Chapter 29
CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE
DINARA
The smell of coffee is the first thing I register. Rich and dark, cutting through the fog in my head.
I almost let myself sink back into unconsciousness, trying to chase the remnants of a dream I can’t quite remember, until something cold closes around my ankle with a decisive click.
My eyes snap open and like that, harsh reality intrudes.
I’m on a bed, in a strange room with floor-to-ceiling windows and pale gray walls. Sunlight streams through the glass, making my head throb in protest.
And crouched at the foot of the bed, securing something to my ankle, is Kirill.
“What the hell is that?” The words scrape from my dry throat.
“Good morning … or should I say afternoon. You slept in.” His eyes flick up to me before returning to whatever he’s doing with the chain.
“Don’t get too excited. Nothing kinky. Yet.
You were impressive last night with your breaking and entering …
not to mention your knife skills. So I’m not taking any chances today. ”
I blink. Trying to understand what’s happening.
“You’re chaining me to a bed?”
“Better than the chair, don’t you think?
” He finishes with the lock and stands, rolling his shoulders like he’s working out a kink.
“I’m securing one leg, but the chain is long enough that you can reach the bathroom and the meals my housekeeper will bring.
You’ll be free to move around the room. Just don’t get any ideas about breaking out of here. ”
I want to tell him to fuck off, want to say something that will knock the arrogant expression off his face, but the words die in my throat when I look at him.
His crisp white dress shirt is unbuttoned, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the intricate tattoos that wind up his ribs, across his shoulders, down his arms. Black dress pants hang low on his hips, the belt not yet fastened.
His dark hair is damp from a recent shower, a few strands falling across his forehead.
He’s barefoot, like he dressed hastily and couldn’t be bothered with the rest.
He looks like a god carved from marble and sin, and I’m sure I look like roadkill.
“You’re staring.” His mouth curves into a smirk that makes heat crawl up my neck.
I tear my gaze away, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. My brain struggles to put the pieces together and remember the night before.
Spider’s apartment materializes in flashes. Kirill showing up out of nowhere. I slit Spider’s throat seconds before Kirill breaks down the door. He was my first kill, and while the reality of it sits heavily on my shoulders, it doesn’t make my stomach turn. He deserved it.
After that, everything is a blur. Kirill bringing me here, to his penthouse. Me tied to a chair while he interrogated me, but the details are slippery, like trying to hold a fish in my hands.
He gave me something. A drug.
Another flash of memory slams into me, and humiliation scorches through my chest. Begging Kirill to touch me. Being so wet and desperate I could barely think straight. And then, oh shit, him sitting across from me, pulling his cock out and stroking himself while I watched, needy and aching.
He crosses the room to the dresser, picking up a coffee mug and taking a slow sip while his eyes stay locked on me. I squirm, feeling vulnerable chained to a bed, wearing only a T-shirt I assume is his.
“Where are my clothes?”
“I needed to check for weapons,” he says matter-of-factly. “You were strapped with knives. I wasn’t taking chances.”
“So you stripped me.”
He turns back to face me, leaning against the dresser. “I won’t deny, I also liked the view.”
I reach for the water bottle on the nightstand beside me and drain half of it in one long gulp, buying myself time before I have to look him in the eyes again.
“Enjoy the view while you can,” I say after I swallow. “This is all you’ll ever get from me again.”
“That’s not what you were saying last night. You were begging for my cock. Telling me how wet you were. How much you needed me.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “The drugs made me delirious. Trust me, if I were in my right mind, that wouldn’t have happened.”
But even as I say it, I know the drugs lowered my inhibitions, but that’s not what made me desperate. That was all him. The way he touched me. The way he looked at me. The raw desire in his eyes when he stroked himself.
Not that I’ll ever admit it.
“How do you feel?”
I try to sit up and my entire body protests. My neck is stiff. My shoulders ache. My wrists are raw where the zip ties cut into them. Everything hurts, and my mouth tastes like I licked the inside of a garbage bin.
I shake my head, trying to clear it. “Like you care,” I snap. “But for the record, I feel like shit. What did you give me?”
“Sodium pentothal.” He pushes off the dresser and prowls closer to the bed, each step deliberate. “Also known as a truth serum.”
Oh shit.
Panic grips me. “What did I say?”
He smirks and it’s downright sinful. “Quite a bit. You were talkative and incredibly horny. Sorry I left you so needy.”
My cheeks burn but I force myself to stay focused. The embarrassment doesn’t matter right now. What matters is if I revealed my real identity and my connection to the Syndicate.
He crosses his arms, biceps flexing with the motion. “What do you remember?”
“Very little,” I admit, because there’s no point pretending otherwise. The damage is done. Whatever I said, I need to know so I can figure out how to control the fallout.
He studies me a beat, like he’s deciding how much to reveal.
Then he shrugs. “You told me about your mother. About men with cathedral dome tattoos taking her when you were six years old. About how you’ve been searching ever since these memories surfaced.
You told me you think my family was involved in her trafficking.
That you came to New York and got yourself a job at Velour to find out what happened to her. ”
Air whooshes from my lungs. That’s more than I wanted to reveal, but it could have been worse. Much worse.
“Anything else?” I manage to ask.
“You were annoyingly tight-lipped about your real identity.”
I try to hide the relief washing through me.
“It only made me more curious about you.”
“Everything else is irrelevant. You wanted to know why I was questioning Spider, what I’m doing in New York. Trying to figure out what happened to my mother is the God’s honest truth.”
He grins, stalking toward the bed until he’s right beside me. “Probably best if you leave God out of this. Excuse me for not trusting you, but there’s still a lot more you’re going to need to share, Evelina … though I doubt that’s your real name.”
I keep my mouth shut. Silence is safer than lies right now.
Another memory surfaces: holding a gun to Kirill’s throat. Him daring me to take the shot. If I did it, would I be free right now?
But even coated in blood, even knowing Kirill is a threat, I couldn’t kill him. And that scares me more than being chained to this bed.
“Eat something. We’ll talk some more after.”
He hands me an elaborate breakfast plate. Scrambled eggs with herbs, crispy bacon, buttered toast, and fresh berries.
My stomach growls. I haven’t eaten since … Jesus, before everything went sideways.
He settles into the chair by the window, coffee mug in hand, watching me like I’m a fascinating creature. The weight of his stare makes me hyperaware of how little I’m wearing, how the T-shirt rides up my thighs when I shift to reach for the fork.
I do my best to ignore him and take a huge bite of eggs, glaring at him as I chew.
The eggs are perfect. Fluffy and seasoned just right. I hate that even his breakfast is good.
“Are you enjoying the meal?” he asks, amusement in his voice.
I can’t exactly deny it while shoveling food into my mouth this quickly.
“Yes, compliments to your housekeeper.”
He chuckles. “Not the housekeeper, *solnyshko*. That’s all me.”
The image of Kirill whisking eggs for the woman he chained to his bed is so absurd I almost choke. The ruthless heir to the Baronov empire brought me breakfast in bed.
I eat methodically, forcing myself to take my time though I want to inhale everything on the plate. The food clears my head, the dizziness receding.
While I eat, my mind kicks into gear. He knows about my mother, that I’m here looking for answers. But he doesn’t seem to know about my connection to the Syndicate, or who I really am.
Small mercies. Because if he knew I worked for the Belov Syndicate, he’d assume I’m here on orders.
That I was sent to dig into Baronov business, and no amount of explaining that this is personal will convince him otherwise.
This is the kind of thing that starts wars between families.
And if he decides to reach out to Pavel, I’m double fucked because nobody back home knows the real reason I came to New York.
“What do you plan on doing with me?” I ask finally, setting the plate aside and meeting his eyes.
His expression turns thoughtful. “That depends entirely on you.”
The mattress dips as he sits on the edge, his hand coming up, fingers catching my chin and tilting my face toward his.
“I think there was truth in what you told me last night, but you didn’t admit everything. You’re still hiding who you really are. Who trained you? Who you’re working for.” His voice drops lower, almost intimate. “I want to know everything.”
I worry my bottom lip. “And if I refuse to talk?”
“You’ll talk eventually. I’ll make sure of it.
” He reaches out and runs his thumb along my bottom lip, tugging it down in a display of dominance.
“You’ve already told me about your mother.
Come clean about the rest and maybe I’ll help you learn what happened to her.
Spider couldn’t get you answers, but I can.
I have connections. Power. Access to people who were around during that time. ”
The air in the room feels too thin. Kirill’s help would change everything. It’s more than I dared hope for when I started this. But it’s too good to be true.
“Your family is what happened to her! Why would you offer to help me?”
His thumb drags across my cheekbone, the touch almost tender despite the steel in his eyes. “I don’t condone what my family was involved with, but unless you come clean, we’re at an impasse. So what will it be, solnyshko?”
His offer is tempting, but how can I trust him? It could be bullshit, a play to protect his family’s legacy.
But I am curious...
“Why were you asking me if I was the Ghost last night? Who is it you’re after?”
He scowls. “Don’t worry about that right now. Worry about yourself.”
“Oh, trust me, I am.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I know better than to trust a man who hunted me down last night, drugged me, and has me chained to a bed half-naked.”
Kirill shrugs as if none of this concerns him. He stands, the mattress shifting beneath him.
“I have things to do today,” he says simply. “I suggest you spend the day thinking about my offer and how limited your choices are. Have a good day, solnyshko,” he rasps, leaving the room.
The door closes behind him and the lock clicks into place.
Kirill’s offer should feel like progress, but all I feel is the weight of an impossible choice. Tell him everything and hope he keeps his word, or stay silent and rot in this room until he breaks me another way.
Even if he means what he says about helping me find answers, I can’t forget what he is. A Baronov. And in this world, blood and loyalty come before everything else, including the truth.