Chapter 38 Saving the Best for Last #2
Before Mikko could form a rebuttal, silver flashed in the light as a small knife bit into Levi’s tender skin.
Anika wielded it, her intentions clear. A little more pressure to the hollow of his throat would surely produce blood.
She’d slipped it free from Levi’s pocket, a smile gleaming on her face.
“Maybe I’ll cut my fingerprints off him,” she said, waiting for Mikko to move.
But once again, he felt out of control. He suddenly felt like his eleven year old self, powerless.
A flick of her wrist; a flash of crimson as a small rivulet streaked down Levi’s neck. It was shallow, not large or deep enough for him to bleed out from, but the sight of it infuriated Mikko.
Mine, he brain shouted, mine to torture and torment and kill.
He was devoid of anything else, of any other thoughts. This had to end. He was prepared to yank her off his worthless employee by her hair, but the sickening squelch of her knife slipping into Levi’s soft tissue finally made him lunge.
Mikko’s shoulder collided with Anika’s warmth.
Her body gave easily beneath his strength, the softness of her cushioning his own fall.
Tumbling to the floor, her knife skittered out of her hand and out of reach as Mikko used the moment to straddle her torso.
The shards of glass nearby embedded themselves into Anika’s back and Mikko’s knees.
Still, she fought him with everything she had, desperately trying to wrestle herself out from under him all while narrowly missing the swing of his gun.
Bang!
It went off in their scuffle, the bullet ripping through the outer edge of Anika’s arm. It was a flesh wound, but it bled profusely regardless.
“You bitch,” she seethed.
Blood splattered across nearby surfaces making everything slippery, both of their hands struggling to find purchase on the gun and each other’s skin.
She was strong, but Mikko spent hours in the gym preparing for moments like these—had trained to be the best. He focused on his physique, determined to be the strongest version of himself, honing his body into a lethal weapon.
His father had always used his height and weight against Mikko—no one else would.
Bucking and screaming, her teeth gnashed at him, fingers clawing and searching for flesh to shred. Her hair spread out in a wild halo around her head. Tangled and bloody, they fought. Unable to hang onto his gun, it fell from his hand as he attempted to control the woman below him.
If it hadn’t been for her scheming—her elusive nature—he would’ve found the chase enticing, adrenaline racing and fingers aching to dip themselves into the crimson splattered around them.
But he was too pissed.
With her arms beneath his legs and his hands around her neck in warning, he finally asked, “What’s in the mason jar?”
“You’re the alcoholic,” she gasped, words still steeped in venom, “take a guess.”
Mikko’s hands tightened around her throat in an effort to tame her. As much as it pained him, he needed answers, and she was making it really damn difficult to hang on.
Red encroached the corners of Mikko’s vision, his own obsession getting in the way of his success once again. And this time, it cost him more than himself—it involved Levi.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Mikko acquiesced. “Vodka sodas don’t impair men of his size that quickly.”
“He had a few…”
“Bullshit!” His muscles ached and sweat gathered beneath his clothes.
“I put…” she spit past Mikko’s harsh grip, “violets in…his drink.”
“What?”
Squirming, she flashed bloody teeth at him. Somewhere along the way, she’d bit her tongue or lip in their scuffle. “They make you…drowsy.”
She’s good. “That was stupid of you,” he threatened aloud.
Instead of cowering in fear like he wanted her too, she laughed, the sound manic and raspy from his ever tightening hold around her neck.
He felt the vibrations of it against his palms. Fury mounted in the back of his throat, a feeling he’d always held dear to his heart—an emotion that never let him down.
All the others got him in trouble, but this one…
“You’re gonna be next if…you don’t let me go.”
His harsh laugh echoed around them. “As if I’d accept a drink from your tainted fingertips.”
“You already have…when we first met.” Blood splatter stained her skin, her eyes glinting with malicious intent.
The light colored strands of her hair surrounding her face were also stained with crimson flecks.
It was an obvious taunt, one he tried to ignore.
He could finish this, even if she’d fucked everything up.
Despite Anika’s skin being on display, the warmth of her body pressed against his as he held her down, Mikko stayed focused.
Now was not the time to be thinking of all the things he’d done in her house, or the way she occupied his mind when he relieved his body of all the tension late at night when no one was watching.
All of that had to disappear; he had to start over.
And inside his head, his father’s voice echoed above them all. “Kill her. Be done with it.”
But he couldn’t, even as his fury increased; something stopped him. If only he could get past his fucking emotions—
Whack!
Hot pain flashed across his jaw. Looking down, a smear of blood marred Anika’s forehead. She’d headbutted him. Again. Last time she’d done it, he swore he’d lost brain cells.
The pain distracted him, his limbs loosening their hold around her, which she took immediate advantage of. Dislodging him, she turned onto her stomach and crawled toward her knife, her fingers reached out, almost touching what she desired.
Leaping onto her, Mikko tried pulling her away, back toward himself in an effort to dissuade her from grabbing the weapon.
And when he thought he had—
Whipping around, eyes flashing with vengeance, Anika swung at him.
A stinging sensation seared through him, slicing through the fabric of his balaclava. Warm liquid dripped down his cheek as he looked down at Anika, droplets of blood splattering onto her chest. Her armed hand was raised, ready to strike again if she needed to, but Mikko could only laugh.
“Damn, not my pretty face,” he drawled. “Now you really won’t want to date me.”
“As if I ever did before.”
“True, you did pick Levi even after meeting me.”
“Second time’s a,” she swung her blade at him, but he blocked it, “charm.”
“You think you’re going to make it outta here alive?” he murmured, voice deadly calm as the rage took over.
“You could never kill me, malysh.” Her chest heaved, body bruised and battered from their scramble, but her words were sure.
His hand brushed against the cut on his cheek, teeth clenching at the burn of it.
His fingers came back wet and red. Too bad that was his favorite fucking color.
He saw his own blood drip down the edge of the knife Anika still clung to.
It gleamed, thirsty for more—for another taste of his tangible sacrifice.
It took more than this to deter him.
Harshly, he swiped his bloodied fingers across Anika’s mouth, fingers pushing past her parted lips, needing to mark her—yearning to make her taste her own consequences.
The wet heat of her mouth enveloped his two digits, her surprised gasp quickly muffled by his intrusion.
Farther than he should’ve gone, he pushed, determined to make her gag and heave and regret every single decision leading her here.
And he’d enjoy torturing her along the way.
His other hand grasped hers, her grip slipping but she held tight even as the sharp edge bit into her hand. He didn’t stop until the blade cut through her skin, more crimson bubbling up and dripping across their knuckles.
“You forget,” he started, “I grew up with a father who did this for a living.”
A flash of pain radiated over his fingers as Anika bit down on his digits still partially lodged in her mouth. Her teeth sank into his knuckles before he quickly yanked his hand back. Skin sloughed off, her teeth scraping the top layer off.
“Fuck!”
She spat out the gore gathering in her mouth. “You taste like shit.”
Somewhere in the corner of his mind, he knew he should stop.
The plan—despite his fluctuating emotions—wasn’t to kill Anika, just debilitate her until he came up with a way to convince her to work for him.
With burning muscles, Mikko held her down, fingers slipping in the blood pooling between them.
Every action became increasingly more difficult, their bodies tired and slick.
The metallic tang coating the air had Mikko’s mouth watering as he fought for a hold on Anika. She would not win this fight. He remained solid even though his body screamed in defiance. Muscles ached, begging for release, but he pressed on.
Her cheeks were flushed from the adrenaline, eyes wide, taking in the scene before her. Mikko knew his own masked face was splattered in crimson, emerald eyes contrasting with it, but he didn’t care. This was him; she had to realize that sooner rather than later.
This is us.
The clothes he wore were soaked, both his Anika’s and growing heavy with sweat—
Defying all odds, Anika let out a primal screech, her other hand ripping free from beneath his leg. Coated in blood, it allowed her to wiggle free and supplement her other hand currently holding the knife.
Thrusting up, blade gripped by the other of them, she impaled him with it. It was a shallow stab, but the pain radiating out from the wound hurt nonetheless. A wheeze fell from his lips as annoyance faded to shock.
Fuck this, he thought dismally.
He fell off her writhing body, her fury untamable, and she scrambled back, soiled knife still clutched in her bleeding and cut hands. Glancing over at Levi, his chest was rising and falling, but his eyes were closed, the flower’s properties in full effect now.
Fuck.
Flicking his gaze back to Anika, he saw she’d stood on wobbly legs, defiant look evident in her golden eyes.
A stillness fell over the room. The calm before a storm.
Mirroring her, he stood, body aching in places he hadn’t felt in years, but he was dead set on catching her.
His stance turned predatory, eyes honing in on her weaknesses.
She was half naked—her nightgown splattered with blood and torn—and smaller than he was.
Unlike Levi, he hadn’t been drugged; she couldn’t overpower him.
Tensing, she sensed the impending doom—the tranquil resolution settling into Mikko’s bones.
He stalked toward her, slowly.
“It’s too late,” she breathed, “you’ll either have to kill me, or I’ll kill you.”
“You could never kill me,” he mocked. “I think you get off on the idea of me being your last victim. The final piece to your twisted puzzle.”
Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and he could practically taste hers. It took everything in him to relish the moment, to not to rush it. He wanted to savor the closeness of her before he took her within his palm and crushed her.
“Maybe I am saving the best for last.” Her words were haunting, a horrid promise he found himself wanting to test. He’d been begging for people to kill him for as long as he could remember. If someone finally succeeded, he might thank them.
“You’re stroking my ego, malyshka,” he said sarcastically, a grin spreading across his face.
Shifting around the coffee table, her feet stepping through glass if only to put distance between them, she hovered in the doorway. “Just what you need.”
He stepped toward her, intent on turning her dreams into nightmares, but she turned and vanished into the darkness of her own house. And he let her go.
With a devious smile still adorning his face, he called out after her, “I forgot to mention, Anika…I like the chase.”