not up to your moldy apple and dollar store ramen taste?"
Her eyes turned to me, that familiar fire sparking in their depths.
"Excuse me for not being hungry after signing my grandmother's death warrant. Not all of us can see death so casually. Not all of us regularly put a gun to someone's head and pull the trigger, figuratively or literally."
Her words were heavy, but even with the emotion I could see the fire dimming and her eyelids drooping. She was exhausted.
That hit me harder than her thinking I would kill a defenseless old woman.
The old woman was valuable to me precisely because she was valuable to Alina. That connection would ensure her compliance. Alina cared about the woman deeply. It wasn't herself she had been protecting; it was her grandmother. This leverage would prove handy.
"I can't just eat like nothing is hap—" Her voice cut out mid-word as her jaw stretched in a deep yawn.
"Did you poison me?"
I sighed.
How was this girl even still alive? She had no idea how to take care of herself.
I lifted her into my arms, my grip firm and possessive as I held her to my chest.
"I didn't poison you, Alina." I tried to soothe her. "You're just exhausted. You've had a long day after what I can only assume were several long years."
I carried her into my bedroom.
I peeled off the sweater, leaving her naked and vulnerable before I tucked her into my bed, pulling the covers up over her then quietly leaving the room.
Resting my head against the door, I took several deep breaths.
Letting my heart break for her and then letting the cold, relentless steel slip back into place.
Alina was mine.
Mine to take, mine to fuck, and mine to protect .
She was being threatened, as was everything she loved, and it wasn't by me.
That wasn't going to work.
I wanted to be the only villain in her story.
I was the only man she should've been worried about.
With my rage taking over, I picked up my phone and dialed.
The line rang once before someone picked up.
"I have a job for you."