Chapter 30 Late Night Confessions
Late Night Confessions
Anika
Wrapping the length of her hair around his fist, he pulled her head back, straining her neck with the harsh angle.
While her body should be scared, arousal pooled between her legs.
Towering above her, his cloaked face staring down, she saw the anger there as the lightning outside flashed again.
Thunder rumbled across the sky in pursuit.
She feared a whole other storm was brewing inside her house.
There was also something else present amongst his fury.
Want? Desire?
Anika couldn’t be sure, and she tried to ignore the way it made her skin hum. Goading him was becoming a task she enjoyed. In public, he always made sure to keep himself put together, an unreadable force, but now…
Now, she could read everything hidden beneath his mask.
“Everything you do, Anika,” his breath tickled her cheek, the thinness of his balaclava barely shielding it from her face, “always gets under my skin. Somehow, someway.”
She smiled despite the strands of hair Mikko had pulled free, her scalp burning from his harsh grip.
Before she could tell him to “fuck off,” he pulled away from her body. Using her hair as a leash, he dragged her back forcing her body to bump roughly into his. Spinning, he forced toward the kitchen.
“What are you—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” he hushed, boots kicking the back of her heels as he continued to usher her farther in. Neck still cranked back against his shoulder, her feet stumbling multiple times as they caught on the edges of her rugs. He prodded her onward regardless.
The darkness was thicker back here, the street lights unable to penetrate this deep into her house, so she was at the mercy of Mikko’s whims. Her brain didn’t miss the way he navigated her house, his feet knowing every creaky board and slant of the floor.
“Now, I’m going to ask nicely, once,” he spoke against the side of her temple, his covered nose dragging through her silky strands of hair, “please sit in that chair.”
Anika bucked against him, wishing for something sharp to stab him with.
“If you keep moving like that, we’re going to have other problems,” he continued before shoving her away. His words implied things she couldn’t afford to think about right now. Especially when her own lust was building.
What will he do if I keep resisting, if I purposefully disobey.
All the sounds he’d make—
Anika shuffled over to the nearest chair in her kitchen. Carefully sitting, she watched as he approached her. Like a moth to flame…
“Imagine my surprise when I discovered your surname,” he began, standing in front of her, his legs almost touching her knees as he braced his large hands against the back of her chair caging her in again. “Your real one.”
“So when any other woman changes her last name, no one blinks an eye. But when I do it, it’s an issue?”
One of his hands reached behind his back and for a moment Anika pictured her life ending right here, her promises unfilled. All it would take was one bullet to her head—or her heart—and it’d all be over.
Cool metal pressing against her arm had her thoughts clearing.
Her gaze flicked down, already knowing what it was.
Her gun. Its weight sunk into her flesh, the round tip of the barrel sure to leave an indent on her skin, but his finger wasn’t over the trigger.
He was getting off on this power trip, curious to see how far she would let him go in her own house.
Too bad Anika was all too willing to give up everything for her own vendetta.
“Changing your name certainly didn’t erase your smart mouth.”
“And your last name didn’t give you any IQ points,” she shot back.
The gun slipped further up her arm, goosebumps rising in its wake. “My men and I don’t take lightly to threats.”
“Obviously,” she muttered, if only to intensify his glare in the shadows.
“Are you the one killing them, Anika?”
“You’re such a well-rounded guy, Mikko,” she threw his name back at him, “an entrepreneur, a scammer, a stalker, and an investigator. Do you do time at the police station on the weekends? Volunteer work? I’m sure they love you there—”
“Zamolchi.” Be quiet.
“Oh, and bilingual, how could I forget.”
“Answer. The. Question.” She couldn’t see his jaw, but she’d bet money it was clenched, his words tight.
She huffed. “No.”
“No, as in ‘no, I didn’t kill your men,’ or ‘no, I’m not answering?’”
“I’ll let you guess.”
“And I’ll let you guess if this gun is really loaded.” He nudged it harder against her bare skin.
“I always keep one in the chamber. But you won’t do it, you value this too much.” Her hand gestured between them, and she knew the insinuation would rile him up. Anika pressed her lips together to keep the smug grin off her face.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” his hulking frame was hard to discern against the shadows ensconcing him. “I can still get what I want from you if you’re wounded.”
“Seems like you got a type: wounded women so they can’t run from you.”
He removed the gun from her arm before backing away. Despite the lack of light, she could see the slight shake in his hands. She’d hit a nerve.
Tucking it back where he’d had it before, Mikko strode a couple feet away before bending down. There, in the darkness, he’d dropped a duffel bag.
“Aren’t you just a little planner,” she taunted, squinting in an attempt to see what he was rummaging for.
She could’ve used the time to run—to escape past him and back through her house, but a small part of her knew he could shoot her without killing her, and she really didn’t want to know what that felt like.
The thought alone drudged up memories she longed to keep buried.
Images of blood splattered carpet flashed across her mind, taking her to a place far away—a place where her parents’ memory lived.
A piece of her heart withered away, but if this is what she needed to do to avenge her parents, then she would do it.
Shaking her head, she decided to remain seated. Maybe if she cooperated, he’d think she was complacent and docile. Anika stifled a snort.
“My father was good for some things.” Bitterness coated his words. He straightened, items dangling from his gloved hands. Tucking them beneath his arm, he ducked farther into the inky depths of the doorway leading down to her basement.
Anika sighed. “Can you at least turn the power back on so I can see you as you antagonize me?”
His words were almost lost to the sound of the rain pelting against the glass windows and surrounding vegetation outside. “Could’ve been the storm.”
“And the street light that’s still on outside?”
“An anomaly.”
“More like a giveaway of your desperation,” Anika said, words dark and bitter.
“Maybe, but by then, it was too late, wasn’t it?”
A soft click was audible before all the lights that had been on in her house previously flashed back on. The harshness of it cut through her brain, her eyes watering at the visual intrusion. Spots swam across her eyesight, blurring the man before her.
Risking a bullet to her body, Anika’s arm instinctively came up and sheltered her eyes from the brightness. “Damn, warn a girl first.”
“And miss out on seeing you like this.” His footsteps plodded closer, her eyes still adjusting. Lowering her arm, Mikko’s masked face was unbothered by the change in light.
Bastard.
“Piss off.”
Setting his supplies down on her small breakfast table nearby, Mikko slowly unraveled a length of rope. “I hate for it to be this way, but you always have to be so difficult.” She rolled her eyes. “Arms on the armrests of the chair…please.”
Because she wanted to see his knot tying skills, she listened.
Kneeling before her, rope in hand, he grasped her ankle instead.
The touch seared her bare skin and had her nearly gasping.
The wetness in her underwear was growing more noticeable.
Gritting her teeth, her hands and feet ached to fidget while he touched her.
The invasion of personal space was killing her while simultaneously setting her skin ablaze.
It reminded her of the gun range; his touches were semi-professional and fleeting, but still invoking something deep within her. It had to be her hatred morphing into its own entity, a feeling she was unaccustomed to experiencing so thoroughly.
“Sit still, little moon, I’ll be quick.”
The nickname had her freezing in place as she let him bind her legs—one to each leg of the chair.
The sound of a knife sawing through the threads of rope occupied the tense silence between them.
He read her hesitance as fear. Most women would be alarmed by such an intrusion—Anika was too if she really examined herself—but she was prepared, ready to look into the jaws of the beast she’d taunted.
Mikko used his height and stature to get what he wanted, imposing himself on her and threatening her without using as many words as he could.
But Anika had been around men like him before, maybe even worse ones, and made it out alive.
This time wasn’t any different. Her discomfort came from security, or lack thereof, but that could be rebuilt.
Still kneeling, he used his torso to pry her legs the rest of the way open, determined to press his heated flesh against hers. The rainwater on him was drying, but a dampness clung to his clothes. She fought to not clamp her thighs around him.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” Anika suddenly asked.
Mikko laughed humorlessly, his eyes darker than before when he glanced up at her. “Your hair.”
Two words, but still Anika’s breath left her lungs. “What?”