Chapter 7 - Ava
I should have been dead by now. Buried under the ground with bullet holes in my forehead and blood gushing out like a red stream, just as Anton’s blood gushed out of his throat and formed a pool that surrounded me. I traced another reflection of light on the white ceiling with my eyes and twirled a strand of my hair around my finger.
My mind wandered back to the moment I heard his footsteps in the room, precise and dominant. Before he entered the cage, his fine leather shoes soaking up the blood and leaving imprints, I had sensed his presence, and his familiar scent wafted through the small space.
I remembered the moment vividly. Sleeves rolled up. Black ink running up his arm and disappearing under his shirt. Broad shoulders. And intense dark eyes. At that moment, I expected the breath I’d taken to be the last. But he didn’t shoot me. Not there, and not on the way to his grand ultra-modern mansion.
I had been waiting for him to snap out of the eerie silent treatment and strangle me while I shivered like a leaf in the warm jacket he had practically snatched from Fedor.
His action was unexpected and surprising, to say the least. My spine stiffened as his fingers brushed lightly across my bare shoulders and an electric jolt spread a tingling sensation across my skin.
When we arrived at his house, I momentarily forgot my status as his prisoner.
I could hardly believe my surroundings. I would have expected a man of his caliber, who is in the mafia business, to prefer a house with vintage furniture, smoky cellars, climbing plants, and everything from the eighteenth century. But Viktor’s taste was impressive. He evolved with the times and technology, and he furnished his house as a normal person would. Only we both knew he was anything but normal.
And then he led me into a room. A real room. It had a bed that was softer than mine in my father’s house and smelled of lemon and lavender. There was also a bathroom. A bathroom! I had spent an hour washing the blood from my skin and hair, secretly hoping it wasn’t some crazy ritual that had to be performed before he snuffed out my life.
Another moment of waiting came shortly afterward.
I was dreading the barging in of men in black suits to take me to a dark room where I was supposed to be, but no one had come. They left me alone with my thoughts and served me borscht and pelmeni for dinner—at least thats what the quiet maid mumbled when I asked her to name the food on the tray. Immediately afterward, the brunette with the scattered freckles scurried out of the room as if she couldn’t stand to be in my presence for a second longer.
Staring at the ceiling became boring. I snuggled into the fluffy comforter and closed my eyes. All I saw were lifeless blue eyes and his throat with wide cuts from which thick red blood flowed. Blood, everywhere. On my torn clothes, in my hair... and the metallic taste in my mouth just wouldnt go away.
Again, the realization that I had murdered a man hit me with full force and my eyes watered. What would my father think when—or if—he found out? What would Declan say? The thought of my father and my part-time bodyguard triggered more tears and my head throbbed. I didn’t want to cry. As for my father, I liked to think hed be proud of me for finally using that knife, but that wasn’t enough to get rid of the guilt.
I wondered why Viktor hadn’t said a word about my actions and instead treated me like a princess who deserved a reward. Did he not care that I was a murderer? A sigh escaped my lips and a heavy feeling spread through my chest. Deep down, I wanted to pretend that everything was normal and that we could continue with the captor-captive script, but that was ... impossible.
Leaving me alive meant I had a fighting chance; a chance to redeem myself somehow.
Maybe he should have killed me when he had the opportunity.
There was no going back after what had happened. What I did changed everything. I could no longer pretend to be the same person I was before.
The door creaked open, and I didn’t need to open my eyes. It was him—my worst nightmare. His strong musky scent displaced the lemon-lavender scent in the room, and I wasn’t sure why, but I found his more soothing. The door clicked shut, but he didn’t make a move forward. I could feel his hot eyes on me, searing through the thin fabric of the flimsy oversized T-shirt I was wearing and burning my skin.
An hour earlier, the maid handed it to me with the underwear after she dropped the tray on the nightstand and said, “The boss vants you to have this,” with her thick Russian accent.
The room might be a little less than seventy degrees, but I was sweating for reasons I could not fathom. Shaking my head, I opened my eyes, pushed my legs off the bed, and looked at him. It was pointless to ignore him and pretend his aura wasn’t suffocating me in the room. But the second my eyes met his, I wished I had kept up the pretense and forced myself to fall asleep.
For a split second, I almost forgot how to breathe. Almost. He looked like a wet dream; like a fitness model who had just stepped out of GQ magazine and had just the right amount of everything. Before I regained control, I let my eyes wander over his physique: from the tight-fitting black T-shirt that clung to his hard abs and biceps like a second skin, to the mesmerizing art of the black ink on his arm that stretched to his neck. He had a raw masculinity and feral appeal to him that awakened desires in me that I didnt even know I had.
Embers blazed in his dark eyes—intense heat—and the shimmering drops of water on his dark, unkempt waves made him look sexy as hell. He must have just stepped out of the shower. He leaned back against the door, crossed his arms, and studied me with a slight smirk.
The words dried up in my throat.
Watching this man, my world colliding with his, must have been a sick joke of the universe—or maybe God, we hardly knew each other. Viktor Voronin-Varkov was the best symbol for the word “irony” He was the type of man the girls in my high school fantasized about. He should have been the perfect gentleman. Should have been ...
But then this man was scarred and had darkness in his heart. His handsome face was nothing more than a mask that hid the savage villain underneath.
“Did you like your dinner?” The smooth, rich timbre of his voice brought me back to the reality where we played captor-captive in a beautiful bedroom. I blinked and frowned. Why did he act like he cared?
“Yes, I did.” I fidgeted with my fingers, stretching the hem of the large T-shirt further down my thighs to try and shield every shred of dignity I had left—that Anton almost shattered. A lump formed in my throat, and I lowered my eyes. I could no longer withstand his gaze; I felt naked enough, he had never seen me in so little clothing.
“What?” I heard a tiny sliver of amusement in his voice when he said, “No ‘thank you’ for the generous host? It could have been yucky porridge.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Then I stepped closer to him to see his face as I asked him the question that stabbed a thousand needles into my chest. He stared at me with half-hooded eyes, and his five o’clock shadow accentuated his luscious lips. Why did I take note of that?
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you doing all of this? I motioned to the bedroom.
He pushed himself away from the door and my heart raced when I realized how close we were. His chest was almost touching mine and we shared a steamy eye contact … or so I thought.
“You mean why am I giving you a place to sleep that is not a cage?” I heard the mockery in his voice. But I was in no mood for games. I needed an answer, and I needed the truth.
“If we are stating the obvious, yes. Why am I here? Why haven’t you killed me? You saw what I did. I—” Heart pounding harshly against my ribcage, my breath faltered. “I killed one of your men, a member of your brotherhood. I’m not stupid; I know how these things work. There are consequences attached to actions like that and, so far, I am aware of, none of those consequences include lovely bedrooms, dinner, and a bathroom.”
A little voice in my head shouted at me to back off, but I was mesmerized by one of the symbols inked on his neck. It was in the shape of a bird with flames and tiny spears around it. It was unusual and, I almost dared to say, beautiful. I wanted to know what it meant.
“Eyes up here, milaya.” The corner of his lips was drawn upwards, revealing that he knew what I saw. “I know what happened. I know that he tried to take advantage of you...” The muscles in his jaw ticked and there was something deeper in those midnight orbs. “He wanted a good fuck before killing you. Fucking classic revenge move, as old as time.”
I was acutely aware of how close we were and didn’t know how much longer I could withstand him. His warm breath spread like fire over my skin.
“You did the right thing...”
Huh?
“I’m impressed. You fought back, you protected your honor.”
What did he mean by being impressed? I killed someone and ran a knife through his throat. Why was he not punishing me for that? How were my actions justified?
I swallowed. “I... I don’t understand.”
His hands reached for mine and he held my wrists gently against his chest. His expression hardened and he said something I hadnt expected. Something that shattered my conclusion that hed rather take bullets than talk over a cup of coffee.
“We were so fucking poor—my mother, my sister, and I. We lived in a shack, like fucking rats feeding from hand to mouth. It was hard, it was cold, and girls my sister’s age already had careers on the streets. My sister, though... she was different. Always carrying her head and shoulders up like she was some fucking saint.” The smallest smile formed on his lips. “I thought she was too— the most beautiful angel I knew. But that changed after two bastards took that pride away from her...”
Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart sank into my stomach. I recalled the memory of Anton and my skin crawled.
“That night, she came back home a bloodied mess, barely able to walk or speak. But her tears told me all I needed to know. I hunted them down and made sure I didn’t stop until I found them. The two fucking maggots got what they deserved.”
I knew he had tried to soften the account of the horrible situation and not make it as gruesome as it must have been, but even then, I didn’t want to know what he had done to the attackers. Nevertheless, he told me, tightening his grip on my wrists unconsciously and without remorse or emotion in his voice.
“Rammed two broken glasses into their eyes after I cut off their thin dicks. And I was sixteen. And that was my ticket to the Bratva. The Pahkan questioned the teenager who dared to kill these men, and he decided that he liked fearlessness.”
He let out a deep and long sigh, my forehead fell against his sternum, and I burst into tears, overwhelmed by everything: the kidnapping, Viktor’s terrible past, what had happened to his sister, and the knowledge that I had blood on my hands.
“I want to forget, Viktor...” I cried. “I want to forget it all.”
He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me to him. The weight of his strong biceps and the warmth of his body enveloped me like a protective blanket. I knew I felt safe from the moment I relaxed into his embrace, and I longed for it to stay that way. I longed for him.
His thumb gently stroked the small cut on my bottom lip, and I shuddered as he brought his mouth closer to mine. “I can take it all away if you let me.”
“How?” I sniffled. The whooshing sound of my pounding heart filled my ears.
Viktor grinned dangerously at me and breathed in my ear. “Ill make you feel good. You know I want you, my little dove.”
His cherry breath and masculine scent scrambled my senses, I was at this mans mercy. A man who was far too attractive and charming yet could be so brutal.
“Please,” I whispered, my fingers curled into his T-shirt. “Make me forget.”
The heat in his eyes and his desire for me only fueled my need for him.
“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He growled and brushed his lips across my neck and to my mouth.
I whimpered when he claimed my mouth, parting my lips for him to take more.
In twenty-two years, I have only kissed two guys. One was a jerk I had to kiss at a shitty party in high school in a truth-or-dare game, and the other was an accident. We greeted each other with air kisses on the cheeks and touched lips. His name was Liam, a friends cousin, and honestly, it wasn’t even a kiss.
But Viktor ...
My eyes fluttered closed and I leaned into the kiss. There was something fierce and possessive about his touch as he slid his hand through my hair and deepened the kiss. The way his tongue gently swiped mine and pushed in deeper made me weak at the knees. He knew exactly what he was doing, and I craved more. It left a strange ache in my chest, but it didn’t matter that he was no saint. A man like him was expected to have an army of women at his beck and call. What mattered was this moment. I wanted him to make me forget.
He nipped, sucked, and kissed me so deeply that I felt sinful, even selfish. His mouth was hot, needy, possessive, and maybe I should have been terrified, but I wasn’t. It was all too thrilling.
Pulling back to catch his breath, he let out a deep, raspy chuckle at my dissatisfied whine. His large hands cupped my butt cheeks and lifted me effortlessly off the floor. I straddled his waist, my hands wrapped around his neck and my fingers clawed into his hair.
Warm moisture gathered between my thighs, and it didn’t help when the strain of his erection pressed my center through his jeans. Shamelessly, I rubbed myself against him, kissing his neck over his soft stubble and sucking on the skin under his ear.
“Fuck, Ava, youre driving me crazy.” The words came out in a low growl, his gaze dark and feral.
A deep moan echoed in my throat, and I allowed lust to consume me. Lust for this man who held me and kissed me as if I were his most precious property. He squeezed the curves of my ass and pushed us to the bed, dropping me like a fragile bride. I was overwhelmed, I didn’t think a man like him would want a girl like me, and I couldn’t get a coherent word out.
My gaze traveled over his perfect body, I couldn’t take my eyes off his crotch, as he pulled his jeans and briefs down his firm thighs. He arched an eyebrow and grinned sheepishly. My breath caught and my body was on fire, as his cock sprung free of his clothes.
“Eyes on me, little dove.”
I blushed and nodded, ashamed that I had been caught staring at him. He nestled between my legs and pulled off the cotton underwear with a tug of his fingers.
The blood rushed like a turbulent wave in my ears as his eyes hungrily feasted on the glistening between my legs. He mumbled something in Russian and ran his finger through my wet folds. I bit my lips and stifled a moan. “English,” I hissed.
But he did not repeat himself. The silence between us was almost deafening as his massive body leaned over me, his fingers teasing up the inside of my thigh to my warm center. I didn’t know what to do, so I pulled his head down and kissed him; and to my surprise, he responded without holding anything back. His weight pressed me deeper into the mattress in the most comforting way. Heat and desire blossomed under my skin.
He broke the kiss, pulled back, and studied my face as his thick finger pushed inside me. My eyes rolled to the back of my head. God ...
“You’re a quiet one.” He grunted.
My lips parted in a silent scream as he thrust his finger into me again, adding a second and making me feel in a way I had never felt before. He strummed his thumb over my clit, wetness pooled, and I could hardly take it anymore.
“I didn’t …I haven’t”.
I dug my nails into his arms, pleasure shot up my spine, as he kept massaging my insides.
His gaze fell on the point where his finger and my sex met. “Youve never done this before, have you?” He looked at me again, I only shook my head.
And then he suddenly pulled out his fingers, leaving me breathless and already missing his touch. He pressed his hard, thick shaft against my entrance and rumbled into my neck. “I’ll be gentle.”
I wasn’t sure which waves I was riding: The incredible softness in his voice or the feeling of him thrusting deep inside me, thrusting with a tantalizing speed and gentleness, as he had promised. I wanted his fullness buried inside me and lifted my hips and matched his rhythm.
Our breaths mingled, our skin burned, and I wanted it all. We didn’t even bother with the rest of our clothes, and I felt a strange satisfaction just being with him like this. Slow kisses became rough, and soon after sloppy. I clutched his shirt with one hand, the other still digging into his arm, as I felt the tide coming in. I was about to climax and judging by the look on his face, he was too.
My body quivered every time his thick cock dragged against my soaking wet walls, thrusting harder and harder.
“Fuuuck.” He groaned long and deep.
I tensed, clutched his cock, and release swept over me while fireworks exploded behind my eyes. A short time later, he collapsed on top of me. We were both breathing as if we had run a marathon, and I could hear the soft beating of his heart against my chest. He closed his eyes, and it was my turn to study him.
I heard myself ask, “Why do you taste like cherry?”
“I like cake,” was all he said with a soft growl.
His fingers twirled strands of my hair as I rested my head on his shoulders. The answer to the cake made no sense, but neither did any of this. Not that we lay there half-naked and panting after the most indescribable and only sex experience I’d ever had, nor that I saw his lips twist into a crooked smile.
“You have a lot to learn, Moy malen’kiy golub’ [my little dove].”He got off the bed, grabbing his jeans from the floor when he said, “And I’m going to teach you. Next time, I promise, I’ll make you scream my fucking name.”
I felt the heat creeping into my cheeks and dropped back onto the bed after the door had closed behind him. My emotions were a mess and I wondered how I had come to have sex with my captor. As for my awkward silence and insecurity, he was right; I needed some lessons. But he was wrong about one thing: he didn’t let me forget for long.
As I stared at the ceiling, I saw Anton’s lifeless eyes looking back at me.