4. Adriana
4
ADRIANA
The man’s face tightens into a mask of rage the moment I tell him that my stepmother sold me to Dorian to settle a debt. His fury distorts the handsome lines into something terrifyingly hard.
Does he care ?
He reacts as if he’s angry on my behalf, and yet he doesn’t know me. This man is scarier than any of the others. It isn’t anything he’s done; it's his aura. It screams don’t fuck with me. Not in a false bravado way either, but in a deadly quiet one.
He’s also strikingly handsome, and even though I’m so damn scared, I can’t help but to glance at the perfection that is his face.
The man could be a model except for the fact there’s blood on his shirt, his knuckles are busted, and his eyes are beautiful but jaded as fuck. He’s also far too big. He looks like he’s made from huge slabs of muscle packed onto an already large frame. His eyes are his most striking feature though. Beautiful but so damn weary. Tired, I think. Soul-deep tired. I wonder what those eyes of his have seen. What he’s done to earn such jadedness.
I’m tired, too. Scared. Sad. I’m so unutterably, irredeemably sad.
How could my stepmother, Hana, do this to me? She sold me to the mob. It’s like a bad movie, but it’s my life. She sold me to clear her debts. And worse, it seems they wanted me because I am, in their disgusting words, untouched.
I’m deeply concerned for my little stepbrother, Cade. He’s vulnerable because Hana is not the best mother, and in recent weeks, she’s become markedly worse. She drinks more, forgets to feed him, and sometimes even forgets to pick him up from preschool. My father would hopefully stop anything too terrible from happening but he has to travel for work, and hell, look what happened to me. Hana clearly can’t be trusted.
I thought she was a neglectful, spoiled cow. It seems she’s way worse than that. She gave me to her mobster cousin in return for her debts being cleared, so what might she do to Cade?
My stomach churns, and I ache to know he’s okay. He’s so young, so damn innocent. I’ve only known him the few months I’ve been living with my father and Hana, but I love the little tyke. He’s the reason I was still living in that toxic house. After all, how could I leave him there? I also had no job, so I’ve been trying to find work that pays enough to give me the chance of somehow helping Cade. I stayed in their toxic den, and look where that got me. Here. The floating mobster hotel.
My body hurts as if I’m ninety and I’ve just run a marathon.
All I want is my bed and Netflix. I need to chill out before I keel over from a damn heart attack.
Here in this room, without the other men, and without the fighting and noise, all of which has faded, I try to calm myself.
“What size are you?” the boss asks. The question confuses me for a moment, until I realize why he’s asking.
“Between an eight and a ten,” I reply. Then I remember in the US the sizes are different. “A six here, I think. So six or eight. Six on the bottom and eight on the top.”
He shouts to one of the men, who answers with a yes, Dimitri . Dimitri orders him to call a woman named Janice and ask her to bring some clothes to the yacht in my size. Then he leaves me sitting on the bed. He walks into the bathroom to check it out. I look around the room, confused.
I’m not guarded. He’s in the bathroom, and the bedroom door is wide open.
Hope and a strange kind of terror surges in my veins. It’s the fear of action. The fear of having to make my mind up to do something.
Stay or try to run?
Where to? The cold, frightening ocean? That would be a death sentence. This damn boat is my prison. This man is the warden.
I'm stuck here with him until he decides to take me back to the mainland. Although, maybe I could sneak out on deck while he’s in the bathroom and get on one of the boats leaving now. He said they had to take the other women back to the mainland. Would all his men know who I am?
His words come back to me. It isn’t safe for me out there. Dorian's organization is large, from what little I can glean, and doesn't stop with the men on this boat. The man who took me from my stepmother’s home, Ari, isn’t even on this boat. That’s what one of the men said. Ari isn’t on the boat and hasn’t been, which means he’s out there. A threat.
It was Ari who kidnapped me. Ari, who is Dorian’s right-hand man, came to our house and put a rag over my face.
It was Ari I overheard talking to Hana about taking payment for her debts.
He’s still out there. Maybe he knows what has happened already and will be waiting for me. If I do leave, I can hardly go home, to Hana. She’d call them immediately.
How do I ensure Cade is safe? How do I even get myself basic supplies like a phone and my identification?
God, this is all so mind-blowing. The woman my father married is related to the mob, which is a huge head fuck to get over. It does mean that this enigmatic man, however, is correct. It really isn't safe for me out there.
The sound of water running in the bathroom has my hands clenching and unclenching. My skin is tingling the way it does right before a storm, adrenaline pumping in time to my heartbeat as it crescendos. This is my opportunity.
This. Is. It.
I should run. Take my chance.
Except, there's a little voice in my head that tells me I'm safer here. Safer with this stranger than I am out there. At least he seems in control of himself, unlike Dorian and his men.
This man and his group must be organized crime too, although something about them is very different. They certainly aren’t upstanding citizens. Not with the way they gutted my loathed guard, the memory of which flashes in front of my eyes, making me retch. I try to calm my panicked heart rate and slow my breathing.
I'm a big believer in intuition. I disliked my stepmother at first sight. Days before I was taken, I felt it deep in my soul that something was wrong. The warning signs were there, urgent red flags flying to alert me of danger, yet I didn’t listen to my gut when I should have. I swallow back the panic that’s clawing at my throat and slow my breathing, calming myself so I can focus on what my intuition is telling me now.
My mind flicks back to the last couple of nights at home. The conversations Hana had with Ari before I was taken all slot into place. She owed the mob money, so she sold me to cover the debt. I overheard her begging for more time, begging for leniency, and then she decided to trade me instead. But why would they take me?
All because I was a virgin?
That’s what the skinny guard said. I was worth it because I was a virgin .
All of which goes to say that Cade is now in a very messed up situation. I haven’t known him for long, but he’s wormed his way so effectively into my heart, there’s a tiny Cade shaped mark stamped on there now. I think of his golden-brown hair, warm honey eyes, and smile. He’s a cutie, and he’s a good kid, and he doesn’t deserve to be left all alone in this world with my alcoholic father and his morally empty mother as the only people watching out for him.
Would my stepmother sell him to the mob the way she sold me? He’s her own flesh and blood, but she’s a despicable human being, so I can’t begin to guess the depths she’d sink to.
I do some yoga breathing, slow and deep, and imagine a golden light filling me up. This man promised to help me. He seems to be helping the other women. Against believing in his promise, however, is one huge obstacle.
Desire.
He wants me. It was written all over his hungry face. The way he looked at me was both old and new.
Old because men have looked at me with lust since I was a damn teenager.
New because his desire felt different. Reverential almost. Biblical in its ravenous need.
His gaze ate me up and lit a path up my body that I can still feel. Flames licked at my skin everywhere his gaze touched. He looked at me as if he wanted to devour me and then do it all over again.
Along with that desire there was something else. There was a connection , and I'm not merely imagining it. There was a moment when he first looked at me where it felt as if he was breathing for me.
I sensed something protective in him. In his gaze, in his touch. So maybe he does want me, but there's also a side to him that I do believe would stop short of forcing me into anything.
He isn’t the only one who felt the attraction. The man crackles with power, energy, and a steely competence which radiates from him. He made me feel safe in his arms.
Heat fills me as I contemplate just how hot I found his gaze on me. It’s messed up as hell given my situation.
After seeing my father drown himself in alcohol when we lost mum, and then throw everything away to marry a woman who isn't fit to lick his boots, the steely control that Dimitri has shown in the very short time I have known him is incredibly appealing.
I glance at the door again, but I know I’m not going to move.
My muscles don’t even twitch. My body understood before my mind did that running isn’t the right option.
I'm going to stay.
Crap, I really am.
My gut is telling me to simply do nothing in this moment. Let it be, and let the cards fall where they may because if I run. I’ll assuredly make things worse for myself. And worse for Cade.
My biological mum was religious, and she would take me to church with her sometimes. I find myself praying now, which is something I haven’t done in a long time. I don’t pray for myself; I pray for God to look after Cade, and to keep him safe in that house where no child should be left alone. I pray that Dorian’s men don’t turn up there; I even pray for my father. He might be weak, but he’s not an entirely bad man. What if Ari and his men decide to take this out on Dad? They might kill him.
Would Dimitri help me save Cade and my father from their clutches?
The bathroom door opens wider, and Dimitri strides out. I lift my eyes and look up at him. He towers over me as he approaches the bed and stares down. He’s big. Broad. Tall. Muscles on an already powerful build.
He has a cloth in his hand, and he tucks one bent knuckle under my chin, raising my face up to inspect. Taking the cloth, he wipes it gently over my forehead, my cheeks, and then down over my chin.
His thumb strokes over my bottom lip, rubbing at something and the sensation of his skin against mine is like feeling the summer heat of the midday sun anoint you. It’s so hot it burns.
Then the cool cloth follows and wipes away his searing touch. It’s too late though. My body is alive with it. My core aches, and my nipples are hard. I bet they’re pressing against the flimsy bikini. I don’t look down to see.
Huge hands bracket my cheeks, and he holds me like that for a long moment. His touch is so soft, but his size and strength are such that I’m all too aware he could snap my neck. He’s dangerous, powerful, and yet, at this moment, tender.
There’s a long, almost eternal beat of time, where he keeps hold of my face before he drops his hands, letting me go.
He holds his palm out, brusque suddenly, and the spell breaks. “Come.”
It's an order, not a request.
Strangely, for someone who hates being bossed about, my body obliges immediately. I even slide my hand into his and let him lead me meekly from the bed into the bathroom. Maybe this is some sort of trauma response that I'm going through.
Can you get Stockholm Syndrome this quickly?
I don't think so, but I can't remember everything I read about it.
We enter the bathroom, and Dimitri turns to me. He indicates the running shower, which is set on rain mode. The big square head pounds down onto the tiles below, and the smaller round head is pushed to one side.
“There are towels ready for you. I checked, and they’re clean. There's a whole array of potions and lotions. I think this was a guest room, but they've decked it out well. Take a shower, wash your hair, and get yourself cleaned up. I'm hoping that I'll have some clothes for you within the hour. In the meantime, there’s a clean dressing gown on the back of the door. There's a small hair dryer over there.” He points vaguely in the direction of a vanity unit against the far wall. “There's everything you need. Even a toothbrush and toothpaste in a small drawer under the vanity.”
He heads to the door. Where is he going? Is he leaving the bedroom? Anyone could come in.
As if he's read my mind, he turns to me at the last moment. “There's going to be an armed man outside your bedroom door. He's not there to stop you from leaving. He's there to stop anybody we've not found yet from getting in.”
“But I’m not free to leave,” I state the obvious.
“No. We've already had this discussion. It's not safe for you out there. Your stepmother tried to sell you. No, scratch that—she did sell you. Ari is still on the loose, and he’s Dorian’s second in command. Why do you want to leave?”
“Well, let me see. I don't know,” I say with a hefty dose of British sarcasm loaded onto my words. “Maybe because of the fact that I'm being held on a yacht against my will, by a bunch of criminals. Maybe because I've seen one of your men gut another man in front of me.” The thought makes me shudder, and I have to suppress it immediately because I can't carry on with this calm exterior if I let my mind go there. “Maybe because I was taken by a man to be used in the most dreadful way, and how am I supposed to trust that you or your men aren't going to do the same?”
“I gave you my word.” He says that as if it means the whole discussion is closed. As if his word is everything. As if I should know as much.
I let out a short bark of laughter. “Oh, right. Your word . That's okay then. I can stop worrying, clearly.”
He takes two strides closer to me, and I automatically step back.
He reaches toward me and once again tucks that stray lock of hair that is always falling over my forehead back behind my ear. It's a gentle touch, but it's still more physical contact. He keeps on finding ways to do that, to touch me. As if he realizes that too and regrets it, he snatches his hand back and clears his throat.
“If you really, truly want to go back out there right now, I’ll let you.”
His words carry a heavy gravity that tells me he's not messing around. Shit, he's calling my bluff.
I stare at him, my heartbeat picking up again. He watches me intently, and the right side of his mouth twitches ever so slightly as if it's dying to tick up into a smile.
“Didn't think so,” he says.
The arrogant bastard.
His next words shock me.
“I'm not going to lie to you, Littleblue. I want you. I want you more than any woman I've seen in my entire life.”
My lips part slightly, and I suck in much needed air. My yoga breathing has gone to hell with this confession. I must be seriously unhinged because his words spark a fire again deep in my belly and lower body that culminates in that dull ache between my thighs. A delicious frisson runs up my spine.
“So yes,” he carries on, “I really hope that at some point I'll have you in my bed. When I do, it will be because you want to be there. I'm not going to force you into anything. Well, that's not quite true.”
My heart picks up even faster at those words.
“We will probably be having a party on the yacht in a couple of days, and I will have my arms around you, and you might even have to sit on my knee, if you can bear it. Other than that, there won't be any need for you to do anything you don't wish to. No work and nothing to do other than lounge around on this, frankly, not uncomfortable boat for a week or two.”
“What happens when that time is over? Do you just let me go even if it's not safe?” That’s my other worry. What happens when he has what he wants out of this, which is clearly some sort of dick swinging show that he took the yacht and the women from Dorian. When he has that, what happens to me?
“No. I won't just send you back out there, unless I know it's safe. I'm going to be doing some digging into your mother … sorry, stepmother. I want to find out who she is and how the hell she even knows Dorian?” He poses the question and watches me intently.
I glance up at him, and it's on the tip of my tongue to tell him they are related, and she is also related to Ari, but for some reason I don't; I keep that small nugget to myself. The information could be something that I can use in the future, perhaps, or maybe it could be dangerous for me to share right now.
“How did the men take you?”
I don’t want to talk about it. As soon as I think about the rag, I feel sick. The terror washes over me anew, and it also makes me scared that these men will kill me, if they think I’m somehow personally tied to Dorian. Part of his family.
“I can’t talk about it right now. I just can’t. I’ll be sick.”
His mouth hardens, but he gives a brief shrug of one shoulder. “Fine. But you’re going to have to at some point. I need all the information I can get if I’m going to figure out who is a threat to you going forward. At least tell me your name.”
“Adriana,” I whisper.
“Surname?”
I sigh. “Bandor”
I should tell him about the whole debacle, but I really can’t face it. I doubt it will take very long for this man to find out, anyway, but this way gives me a bit of time to get my head together and think clearly.
I wrap my arms around myself, needing the comfort of self-touch.
He registers the movement but backs away from me with a truncated shake of his head, as if he regrets leaving me here.
As if he wants to stay in the bathroom and watch me shower.
“Take your shower; I need to talk with my men. When your clothes arrive, I'll bring them to you.”
The door closes behind him, drowning me in a stark silence, and for the first time in days, I’m alone, yet not tied up or gagged.
The freedom of this moment is sublime, and an intense wave of gratitude toward the man who freed me fills me.
I just pray my tentative trust in him is not misplaced.