Chapter 6 - Addison
“The caged bird can be free. If I want it to be.” –Anonymous.
Two days.
Two long days.
Without my father, without Maria, and without Logan.
I could understand the silence of my father and Maria. Mr. Robert, my father’s assistant, must have gotten the memo about my sudden ‘vacation’ and decided to give my father the version that had been sold—to the public—at least that”s what my kidnapper said. But Logan? What was his excuse?
Not even a single word had come from him since he allegedly escaped. Which led me to the next thought: why did he abandon me? It didn’t make any sense. He knew the truth; there was no vacation. My destination had changed, from Chicago to New York, yes. To any other person, it would have sounded like I’d taken a trip, but Logan, he knew what had happened.
I was locked up in a strange house, with a strange man who made my blood run hot and cold at the same time. A man who took the breath from my lungs with a single touch and left trails of fire burning on my skin in its wake. And when I looked into his intense blue eyes, the conflict flashed through me like an angry bird in a cage trying to get out.
A man like Mark Varkov was many things; powerful, determined, terrifying. But above all, intriguing. He confused me. On the one hand, I was convinced that he was a despicable person with nothing but wickedness lurking in his heart, but on the other hand, he seemed normal, like a man who knew what he wanted. His actions were intentional and precise. Just like Logan—when he got me gifts, made late-night trips to my house to keep me company, and complimented even the minutest detail about me.
A while ago Maria asked me if I had a type, referring to men. That day, the first three words I could use to describe my type were: intelligent, intense, and handsome.
She laughed, and I found it funny too. But two of those things drew me to Logan—his intelligence and charm. For me, those were enough. And I fell in love. It was Logan for whom my heart beat, for whom I yearned. Until those piercing blue eyes appeared and scrambled with every rational thought.
Mark came along with an intensity I didn’t bargain for and a seductive charm that swept me off my feet—literally. He was almost unearthly, like a star from the constellations, or a god who had descended from Olympus. His voice sent unwelcome delicious shivers to my toes and his lips on my skin made all the hairs rise. He’d messed around with me and left a burning ache in my lower region after he had left the room. I shook my head and rubbed my arms.
This was wrong, thinking about him as if he were a dreamy lead from a fantasy novel. Nothing about Mark was fantasy. Disastrous, maybe. Violent ...
Even if, technically, he hadn’t hurt me.
But he hurt Logan. Struck him with a gun and made him bleed.
I should hate him. I should hate this silly game he was playing. It was only a game, after all. He’d said it himself; he was going to use me as bait to bring Logan out from hiding.
I have to get out of here.
I hugged myself and buried my face between my knees. Tears stung the back of my eyes and I wanted to bawl my eyes out. None of this made any sense; being captured and locked up for... for what exactly? What did I ever do?
Mark’s voice came back to me.
“I know you are innocent. You’re just a victim of that idiot”s mistakes; in the wrong place, at the wrong time. He’s to blame for everything. He was stupid enough to mess with me and the Bratva and put our family’s honor on the line.”
So, this wasn’t about me or anything my family did. I was paying a price for Logan’s sins—without having the slightest knowledge of what those sins were. And I so desperately wanted to find out. What did he do to the Varkovs to make Mark hate him so fiercely? Fiercely enough to want him dead? And the Bratva? The Russian mafia? What could Logan possibly have done to anger them?
I didn’t know Mark long enough—No. I didn’t know Mark at all. My awareness of the type of man he truly was had been limited to the dark sides he’d shown me. But something in those blue eyes revealed a part of him—that he had values—honor and loyalty.
He was a businessman. And like my father, a man like him didn’t waste time or indulge in wild goose chases. If he was after Logan and decided to go through the trouble of keeping me here to get him, then my fiancé might have done something seriously wrong.
And marriage, and divorce?
That sprung out from completely nowhere. Logan was married once before. Married? Thinking about it was like taking a sledgehammer to my chest walls. I could almost hear the pieces shattering like glass. If he had been married before, he would have told me, wouldn’t he?
My mind was a looping playlist of thoughts, and Maria’s brittle tone reechoed from the day at the café. “Five months doesn’t sound like a long time to me to get to know someone who bumps into you on the way out of the elevator.”
She was right; five months was not long enough to get to know someone, I now realized. But all that wasn”t enough to destroy the hope that he had a plan. As crazy as it was, I held on to the glimmer of hope that wherever he was, he had a return and rescue plan for me. He would not abandon me. There was no way he was going to.
He loved me.
Logan loved me.
And I loved him too.
But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? The display of affection, the grand romantic gesture from Logan, swooping in to save the day. This love we shared was a trap in itself, and it didn’t matter that my fiancé might have kept a few secrets from me, I didn’t want him venturing into any danger.
The first tear fell down my cheek and I wiped it away in frustration. I pushed my feet off the soft mattress, walked past a loveseat, and sauntered closer to the window. There was a group of six men posted outside. Two stood at the gates, two at the steps of the main entrance and the other two patrolled the center of the grounds, checking everything, including the cars lined up under a shade structure. I bet if I threw a pin out the window, they’d notice it, like motion detectors.
I sighed.
Who was I kidding? Thinking I could escape this place was a dream and nothing more. Mission impossible.
The mansion—no doubt beautiful, with healthy green trees and open blue sky in sight—was heavily guarded, with more men than I could ever fight. From the outside, the house looked like something out of a storybook, I was sure of it. But inside, it felt like a gilded cage where innocent souls like me were held captive.
Except ...
Last night, he came to check in on me. Dressed in a black shirt and pants, blending into the night. Just swaggered into the room like a proud king, looking suave and handsome as always. His unruly hair fell in disheveled waves, creating an effortlessly cool look and he had a languid smile on his face. A smile that was undoubtedly the sexiest one I had seen in a long time. In another universe, he could have been a male model who just stepped out of a magazine, but in this one, he was the most intimidating man with a commanding presence, which left me in awe.
He had leaned against the doorframe, with his arms folded and his legs crossed, and his words were still ringing in my ears:
“I want to share something with you,” he’d announced with twinkling eyes.
With a heartbeat, I sat upright in bed, “Is Logan back? He came back for me, didn’t he?”
The smile faded off his lips instantly and he edged closer to let me see just how disappointed he was. “No.”
“Oh.” I had fumbled with my fingers, afraid to look him in the eye. The aggression in those blue, penetrating beams was enough to make me fear for my life. “Then ... Then what is this about?”
“You.” He sat down on the edge, close to my feet. He eyed my toes, his expression guarded. “I took some time to think—which is not a big deal because I’m always thinking but—I came to a conclusion, about our living arrangement.”
My jaw dropped. I was stunned. “You call this a living arrangement?”
His eyes hardened.
“If you shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say, you’ll realize it”s so. My grudge is against the idiot, not you. That means you don’t have to be miserable unless you want to be. This house? It’s big enough for both of us. Ignore my men. You can do what you want; the rooms are yours to use, except my office. But there is one rule.”
He gave out the information so quickly that my head was spinning. What he offered was unexpected. I had never heard of a captor giving his captives such permission. I should have been grateful, but ...
“And what’s the rule?”
When his warm hands gripped my feet and stroked my heels, I shivered, but not with fear. Warmth flooded my body, and an undeniable need consumed me.
He licked his lower lip and stared at me. Heat crawled up my legs, traveled between my thighs, and settled in my aching center. “You can’t escape, hermosa. It may not look like it, but I’m not an advocate for violence. Only when it’s necessary. You can’t even think about escaping. If you dare and I find out, I”ll tie your feet and hang you upside down in the basement until your pretty head drowns in a pool of blood. Comprender.”
He let go of my feet and left the room, leaving fear to snuff out the flame that troubled my core.
One rule that could change everything if I dared break it. It could unleash the monster behind the composed professional facade, and I would never see Logan again, or my father, or Maria.
My stomach growled, hunger cues, reminding me I should eat something.
After a quick shower—which was more like a dip in the Arctic—I dried my hair with a towel and stood in front of the mirror. Then I exhaled. My reflection was enough to make me cringe. Part of my butt was peeking out of my booty shorts and Logan’s baggy sweatshirt now looked like a boring rag. I wasn’t sure why—it had only been two days—but it looked like I”d shed a few pounds.
If my father saw me, he’d scold me for not properly taking care of myself.
But before appearance came food. If I starved myself and died in the process, what good was that?
With bare feet, I slipped out of the room and went in search of the kitchen.
When Mark said the house was big enough for the two of us, he wasn’t exaggerating. The mansion had more space than I could have imagined. Even my father’s house wasn’t as big as this one.
As I headed downstairs, I tilted my head back and gaped at the high ceiling with fancy glass lights dangling from it. I walked through the foyer and started my quest to find the kitchen. Surprisingly, there were no maids or guards around, they were probably on their lunch break, which put me at ease.
The first floor felt like a thick maze, door after door and short side corridors, but eventually, I stumbled into the kitchen. It was very elegant and modern, with sleek, shiny white cabinets, artistic glass backsplashes, and a huge Carrara marble center island with six white leather bar stools, but most importantly, a large six-burner gas stove. It was a chef”s dream kitchen, if only I had such skills.
A gas cooktop.I hope I don’t burn the place down.
I glanced around and found a huge double-door fridge, next to a walk-in cold room for fruit and vegetables, and I was in heaven.
“Finally. Let’s whip up a storm, Addison.”