Chapter 7 #2
I blink, caught off guard by his sudden proximity. Despite everything, I can’t ignore how good he smells: warm and spicy and masculine. His face, now inches from mine, highlights his sharp jawline and heavier stubble. His eyes pierce straight through me.
“You’re wasting your time. I’m not going to break.” It’s getting harder to fight him, though. I’m in pain, I’m famished, and I’m so damn tired and thirsty.
His eyes flash with chilling amusement, a challenge dancing in their depths.
“We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that makes me shiver.
I turn away from him and wobble. I fall to my knees.
The air in front of me seems to shimmer.
I’m dimly aware of him cursing behind me before he bends to me.
I grit my teeth, ready to fight him if he’s going to hurt me again, but instead… he doesn’t.
He lifts me. The world grows a bit hazy and unfocused. I blink my eyes, half expecting I’ve fallen into a dream, but it’s definitely not that.
Maybe he wants me to get stronger again so he can question me more. Fair enough. If his plan involves food and some water and sleep, this will be perfect.
I didn’t get far from the house. I tell myself that if I were well, I could’ve nailed this. I would’ve slipped through his fingers like fine sand. I’m compromised. That’s the only reason he caught me.
But even as we walk, my mind is churning with possibilities and a glimmer of hope surfaces. This doesn’t have to be a simple, predictable game of cat and mouse… does it?
In the dim light of early morning, a light breeze kisses my cheek. I chance a glance at Lev to find his face stoically set, determined. He’s a man on a mission, but he doesn’t seem angry or resentful as I’d expect him to.
I’ve done my research with these guys, though.
I know what they’re like. I know what their strengths are.
Their weaknesses. Lev Romanov is a strategist at heart.
He’s cunning and ruthless, and I can’t ever let myself forget that.
Lev is like a master chess player… always several moves ahead of his opponent.
I’d do well to remember that.
It smells faintly of burnt wood and damp moss as we make it up to his front porch.
This house is stunning, so different from what I’ve grown up with.
At home, I grew up in a large, colonial-style home with stucco walls and terracotta roof tiles, traditional where I’m from.
His home, though, is secluded from the city.
A large, imposing structure with a fortress-like appearance shows his need for security and control.
It’s modern and minimalist and somehow seems perfectly fitting for a man like him… at least what I know about him.
His arms are warm around me.
That doesn’t matter.
He’s so strong, he walks with me in his arms as if I’m a little waif. I’m small, yes, but still, there’s something undeniably attractive about being overpowered like this.
When we get to the door, it opens of its own accord. I’m a little confused as I try to see how he did that—before I note a guard at the door. Glaring at me.
I wonder if he’s friends with the loser I ratted out. Whatever.
“Look away,” Lev snarls, and the guard practically gives himself whiplash when he obeys.
He walks with me toward a room with a wide-open door, then lays me on a large, upholstered couch.
Like everything here, like him, the room is minimally furnished and practical, but everywhere I look I see hints at high-end security with a modern flair.
The walls are a stark, utilitarian gray, only a shade lighter than the couch and coordinating armchair nearby.
Discreet cameras blink at me from the corners of the ceiling, their lenses following every movement.
A reminder there’s no privacy here, and he trusts no one.
The floors are varnished hardwood, and in the far corner of the room sits a sleek, modern desk made of straight black lines with monitors and computers and all sorts of gadgets.
I’ll have to look more closely when I’m rested and fed.
He taps a watch on his wrist and barks out orders in Russian. I don’t know a lick of Russian, but a moment later when the door opens and the security guy comes in with a bottle of water and a plate of food, I can hazard a guess at what he was ordering.
“Drink,” he orders, thrusting bottle of water at me. I take it gratefully and must wince when I hold it without realizing it because he frowns. “What’s wrong with your hand?”
I look down at my palm. The splinter from earlier is tightly wedged beneath the flesh, the skin around it raw, red, and swollen.
“Maldita sea,” I curse under my breath. “I got a splinter in the damn loft.” I give him a smile. “I was so distracted by your enjoyably effective methods of torture that I forgot all about it.”
Frowning, he stands and lifts his phone again, barking out another order.
“Do you always talk to your staff like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like they personally offended you, and if they don’t do what you say, you’ll kill them?” I smile sweetly and take another gulp of water before eyeing the food on the tray—bread, butter, and a wedge of cheese. Typical prisoner food, but with flair.
“I don’t get offended. That’s childish and a waste of time. As far as doing what I say, they know better. Now eat.” His tone is gruff. “We’ll eat a proper breakfast after you rest, but you need to eat something now.”
“Fattening me up for the kill?” I ask sweetly before I slather butter on the bread and take a large bite. My mouth waters, and my belly churns. The past month before I came here, I put myself on a strict diet regimen so I could shred. I haven’t eaten bread in ages.
His expression remains stern, but there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes. “Just eat. You need your strength. We have a long day ahead of us.”
The effort of holding my head up is becoming too much, and though I’d never let him know it, even talking is exhausting to me now. I enjoy the simple food, even under his impassive, penetrating gaze.
He doesn’t talk or ask questions, and for that, I’m thankful. After I have food and water in my belly, I lie back on the couch. It’s warm in here, and I’m so damn tired. My back and ass ache from where he struck me, and this damn splinter—
“Give me your hand.” My eyes fly open. I didn’t even realize I’d closed them, and I have no recollection of him retrieving first aid supplies, but here we are.
I let my eyes close again and give him my hand. My eyes are so heavy. Did he drug me? I don’t even care at this point. I need rest, and tomorrow, I’ll make my next move.
His warm, rough hand holds mine. It hurts like fuck when he opens my palm, so I crack an eye open, but I don’t flinch. I’m not afraid of pain or discomfort. I’ve learned to cope with both. Instead, I eye him curiously as he pokes at my palm with metal tweezers.
The painfully reddened skin screams as he digs in deep, but I don’t move. I watch his concerted effort, the way his brows snap together.
“Don’t take this as me hitting on you, but you really are the most handsome of all your brothers. Do you know that, or are you one of those guys who has no idea he’s gorgeous?”
The Romanov men are delicious specimens of masculine perfection, and their one sister is absolutely stunning.
But this guy… there’s something about his brooding countenance, the warmth in his eyes, the fullness of his stern mouth and the coiled strength in his muscled body that checks off all my boxes.
I hiss in a breath when he finally grasps the splinter in the tweezers and yanks it out, but a second later, there’s almost instant relief. I let out my breath slowly.
“Looks are fleeting,” he says with a shrug. “We’ll all be worm food one day.” He dabs disinfectant on my palm before he slides a bandage on it.
I close my eyes and snicker. “Worm food. I like that.” It’s like a pragmatic way of living the whole YOLO thing. If you only live once, you might as well make the most of it.
I close my eyes, and my head falls back. I’m so damn tired. I’m just going to rest my eyes for a minute. He’s saying something to me, but his voice is distant. It sounds like I’m underwater, and he’s talking above me.
Something warm and soft falls over me. My subconscious starts putting pieces and parts together.
The Romanovs. I’m alive. My brother. The cartel. Power.
Visions of weddings and rings and crowns fill my head, and I fall into a deep sleep.