Chapter 11 – Luka
O nce Vivian was deposited in the Santa Fe, I took the time to remove my fingerprints from the cop car. When I returned, I found the handcuffed little fiend trying to signal for help. She had the flashers going, the radio blaring, and the windshield wipers clacking like mad.
“You really don’t care if anyone gets hurt because of your actions, and yet you accuse me of being the monster.” Patience worn thin, the words came out harsher than I would have liked.
Vivian glared at me.
Ignoring her, I plugged my mp3 into the aux cord, and the dulcet tones of heavy metal pulsed through the air. Pulling back onto the highway, I cruised. Unfortunately, my mood only soured as the mile markers flashed by.
“You’re going to keep my cuffed, aren’t you?” Vivian laughed incredulously.
My only response was to turn up the volume.
***
Four hours to the west, we reached Kazimir’s hiding spot. It was an adorable little bungalow, deep in the south and right on the coast. From here, it would be a straight shot north, but only once the coast was clear.
I hid the car in the trees, cut the engine, and stretched.
Vivian hadn’t made a peep, curled into the seat and used the door frame as a pillow.
Only now, as I swept an assessing gaze over her, did I realize it wasn’t defeat cooling her viper’s tongue. The pinch around her eyes was pronounced. The labored struggle of each breath rasped as air filled her lungs. She couldn’t be faking that…could she?
“Alright, darlin, we’re here,” I said with forced cheer.
Vivian lifted her head from the plastic partition of the car and winced. “I see that.”
But did she?
The glossy quality of her eyes made me wonder if they were able to focus. They weren’t the same vibrant mocha either. They seemed dull and exhausted.
The hot breeze gave me a salt kiss as I started hauling bags into the bungalow. The beach was around back, and there was part of me that wanted to run down to the waves and lose myself in the surf. But there was a lot of work to be done. Forcing myself to ignore the hushed crashing of the waves, I marched to the front door. The keypad on the door let me in, and I looked around. The interior was beachy.
Too cute. My lip curled in disgust. There was no appreciating this nautical theme with my dark mood.
“Quit being an ass. You’d like it if you gave yourself a chance,” my muse prodded me.
Ignoring the spectral presence’s mental chuckling, I ran through the list of work I had yet to do today.
“She just had to disrupt the plan,” I grumbled. “We could have been well into peach country by now.”
“You seriously can’t blame her for trying.”
“I can, and I do!” I snapped, checking to make sure the fridge was cold. It was, and it was empty.
“You would think less of her if she didn’t, and you know it, Cool Hand.”
Shaking my head to clear the noise, I marched back to the front door. I would spend the next several hours stripping the car. What could be burned would. The rest, I would sneak into a junkyard to destroy.
“Or maybe it would be easier to put it in a scrap yard, set a bomb inside it, and then walk away,” I mused, looking over the vehicle. I liked explosives. They were almost as fun as knives.
Vivian stepped from the passenger seat.
And toppled.
Suspicion laced my mind and battled back the instinct to run to her. A clever little thing, she was capable of making me feel things. I wouldn’t be twisted out of this.
Slowly, I strode purposefully to her. My knees cracked as I crouched before her. I pushed a strand of curls off her face.
“What’s up, buttercup?” I tipped my head to the side.
Vivian looked up at me, disgust written plainly on her face. “Go to hell, mister Russian asshole.”
“There’s the fire,” I cooed.
But as she struggled to her feet and marched into the house, I didn’t see the flicker of flame. There was no protest when I guided her to the bathroom and offered her a moment of privacy to use the facilities. I even unclipped the right side of her handcuff.
Nothing.
No sass, no heat.
When I reentered the bathroom, she stood with hands planted on the sink and head bent.
Such a good little actress.
Well, there was nothing to be done. I needed to go into town and didn’t trust her alone. Nor did I think for a second it was a good idea to bring her with.
“Sorry about this next part,” I mused, stepping into her.
Vivian’s eyes widened as I walked her into the tub. I clipped her to the silvery safety rail. Testing the bar to make sure the bolts were sturdy, I was satisfied when I put my full weight into it and nothing happened.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
“I’m headed into town for supplies. It’s a five-mile walk, so I’ll be back before dark. If you get thirsty, there’s water.” I pointed at the tap and chuckled. “We’ll see how you like being treated like this. Maybe it will improve your mood and make you more cooperative.”
“Why are you doing this?” she sighed.
It’s a job. “I would ask what you want for dinner, but you don’t deserve a say. So I’ll cook, and if you want to eat, you can deal.”
She turned away, done with the conversation.
I frowned. I’d been sure she would give me a feisty comeback. Oh well, she wasn’t going to trick me again. I set my shoulders and walked away. I had to keep us on track. While we had time to spare, I couldn’t afford any more huge delays like today.
The humidity smacked me in the face like a wet slap.
“She doesn’t look good, Cool Hand. Quit being a dick and see if you can do something for her.”
“She’s got you fooled.”
There was no comeback. My chest ached at the silence. No muse….
And no Vivian.
Scowling and ready to kill someone, I trekked into town, found the store, and spent the whole time avoiding thinking about the wild-haired beauty chained to the tub and the painful memories of the past.
***
The house was too quiet. The blaze of sunlight cut a path across the floor.
“Honey, I’m home!” I called out. I began to fill a pot with water, and once that was on the stove to boil, I began the rest of dinner.
Shallots in some olive oil began to caramelize. I would add the prosciutto in a moment, then let it all reduce with tomato puree. It was a simple dish, but hearty and full of flavor. Only once the water was salted and the sauce was simmering on low did I leave to check on my little captive.
Who was unusually quiet.
I pushed the knot of unease aside. She hadn’t escaped. Nothing could have happened to her.
“See, she’s asleep,” I murmured as I pushed open the door to the bathroom.
But my initial sweep of the room left out a piece of the puzzle from the equation. I frowned. She didn’t move. Padding over, I crouched before the tub.
“Hey, time to wake up, Vivian.” I shook her shoulder.
She groaned. Those eyelids stayed pressed tight. There seemed to be a shadow draping under them, but it was probably the light.
Those lips were soft, and without the constant scowl, they looked utterly kissable.
Hell, I would devour that scowl, betting it tasted spicy and strong, just like her. Chuckling softly, I undid the cuff attached to the safety bar. Her arm dropped, hand falling limp.
The musk of swamp clung to her, much like it did to me. We really needed to shower.
My pants tightened at the idea of this woman all wet and slick with soap. I’d seen her swim, so I knew what was under the clothing. A long breath escaped my lungs.
Pulling back, I studied her. There was nothing but fire coursing through me. No suffocating emotions or soul-sucking ache. Chin cupped in my hand, my thumb rubbed across my bottom lip. Damn, but she was beautiful. And the challenge in her eyes? Fucking intoxicating.
I allowed myself to entertain the idea of her. Sensual and depraved images of what I would do to her played out in my mind. The more I contemplated the fantasy, the more real it became.
“There’s no guilt,” I whispered as a blast of shock pulsed through me.
There was always guilt when I looked at a woman.
“What the hell is this?” I wondered, cocking my head and studying her.
The first woman to catch my eye and not trigger the agony attached to the past. But….
“It’s not like I can have her,” I mouthed to myself. No, it was imperative I finish this and bring her back to the Windy City. Dimitri was counting on me, and—
“Something’s wrong, Cool Hands!” The voice snapped in the back of my mind, breaking the trailing thoughts.
A frown pulled at my lips. “Vivian?”
“What?” The single word came out garbled.
Something was wrong.
Leaning over her, I pulled her into my arms. “Vivian?”
She groaned.
I carried her to the bedroom and placed her gently on the mattress. Her body curled into itself. The motion was pitiful. Sitting behind her, I massaged the muscles along her neck and shoulder joint.
The most miserable whimper pulled from her lips.
“Where does it hurt, princess?” I breathed.
“Head.”
I brushed my hand over her skull. There weren’t any noticeable injuries. Going back into the bathroom, I wet a cloth. With slow, gentle swipes, I brushed it over her face. The dampness plastered the curls to her head. Probing fingers felt along the crown and ridges of her skull. There were no bumps.
“Can you explain?” I murmured, coaxing her to tell me. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
One unfocused eye cracked. “I get migraines. When I had an aura flash, the prelude to one, I didn’t have my meds in the car. Not that they always work to—to—” She sighed. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”
“Vivian,” I protested in a whisper. My chest tightened. We had the meds. If only she’d said something! “I am worried.”
“Oh, right, it’s your job,” she mocked. It would have been cute if it had her usual spunk. But there was no fire in her words, only cold coals that fell flat. “I’m in no shape to run, and this isn’t me faking it.”
The pinch around her eyes was tight. The shaky breaths left her lungs in a struggle. Her whole body was curled protectively around itself.
Hating myself for leaving her chained in this state—for the hours it took me to walk to town, shop, and return—I shot to my feet. The solution was there, in her cosmetic bag. Pulling out two orange bottles, the long medical words meant nothing to me.
“Why don’t they just write ‘take this for this,’” I grumbled as I returned to the bedroom. Unable to resist touching her, I ran my palm over her cheek. “Vivian? Hey, babe, can you tell me which one of these you need?”
Her eyes cracked, and she sucked in a sharp breath. “You stole my meds?” she murmured.
“Yeah, just tell me which and—”
But she was shaking her head. Her throat worked hard as she swallowed thickly. “Those won’t work now that the migraine is here. The doctor at the free clinic wouldn’t prescribe me an ergot; only the triptans.”
Ergot! Where did I find one of those? I shot to my feet, body ready to move. If we were in Chicago, Dr. Sidorov would get me any drug I needed.
If we were in Chicago, Chiara would know what to do!
Spinning on my heel, I rushed to the other room. My fingers flew across the phone screen. The ringtone tinged several times, and then a cacophony of noise exploded on the other end of the line.
My step-mom was in the middle of making supper.
A deep longing swelled in my chest. The chaos of her kitchen, with her understudy Mila, was madness, but mealtime with my family was better than all the riches of the world. Being a sort of imp prone to mischief, I often hovered in the kitchen when it was time to prep for meals. It was like a warzone, with allied generals from different countries who tolerated each other in the name of conquering the meal.
Mila and her sister Ania, the housekeeper, only spoke a smattering of English. And Chiara spoke very basic Russian. They disagreed on style, but the final products were always incredible. We’d offered the sisters retirement or the jobs at our home when my Uncle Matvei’s house blew up. They weren’t the only staff and didn’t have the full burden of our bustling house on their shoulders. After two days, we thought we would have to find Mila another job for her sanity—and safety. But she preferred to stick it out with the new lady of my father’s house.
“Luka, ragazzo! What’s the matter? I’m very busy at the moment,” Chiara snapped, breaking the nostalgic spell.
A familiar ache panged in my heart to hear her voice. Homey and matronly, she’d brought life to our family when she married my father. I loved my stepmom and would die for her if necessary.
“Migraines. What do I do?” I asked, not realizing how tightly I gripped the side of the counter. I released it, flexing and fisting my hand.
“You? You don’t get migraines. What in the name of all that is holy did you do now, Luka Vlasov?” she demanded.
The background noises faded as Chiara no doubt moved out of the bustling kitchen.
“Not me. There’s a woman with me. She said the triptans won’t cut it, and she doesn’t have something called an ergot.” I paced the floor, fingers wrapped tight around the phone. “Please, madre, you have to help me. She’s bad off.”
“Well, of course, she is,” Chiara tutted. There was a long breath. “Okay, there’s not much to do until it passes. Try to keep her fluids up, even if she feels nauseous. Getting dehydrated can only extend the problem.”
“Okay, I can do that.” I nodded along.
“You have the essential oils in that medic sack you packed?” she asked.
“As if I traveled without them.”
“Good—good boy.” Chiara rattled off some more instructions.
Not that I had a rice bag to heat, but I could forge a cold compress with the freezer. A gentle massage on her temple and neck would be easy. We could try over-the-counter pain meds, but we had to be careful not to let her vomit. It could set off a chain reaction where she vomited for hours on end. Not all migraines had that nasty little tagalong friend, but enough did that we shouldn’t temp fate.
“And time,” Chiara finished. “That’s the only thing you can do.”
“It’s a start,” I breathed. The invisible bands around my chest loosened. “Grazie, madre. Grazie mille.”
“Niente.” There was a pause. “Maddona! Questa Russa é pazza!”
“I thought I was the crazy one.” I grinned.
“You are.” Those words came out flat. I could just picture the glare the impenetrable woman was giving me.
“Ciao, madre.”
“Ciao, caro.”
Yeah, I would die for that woman. No questions asked. If that was what was required, I would drop to my knees and let them remove my heart. I wouldn’t even flinch.
It wasn’t an entirely odd revelation. I felt that way about my brothers-in-arms. The feelings ran deep, crisscrossing and wrapping around my soul. And then there was my niece, baby Zoey. While I couldn’t look at her for the first weeks of her life because of the intense pain, I realized she’d been placed in my life to protect and cherish—even if she wasn’t my own.
But there had only been one woman I felt a deep, soul-binding way about, and that was a long time ago. Chiara came close, but her position put her on a throne to be adored as a loyal follower. No, there was only one half of my soul, and she was in the past.
I shook those thoughts away as I shut off the burners on the stove and gathered my supplies. It would be a while before I ate.
The bath water ran just hotter than warm. Sweet smelling lavender and eucalyptus created a gentle aroma. Returning to the bedroom, I gave Vivian a small shake.
Her face screwed up in pain.
“Hey, I want to help you, but I promised I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked,” I said softly. Why I was bothering now, I couldn’t say. I’d been handling her since the state trooper incident.
But it felt right this time to ask.
“Why?” she groaned. “I’m your prisoner. Why would you want to help me? So your captive doesn’t arrive damaged?”
The cackling sound she made was sick and broken, nothing like the carefree and joyous laughter that she expressed when we were tumbling through the sky together.
I pursed my lips. “I have no nefarious purposes. I can help you, and I will.”
I was going to help her whether she fucking liked it or not. But her cooperation would go a long way to making sure it wasn’t harder than necessary.
“Fine,” she sighed.
Lifting the filthy tee, I murmured, “May I take these off?”
If she really needed to, she could keep the undergarments on. But it would be far easier, and make her cleaner, to remove everything.
Her fingers twitched in a heartless wave. “Do what you will, mister villain.”
I carried her gently to the bathtub. Because of the limp, crumpled way she lay, it was easier to cut away the garments. Vivian didn’t protest as I made swift strokes. An extension of my hand, my blade never made contact with her skin, a now bare expanse of bronzed, impossibly soft skin. As gentlemanly as I could, I avoided looking. It didn’t work. I might be a saint, saved by grace alone, but I was also a sinner. Those tits were gorgeous.
Hell, her hourglass figure was the stuff of fantasies.
My blood burned with the need for a taste. If she wasn’t hurting, what wouldn’t I do? The ache in my groin was beyond painful.
She’s not for me. Vivian had a fiancé waiting for her back in Chicago.
“Such problems are disposable,” I mouthed to myself.
I wanted this woman. My teeth sank into my bottom lip, and I wrestled the wild thoughts surging through my mind.
Using my bar of rice water shampoo, I carefully washed the mass of curls. Using a cloth, I scrubbed the rest of her body, before lifting her, rinsing her, and enveloping her in a towel.
Once tucked in bed, I began to massage her head and neck. Vivian lay on her side, which allowed me access where I needed it. I swept my palm over the silky line of her throat, dragging my touch down to rub gentle circles in the trap muscles. The long, languid strokes became rhythmic. I lost myself to the motions. I didn’t dare change from the gentle press on the muscles to a more intense kneading. The muscles were tight and no doubt needed it, but I didn’t know what would make the migraine worse.
Time had no meaning. Each breath in was cleansing and steeped with serenity. Calm bubbled over my muscles. The exhales banished tension and stress. Breathing work was something I found years ago. If my cousins knew I practiced it, they would never let me hear the end of it. I didn’t care if it wasn’t macho. It was real, and it was how I survived the darkest period of my life.
When I worked my way down her shoulders, Vivian stirred. “Where are you going?”
I cracked a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you.”
She huffed. Her shoulder rose and fell.
Saints! She was beautiful. Even laid up there was some siren call that charmed me.
“Can you drink a little water for me?” The words came out slightly husky.
Her nose wrinkled in protest. “Fine.”
I held the glass to her lips. She only took a couple of swallows, but I didn’t push for more.
When she pulled back, those keen eyes studied me. There was an animal lurking inside her. I allowed it time and space to study me, refusing to shift under the weight of her scrutiny.
“Is that lavender?” Vivian sniffed.
“Mhmm,” I murmured, leaning down to tuck the blankets around her. “I keep basic oils in my med bag.”
“What kind of kidnapper has essential oils in his medical kit?” Vivian drawled. The small bite of snark made me smile.
“This guy.”
Those dark eyes rolled, but she winced.
“Go to sleep, baby, you’ll feel better in the morning,” I whispered, tucking her into the bed.
The double thump of my heart as my fingers trailed along her arm should have been a warning. But I never listened to such cautions anyway.
Her voice made me pause in the doorway. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Was I? I wasn’t aware. She was suffering. I couldn’t stand to see it. Did that make me nice? Cool, I’m capable of being nice! I smiled. “I’m not the bad guy.”
“Sure,” she drawled. “It’s probably because if you don’t deliver me in one piece, you don’t get paid, right.”
Those words were a knife to my gut. But it was better that she think the worst of me. I couldn’t be heroic in this venture. Dimitri needed me to deliver her. The reward her fiancé promised was make-it or break-it.
My voice hardened. “Something like that.”
“Who sent you?” she demanded.
I didn’t answer. The less she knew the better.
But I met her gaze. Something crackled and sparked. The soothing atmosphere ebbed, and a more charged energy flittered through the air. Those lips that I couldn’t stop staring at parted.
“Do you remember me asking if your services were for hire?” Vivian asked, the words breathy and clipped.
My fingers tightened around the doorknob. “I do.”
“Please, don’t do this. If you help me, I can pay ten times whatever you’re being paid.”
“It’s not about money.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Clever thing that she was, she figured it out. Her gaze simmered as it trapped mine. “You’re getting a favor from whoever hired you to do this.”
I only nodded, not hiding from her wrath.
With a huff, she flopped over. “There’s no price tag on favors.”
There wasn’t.
“Don’t touch me ever again,” she added, voice hard with hatred.
“Not unless you ask for it, darlin.” With that, I closed the door.