Torment

21

Only for a few hours, though.

I wake while it’s still dark, sensing that the sheets are missing from the bed. That’s when I become aware of the weight at the other end of the bed.

I fondle for my phone and tap the screen. Light illuminates Freya’s frame — the little heathen is curled into a ball at the other end of the bed.

And she’s pulled the entire fucking sheet around her body.

I only have myself to blame for this fucking mess. I never should’ve brought her to my bed. But I heard her scream in her sleep — her voice raw and full of pain, and when I walked past her room, she looked . . . devastated.

I don’t know why it pissed me off so much. Or why I didn’t just leave her there. She would’ve deserved it for plotting with her father behind my back.

Frowning down at her in the dark, I try wrenching the sheets back, but they’re wrapped around her like seaweed on fuckin’ sushi.

I grit my teeth. Brat.

As if she can hear my thoughts, Freya lets out a small, satisfied purr and rolls closer to my side, now on her stomach. I stiffen, my phone nearly falling out of my hands.

Then, as if that isn’t enough for her, her little human ball explodes, and her arm and leg are on top of me.

Every muscle in my body draws taut, blood surging through my veins.

The brat’s stretched out over me like a fucking spider.

Her arm is soft and cool on my torso, her leg inches away from my cock.

I try tearing away her ligaments, but they’re as stubborn as she is. If I were to tug any harder I might really fuck something up.

And strangely enough, the thought of her detached limbs isn’t as appealing as it should be.

I give up, growling as my skin grows hot.

She hasn’t tied her hair back. The reddish-brown strands of her hair fan around her face, falling off her shoulders and brushing against my chest.

I wonder how all that hair would feel wrapped around my hand. And then the image fills my mind — licking up the side of her throat while I fuck deep and hard into her from behind.

I clench my jaw, shutting down the idea as quick as it came.

I won’t go there.

As much as I enjoy watching her squirm when I fuck with her, I won’t take it further than meaningless teasing.

Business and pleasure are separate, and Freya Morozov is strictly business.

I like to think I practice restraint, but she’s really fucking testing me.

I’ve been through my fair share of women. But one arm and a leg and from this rash of a girl and —

Fuck.

I need a shower.

A cold one.

Torren’s missing, and I’m on his side of the bed. Even though he’s not here, the scent of his cologne is everywhere. Inked into my skin.

I’m not sure how to hate it.

I don’t know why he woke me up from my nightmare last night. Or why he brought me to his bed. Or how I fell asleep so easily with a man who keeps a gun under his pillow—a man who’s made it clear that he hates me enough to want me dead.

I need a distraction.

I shower, then change into a pair of light wash denim and a Led Zeppelin tee. Then I fire off a quick SOS to the group chat, telling Pippa and Sal to meet me at our favorite café in Manhattan.

Our meet-up is long overdue.

Giulia’s downstairs, preparing breakfast. She smiles when I walk over.

“Morning,” I chirp.

She beams at me. “Good morning, Miss Freya.”

I lift a brow at the heap of croissants at the center of the table. “You made extra croissants?”

“Yes,” Giulia says, “Mr Costa says you like.”

I frown. How does he know? Lifting my gaze to Giulia, I motion toward the empty seat across me. “Where is he?”

“Gym,” she says, like it’s obvious.

Oh? Is that what he’s been getting up early to do? Work out? I must have been missing it because I never wake up early enough.

Intrigued, I saunter toward the gym, and sure enough, he’s there. On the pull up bar, the thick muscles in his back rippling.

A shiver runs down my spine, heat swirling low in my belly. I can’t help but notice that his back is littered with faint white scars.

Torrren stiffens, his back still to me, sensing my presence.

I don’t need to tell him that I’m leaving, but I’d prefer it if he didn’t come after me like a caveman claiming I disappeared from the house.

“I’m going to see my friends,” I call out to him.

It’s more of a statement than me asking for permission.

I wait for his response, maybe even a refusal, but he says nothing.

There’s only a moment’s pause before he continues his workout.

He isn’t even breaking a sweat.

Rolling my eyes, I take his non-reply as an affirmative, walking and back to the kitchen.

“I’m heading out,” I call to Giulia.

“Okay,” she says, “Good bye, Miss Freya.”

My chest softens a little. If I ever leave this place, I’ll miss sweet Giulia.

This time, when I walk out the elevator and down to the foyer of the building, there’s an SUV waiting for me at the entrance of the building.

I get in, and the Costa guard, the same one who drove me home the other day, asks me for the address. I rattle off the café name, and it’s a strange feeling. Torren seriously did loosen the reigns.

Go where you want. Just come back.

“What’s your name?” I ask the driver. He’s middle-aged and dark haired, and he deserves some courtesy after driving me somewhere.

“Angelo.”

“Pretty,” I mumble to myself.

A flush creeps up his neck.

Angelo gets me to the café so smoothly you’d hardly believe he was driving on Manhattan roads.

“Will you wait out here?” I ask him once we reach.

He nods.

I lift a brow. “Parking’s expensive.”

“With all due respect—” Angelo shrugs. “Your fiancé is Torren Costa, Miss.”

Right. I nod sheepishly as I get out, shutting my door behind me.

The café is the same as it always was. By day, the shade of supermarket oranges, it has that shiny look, and soft jazz pours out of the open doors along with the aroma of freshly baked lasagne.

I’m surprised when I walk in to find Ben ordering an iced coffee at the register.

“Ben?”

His gaze floods with relief as it scans over me from head to toe, landing on my face. “Frey.”

His brown curls are the same as always, and he’s wearing his glasses today, the summer heat giving him a cherub-cheeked flush.

I frown. “How did you know I’d be here?”

He inclines his head toward the corner. “I told Sal and Pippa to let me know if they heard from you.”

I glance at my friends in the corner of the café. Pippa passes me a guilty smile while Sal just shrugs.

“What’s going on?” Ben asks, “Last time I saw you was at the rink, and next thing I know you?re all over social media. Engaged. Are you okay?”

I shift on my feet. “Yeah, I’m okay. Although I’m not entirely sure what the hell’s going on in my life at the moment.”

He grimaces. “Torren Costa, huh?”

I shrug. “Torren Costa.”

“How’d that even happen?”

My lips set in a grim line. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

“You’re not staying with him forever, right?” Ben asks, his tone hopeful. “It’s just a PR thing?”

Oh, Benjamin. Always so painfully unaware. I wish my life could’ve been on the same normality scale as his.

“Yeah,” I hum, “Of course.”

He takes a sip of his iced coffee. “When are you coming to the rink?”

“Soon,” I say, “I miss it.”

“I . . .” he stutters, “I miss you.”

As soon as he says it, a furious blush colors his cheeks. He lifts his coffee cup to his mouth, downing half of it in one giant gulp. The look he gives me is pained. “Am I allowed to say that, now that you’re engaged and everything?”

“Of course you’re allowed to say it.” I punch his shoulder in a lame attempt to cut through the awkwardness. “I miss you, too, Benjamin.”

“Okay, well.” He ruffles my hair, forever lanky and taller than me. “I gotta get to work. Be safe, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“That’s a very hard ask,” I quip.

He flashes me a soft smile. “See you soon, Freya.”

When he’s out the door, I walk over to my friends, sliding into the empty seat at the small circular table.

Sal lifts a brow. “You know he’s head over heels in love with you, right?”

My face scrunches. “Who?”

“Ben, dummy,” Pippa says.

“Nice to see you, too, Pips.” I murmur dryly. Then I make a face at the both of them. “He’s like a brother to me.”

Sal rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well, I don’t think he got the memo.”

I’m about to respond when Sal punches me in the shoulder.

“Ow!” I hiss, rubbing the spot. “What was that for?”

Her dark brows cross. “You got engaged behind our backs, you little minx! That day at the rink — the ring was real, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I murmur, “It was real. Sorry.”

Pippa frowns. “Why did you lie?”

“I just didn’t want to get you guys into trouble.” It’s the truth, even if I’m omitting the part where they could’ve gotten killed for spreading rumors.

“Let’s see the ring!” Pippa exclaims.

I lift my hand. Their eyes go wide.

“It’s so pretty,” Pippa murmurs.

I scowl. “It’s a glorified manacle.”

They exchange a glance.

“Tell us everything,” Sal says, “from the beginning.”

I sigh, relaying the as much of the story as I can without disclosing both my family and Torren’s criminal partakings. Oh, and the part where I try to kill him, and he actually does kill someone.

When I get to the part where I touch myself in front of the security camera, Pippa’s mouth drops open in shock. Sal laughs. “You crazy bitch!”

I blush a little, but mostly I just wave it off.

“So what did he do?” Pippa asks.

I shrug. “Nothing.”

They exchange another look.

Sal’s brows furrow. “Wait . . . you haven’t slept with each other yet?”

I cringe. “Depends on your definition of sleep . . .”

“Girl, are you in third grade?” Sal’s sharp features contort. “You know damn well what we mean.”

I fold my hands together in front of me. “Then no. We have not slept together.”

Pippa’s plush mouth parts. “So you’re telling me you did all of that and he still hasn’t tried to get with you?”

I shake my head slowly. I figured that he chose me because he thought I was some sort of repellent, and since then, I’ve actively been trying to provoke him. Both sexually and non-sexually.

But now that I think of it, either he has excellent restraint or . . .

“Maybe he’s not as into you as you think he is,” Sal says.

My face screws up. I hate to admit it, but maybe she’s right. Torren has had many opportunities to express his sexual interest. I’d say no, but . . . why is he saying no?

Is he really so unaffected by me? I comb through our interactions in my head. So far, he’s gotten hard under me twice. That has to count for something, right?

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s definitely affected by me.”

Pippa tilts her head. “Then maybe you just need to give him a little push.”

I knit my brows. “What?”

“Seduce him,” she says, simply.

“Yeah,” Sal says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Then fuck him until he’s out of your system.”

Digust pulls at my lips. “He’s not in my system.”

Sal lifts a disbelieving brow.

“Okay,” I admit, my cheeks flaming, “Maybe he is. But only in the way poison is. In the sense that I want him out.”

I’m not staying with him, but I can’t deny I haven’t thought about what it would be like.

Distressed I turn to my friends. “What if I can’t?”

“What if you can’t what?” Sal asks.

“Get him out of my system?” I say, “What if I can’t get him out of my system?”

She shrugs. “Then keep fucking him. He is your husband, isn’t he?”

“He’s not my—” I start, “Wow, thanks a lot, guys. I knew I could count on you two.”

Sal laughs, sipping on her margarita. “Why would you ask us for advice, anyway? We’re all fucked up peas in a pod.”

“Yeah.” Pippa nods. “We need therapy.”

Sal takes a deep breath. “Look, Frey. You said there’s no way out of the marriage, right? You signed the contract.”

I nod tightly.

“The way I see it, you both want to fuck.” Sal lifts her hands. “So fuck. Get it over with. The quicker you do, the quicker the tension will go away. He’ll realize he wants more than just one girl and, bam, the marriage is open. He can fuck who he wants, and so can you.”

“God.” I slap my hands to my face. “That is so depressing.”

Sal shrugs. “You’re a rich wife of the Upper East, now, babe. Get used to it.”

We finish up our cocktails, and the girls update me on their lives which, for once, are less eventful than mine.

They make me promise that I invite them to the wedding.

If the wedding even happens.

It won’t.

It can’t.

My father’s plan will work, and I’ll say goodbye to my friends, my sister, and eveything else I’m familiar with. And as much as I want to tell them, they definitely can’t know this.

I’m deep in thought when I get back into the SUV. I tap the back of the driver’s seat in friendly greeting. “Hit the gas, Angelo.”

Angelo takes me to my favorite nail place, where I get my nails done in a red so dark it’s almost black, and a pedicure in bright white.

When I get out the car back at the apartment building, I’m suddenly glad I didn’t have to walk to the café like we used to in college. New York summer is something else. It’s so hot my skin feels like it’s melting off.

It?s times like this when I actually feel Russian— like I wasn’t built for this kind of heat but for the bitter cold snow-capped mountains instead.

When I get back to the apartment, it’s quiet. And somehow, I know Torren is gone.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I toe off my sneakers and head to my room.

It’s about time I used the pool.

I shed my clothes, my t-shirt sticking to my skin uncomfortably. And then I slip on bikini—black, of course. It’s tiny, and one where you have to tie the strings on each hip.

I already feel better.

Spraying on suncream, I take an appreciative look at my lightly tanned body in the mirror. Then I walk outside, grabbing a paid of shades and the sleazy magazine Pippa shoved in my hands before she could leave.

The penthouse looks over the city, and most of it is in shade. The pool has the illusion of cascading over the edge of the building. It glitters, bright blue in the sun.

I dive clean in, sighing in relief as the cool water washes over me. A small smile curves my lips.

I’m in the middle of doing a few lazy laps when I notice a figure move inside the apartment.

Squinting, I find that it’s Luca. He’s on the phone. At that precise moment, he looks up, noticing me, and that half-friendly, half-suggestive smile tugs at his lips.

He ends his call, striding outside to come stop at the end of the pool.

“Hey, baby Morozov,” he muses, “Having fun?”

I shrug, the pool rippling around me. “A little.”

“Is Torren here?” Luca asks.

“No,” I say.

“You got any idea where he is?”

I shake my head. “You know more about his whereabouts than me.”

“Right.” Luca sends a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I need to tell him something, but he isn’t answering his phone.”

“Oh.” I wade over, gripping the edge of the pool as I stare up at Luca. “Is it something urgent?”

“Yeah. Actually…” Slight irritation touches Luca’s boyish features. “Uncle Sal was admitted to the hospital this morning.”

I frown. “Uncle Sal? As in Salvatore?”

Luca nods.

“Oh.” I pass him a look. “Am I supposed to feel bad?”

Luca huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I don’t like that fucker very much either.”

I tilt my head. “How come?”

Luca shrugs, an uncomfortable look taking over his face. “We all got our asses beat when we were younger. But Uncle Sal always took it a bit too far with T.”

My thoughts travel back to those faint white scars on Torren’s back. Wow. So on top of being a sexist asshole, Salvatore Costa is also abusive. Pick a damn struggle.

But still, I’d never stopped to think about what Torren must’ve endured with a father like that as a child. My parents weren’t sparky endorsements, but my father never lifted his hand on me. And even though my mother’s words were venom sometimes, she never physically hurt me.

Besides, verbal abuse doesn’t even count, right?

“Hey,” Luca says, probably sensing my silence. “I know you think my cuz is the worst. And he probably kinda is. But. . . he’s not always that way.”

I perk a brow. “An insufferable asshole, you mean?”

Luca chuckles. “Yeah. That.” He shrugs. “I mean, he’s human, too you know?”

I make a face. “Yeah. Sure. You’re human. Torren is . . . a sub species of human, maybe.”

Luca grins. “Okay, listen. He’ll probably cut my balls off for telling you this, but . . . T was— still is — a huge fuckin’ nerd.”

My lips lift in disbelief. “No way.”

Luca grins. “Yes way. Do you know how Rhaegar got his name?”

I shake my head.

“It’s after a character from Game of Thrones. T’s into fantasy and dragons and shit. His favorite character in Shrek was the fuckin’ dragon.”

I laugh. No way.

“I kinda love you for telling me this.”

Luca’s brown eyes are soft. “Feeling’s mutual, baby M.”

He leans down and backhands water into my face, and I laugh, bringing back my arm to and splash a decent amount of water up at him.

A dark awareness prickles my neck. And just like that, my heart drops. It’s like my body knows. I haven’t even seen him yet, but I know.

Torren’s back.

And sure enough, when I glance up, through the window and into the apartment, Torren is there, at the glass. Staring at me with a gaze so molten I burn, despite being in the pool.

Luca notices my line of gaze and turns.

“Finally,” he murmurs, then turns back to me, winking. And then he walks off.

All the while, Torren’s gaze never leaves me. I clench my jaw, wading off to the other end of the pool and getting a few more laps in as the sun starts to set.

Luca’s talking to Torren now, probably relaying the news of his father’s hospitalization. When I chance a look, Torren’s dark stare isn’t on me anymore.

I sigh, bracing my hands on either end of me as I lift myself out the pool.

Water drips off me, and the full weight of that stare is on me again. I swallow, maintaining eye contact with him. Luca’s still talking to him, but he’s staring at me.

Something warm and heated cuts through my stomach, my throat drying. I break eye contact, grabbing my towel and drying myself before walking back into the apartment.

I walk past Torren and Luca toward the kitchen, Luca still speaking. Then, something happens between the two of them, and Luca grumbles, stalking out the apartment.

I reach for a glass, but for some reason, they’re all kept on the highest shelf in the kitchen drawer.

I’m so thirsty.

Growling under my breath, I go on my tiptoes. My fingers brush the cool surface of the glass, and I almost have it in my hold, when someone comes up behind me.

Torren.

His front is pressed into my back, warmth that I know isn’t just from the heat of the day radiating from his chest. A shiver runs down my spine, the pulse between my legs growing stronger.

He leans down to speak in my ear lowly. “Have you ever considered asking for help?”

My face sours. “I doubt you’d be so willing.”

“Try it,” he says, shifting so that his lips meet my ear in a phantom touch. “Say please.”

A deep frown mars my face. He wants me to beg? I scoff, pushing past him.

I would rather die of thirst.

Rabid amusement flickers in his eyes as he drags his gaze down my length. “You’re dripping all over my kitchen.”

I flush from his words. “It’ll dry.”

His gaze is sharp as ice. “Why were you laughing with my cousin?”

I lean back against the kitchen oasis. “He said something funny.”

Torren’s jaw is tight. “Don’t talk to him.”

I narrow my eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t like it.”

“What?” I quip. “Seeing me happy?”

“Seeing you laugh for another man,” he snaps.

My breath is drawn harshly from my lungs. For a moment, the bluntness of his words hang in the air, stunning me. And then selfishness of it begins to seep in.

“You want me,” I breathe, staring up at him, “and it kills you.”

His eyes blaze. “Speak for yourself.”

“Am I that transparent?” I roll my eyes, reciting a line from one of my favorite movies I’ve watched with Ana. “I want you. I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.”

For a second, he just glares at me. But then his fa?ade cracks as the corner of his mouth tips up.

“One day,” he says, “I’m going to stuff your smart mouth with my cock. You’ll beg for it, too.”

The pulse between my legs grows at his crass words. “God, you are so misogynistic.”

He gives me a lazy stare. “Big words for a little girl.”

My hand itches to reach forward and slap him, but I fight the urge. “Big enough for you to marry, apparently.”

Dark amusement glitters in his eyes, and he just brushes past my retort.

“I don’t hate all women,” he says, his eyes connecting directly with mine. “Just one in particular.”

I huff an annoyed breath, walking past him and back outside to pick up my magazine. I sit back on one of the tanning chairs, perching my shades on the bridge of my nose.

“You know,” I say, loud enough for him to hear, “I never really liked Henry Cavill, but I see the appeal now. Mmmm. Yum.”

I stare appreciatively at the cover of the tabloid.

“I read this article. . . ”

I lift my leg, only slightly, to admire my fresh white pedicure. His gaze is hot on my bare skin, burning a line from thigh to ankle.

“And it got me wondering . . .” I lift my gaze to meet his. “Are you gentle in bed?”

He doesn’t deign to reply, but the corner of his mouth tips up only slightly. I don’t know what to make of it.

“I’m a virgin,” I say, just to see his reaction.

His gaze is ice.

But he wrenches it away from me, jaw set in a tight line, and I sigh, going back to my magazine. A few minutes later, he actually speaks.

“None of those frat boys got their hands on you?”

“I’m said I’m a virgin, not a Saint.” I cover my face with the magazine to hide from his heavy gaze.

Suddenly, my magazine is snatched out of my grasp, and it goes flying into the pool. I watch in horror as Henry Cavill’s pretty face sinks.

“Hey!” I exclaim, lifting my shades to settling above my forehead. “That was mine!”

“Not nice, is it?” he says, leaning over me, his hands on either side of the suntan chair. “When other people touch your things?”

“I was never yours,” I say, baring my teeth as I stare up at him, “and I will never be yours. Wife or not.”

“You are mine,” he says, “and you will always be mine. Wife or not.”

I scoff. “Go to hell.”

Torren ignores me, narrowing his dark eyes. “What did you let them do to you?”

I flash him with a sardonic smile. “A lot.”

Anger seems to roll off him in waves. “Where?”

I swallow, placing a hand on my throat. His gaze follows.“Here—”

Then I veer it down to my cleavage. “And here.”

And then I trail my hand down the strip of my stomach to my hips, settling it just above the vee between my legs, where the throbbing pulse is growing unbearable. “And here.”

Torren growls, and the vibration of it thrums in my veins. “Who.”

It’s not even a question, just a monosyllabic demand.

The side of my mouth lifts. “Does it matter?”

He’s quiet for a while. The tension between us stretches, sweet and thick like caramel taffy, so heated that it threatens to kill me.

And just like that, he pulls off of me, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he walks away.

“I don’t fuck gentle,” he calls back. “If I fuck you, you’ll feel it the next day. And the day after that.”

I’m left outside, my lips parted, every inch of my body trembling with need.

Sal and Pippa were right. I need to get him out of my system.

Fast.

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