CHAPTER 11 #2
In a blur of motion so fast my brain barely registers it, Andrei flips the knife up into the air.
He catches it effortlessly by the lethal blade, his thick fingers perfectly steady against the razor-sharp edge as he holds it backward toward his own chest. He offers the heavy, textured black hilt to me.
His expression is a wall of Russian granite. Unreadable.
"Take it," he orders. "Before I change my mind and let them have you."
I just stare at it. If I take it, I am crossing a line I can never uncross. If I don't take it, I die. He’s practically daring me to try and use it on him.
He loses patience. He reaches out and grabs my right hand, his skin burning hot against my freezing, trembling fingers.
He forcefully uncurls my bloody fist and slams the heavy hilt of the knife violently into my open palm.
He wraps my fingers around the grip, squeezing his massive hand over mine until the metal crossguard bites painfully into my skin.
The knife is so heavy my hand trembles uncontrollably under the weight of it, the blade rattling awkwardly until his larger hand crushes down on mine to steady it.
"Hold it like you mean it," he snarls. "This is your life now, Ruby."
He suddenly releases my hand, but before I can even process the weight of the knife, his hand snaps out and his fingers wrap brutally around the back of my neck.
He lunges into my space, his heavy thumb pressing firmly into the sensitive hollow right under my ear.
He yanks my head up, violently forcing my face toward his.
My breath comes in short, ragged gasps as he pulls me so close our chests are practically touching.
"Look at me," he demands, his voice a low vibration that rumbles through my own ribcage. "I am the only thing keeping your heart beating."
"I’m looking," I choke out, trying to swallow against the crushing pressure on my neck.
"You are not a girl anymore," he growls, stripping every ounce of humanity away from me with a few words. "You are my weapon. A piece of steel in my hand. Do you understand?"
He expects total obedience. I try to nod, but his iron grip on my neck is too tight, locking my skull in place.
I just blink rapidly, staring up at the jagged knife scars peaking out from the collar of his shirt.
A single tear escapes my left eye, completely betraying my tough act. I'm furious at myself for crying.
"A weapon has no will," he continues, his eyes tracking the tear as it falls, completely unaffected by it. "It has a purpose. Yours is to stay alive and obey."
He leans in closer, his face dipping down until his lips are brushing right against my ear. The rough scratch of his dark stubble grazes my sensitive skin, making me shiver violently. The heat of his body against mine is overwhelming.
"Rule one," he whispers, his breath hot against my neck. "You breathe when I say. You hold your breath when I say. Your lungs belong to me."
I involuntarily shudder, my body reacting to the terrifying, possessive dominance in his tone. The sheer unhinged nature of this man claiming literal biological control over me makes my stomach drop.
"If I tell you to stop breathing," he murmurs against my skin, "you will suffocate before you disobey."
He shifts his grip. His hand slides up from my neck, his calloused palm heavily cupping my jaw, his long fingers digging into my cheek to force my face to stay tilted up toward him.
"Rule two," he dictates, staring down at my mouth. "You move when I say. Every step, every inch you take is by my command. If you run, I will hunt you. If you lag, I will leave you."
My knuckles are completely white as I grip the handle of the knife. It’s my only tether to reality right now.
"You are my shadow," he says, his thumb brushing roughly over my cheekbone. "You don't move unless I cast you."
His pale eyes drop to my mouth for a split second, lingering on my parted lips, before snapping back up to lock onto my hazel eyes. The shift in his gaze is dark and predatory.
"Rule three," he says, his tone dropping even lower. "You kill who I tell you to kill. You don't think. You don't pray. You just open their throat and move on. Understand?"
A small, broken whimper escapes the back of my throat.
The thought of plunging this heavy blade into a human being makes me want to throw up.
I can't do that. I'm a barista. I’m not a fucking assassin.
Andrei feels my hesitation. His grip on my jaw immediately tightens, a brutal warning pressure that makes my teeth grind together.
"Their lives are the currency you pay for yours," he states, completely devoid of empathy. "Yes or no, Ruby. Answer me."
"Yes," I breathe out, hating how small my voice sounds.
He pulls me even closer, dragging my body against the solid muscle of his torso. His voice drops into a filthy, gravelly rasp that sends a chaotic mix of terror and heat straight down my spine.
"And when we are alone," he says, his thumb tracing the soft line of my lower lip, pulling it down slightly to reveal my teeth.
"Your pretty mouth stays shut unless I tell you to scream.
You will be a perfect, silent tool. You will obey me until you forget your own name. Say it. Say you understand."
The dirty, degrading demand makes my heart hammer against my ribs. He isn't asking for my cooperation; he’s taking my entire will to live and replacing it with him.
"You will be the most obedient thing in this building," he warns, pressing his thumb against my teeth. "Say it, or I'll open this door and let the hunters in."
"I understand," I whisper against his thumb, my voice thin and completely broken.
He doesn't soften. He doesn't look proud or sympathetic.
He just drops his hand from my jaw and reaches down, roughy grabbing my right hand again.
He manually adjusts my fingers on the knife handle, forcibly moving my thumb to press flat against the crossguard for better leverage.
His rough touch lingers on my knuckles as he molds my flesh around the weapon.
"Hold it like you mean to gut someone, not like a child's toy," he instructs coldly. "Squeeze. Harder. If it slips, you're the one who bleeds."
Suddenly, a muffled, blood-curdling scream tears through the heavy steel door behind us, followed instantly by the rapid, deafening pop-pop-pop of high-caliber gunfire. The vibration of the bullets hitting the walls out in the hallway shudders right through the concrete floor under my bare feet.
It sounds like it’s right on the other side of the door.
Both of us go dead still. Our eyes lock, the dark, intense connection of the last two minutes instantly snapping back to raw survival. The violent echoes fade into the concrete, leaving a ringing silence in their wake.
My knees actually buckle. The sudden drop in adrenaline betrays me, and I start to slide down the wall, but Andrei’s hand instantly shoots out, gripping the back of my neck to keep me completely upright.
"They're close," he says, his voice completely calm. "Remember the rules."
He releases my neck and steps away from me, moving silently to the heavy door.
He presses the side of his face against the cold steel, listening intently to the chaos outside.
After a long second, he looks back at me over his shoulder.
A dark, twisted, absolutely predatory smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He isn't afraid. He’s excited.
He reaches a hand up and grabs the heavy metal deadbolt.
I take a deep, shaky breath through my nose, forcing the oxygen into my burning lungs. I look down at the massive black knife in my hand, my knuckles stark white against the dark grip.
"Stay on my hip," Andrei orders, throwing the deadbolt back with a loud clack. "Don't make a sound."