CHAPTER 19
SCARLETT P.O.V.
The platinum choker is always cold in the morning. It takes ten minutes of body heat to warm the metal up, but until then, it’s a ring of ice against my throat, a constant, heavy reminder of exactly where I stand in the food chain.
I stared at myself in the full-length mirror. My silk slip was ruined, a tear near the hem from yesterday’s chaos, but I hadn’t changed it. I looked wrecked. Pale skin, dark circles, and that glittering collar that cost more than most people made in a lifetime.
Behind me, Nikolai was buttoning a fresh shirt.
The stark white starch cracked as he moved.
He didn’t look at me. He was focused on the cufflink, his movements sharp and efficient, despite the bandage on his hand.
I watched his reflection. There was a bruise on his shoulder, turning a nasty shade of purple-black. My teeth did that.
I used my tongue to wet my dry lips. "Did you sleep, collateral?" he asked, not looking up from his wrist.
"I sleep when I’m permitted, Smirnov."
He finally looked at the mirror, locking eyes with my reflection. His gaze was flat, predator-calm. "Smart mouth. Keep it up and I’ll find a gag to match the jewelry."
He flexed his hand, testing the bandage. I saw a flicker of a wince—barely there, gone in a microsecond—but I saw it. It gave me a sick sense of satisfaction. I wasn’t the only one bleeding in this room.
"Does it hurt, Master?" I asked, throwing the title at him like a stone.
"Only when I think about how close you came to bleeding out on my carpet," he said, turning around. "That pain is mine to manage. Yours is just to exist."
Before I could snap back, the door to the suite opened. No knock. Only one person had that kind of clearance besides the maid service.
Hassan walked in. He looked like shit. His usually impeccable tie was loose, and there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead that he wiped away with his sleeve. He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were glazed, fixed entirely on Nikolai. In his hands, he carried a small, heavy silver presentation box.
He walked to the mahogany table in the center of the sitting area and set the box down. Thud. It sounded heavy. Solid.
"Problem, Hassan?" Nikolai asked. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Nikolai stopped buttoning his jacket.
"Aris’s messenger found a breach in the perimeter, sir," Hassan said, his voice tight. "They left this for you."
My stomach rolled over. My father. Aris Vance. The man who traded me to clear his ledger.
"Stay back," Nikolai ordered. "This isn’t for your delicate sensibilities."
"I am collateral, Smirnov," I said, stepping away from the mirror. My legs felt like lead, but I moved anyway. "I should know the price."
Nikolai looked at me, really looked at me, and for once, he didn't enforce the command. He just stepped aside, his jaw tight. He flipped the latch on the silver box with his uninjured hand. The click echoed in the silence like a gunshot.
He opened the lid.
The smell hit me first. Metallic. Copper. And the sharp, chemical sting of formaldehyde.
I looked down.
Resting on a bed of blood-soaked velvet was a human ear. Severed cleanly at the root.
"Jesus Christ," Hassan muttered, turning his head away.
I couldn't look away. My breath caught in my throat, choking me. It wasn't just the gore; it was the jewelry. Threaded through the lobe was a thick, platinum signet ring. I knew that ring. I knew the hands that wore it.
Marco. The night guard. The twenty-year-old kid who had brought me a cup of tea three nights ago because he thought I looked cold. He had smiled at me, nervous and polite, trying to pretend I wasn't a prisoner.
"He signed it," Nikolai said, his voice devoid of humanity.
I recoiled, stumbling back until my hip hit the edge of a chair. My hand flew to my throat, clutching the diamonds of my collar. "Marco… I remember him."
"Collateral damage," Nikolai said. "Your father specializes in it."
He reached into the box, ignoring the blood, and pulled out a folded piece of heavy, expensive cardstock taped to the inside of the lid. He smoothed it out. The paper crunched, sounding like dry bone snapping.
"Read it," I whispered. I needed to hear it. I needed to know the depth of the rot.
Nikolai’s eyes scanned the text, darkening to flint. He read it aloud, his voice low and vibrating with a lethal promise. "A piece of what you owe me, Smirnov. I’m coming for the rest of my property. And I will burn everything you claim. - Aris."
Property.
Not daughter. Not child. Property.
"He calls me property," I said, the words tasting like ash. "He sold me to you, and now he’s killing kids to get his asset back."
"He lied to you then, and he’s trying to kill you now," Nikolai said. He crushed the note in his fist.
The room tilted. A wave of dizziness washed over me, hot and sickening.
I had spent weeks hating Nikolai Smirnov.
I had spent weeks plotting my escape, dreaming of my father kicking down the door to save me.
But Aris wasn't a savior. He was a butcher.
He didn't want me back because he loved me; he wanted me back because he didn't like losing a transaction.
"I hate him," I said, my voice shaking. "I swear to God, I hate him."
"Good," Nikolai said. "Use it."
I started to hyperventilate. The air in the room felt too thin. I stumbled, my knees giving way, but I didn't hit the floor. Nikolai was there. He grabbed me by the waist, hauling me up and pulling me flush against his chest. He was a wall of muscle and heat, solid as stone.
"Look at me, Scarlett," he growled. "Breathe. I am here."
I grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, my knuckles turning white. "I chose fire over you, but he chose that." I pointed vaguely at the box. "He cut a piece off a boy just to send a letter."
"He is a weak man playing a strong man’s game," Nikolai said. His thumb traced the ridge of my diamond choker, pressing against my pulse. "You never lied about what you are," I whispered, staring up at him. "You’re a monster, Smirnov. But you’re an honest one."
"I told you that you were mine," he said, his eyes drilling into me. "I protect what is mine."
Suddenly, a low, rhythmic thrumming started deep in the walls. A siren. Not loud, but heavy. A lockdown alarm.
Hassan tapped his earpiece. "They’re coming in force. Perimeter breach at the north gate. Three vehicles."
"You will stay silent," Nikolai told me, his grip on my waist tightening until it bruised. "You will follow me. I will not lose you to him."
"Where are we going?"
"To the place where no one can touch what is mine."
He moved fast. He shoved me toward the back of the suite, past the bedroom, toward the hidden door in the paneling. I didn't fight him. I didn't drag my feet. For the first time since he dragged me out of that gala by my hair, I wanted to go with him.
We burst into the secure library. It was a bunker dressed up as a gentleman’s study—soundproofed, reinforced, windowless. Nikolai slammed the heavy steel-lined door shut. He spun the locking mechanism. Chunk-chunk-chunk. Three deadbolts engaged.
The siren cut off instantly. The silence was sudden and absolute. The air was pressurized, recycling with a low hum. It smelled of old paper and Nikolai’s expensive cologne.
"It’s silent," I said, shivering. The adrenaline was crashing, leaving me cold and shaking.
"A quiet place to wait for the reckoning," Nikolai said. He walked to the desk, checking the monitors embedded in the wall. Heat signatures were flaring on the perimeter cameras.
"You look ready to die for this house," I said.
He turned to me, setting his sidearm on the desk. "I’m ready to kill for it. And for you."
I stepped into his space. I needed to. The image of that ear in the box was burned into my retinas, flashing every time I blinked. I needed something else. I needed something violent enough to erase it.
I reached out, my hands shaking, and touched the scar on his throat. "Make me forget that box, Nikolai."
He went still. "You think I’m better than him?"
"He sent a piece of a corpse," I said, my voice cracking. "You just take what’s in front of you." I pressed my body against his. I felt the hard ridge of him against my stomach. "He doesn't want me back. He wants to win. Don't let him win, Nikolai. Claim me now. Make sure I am yours."
His nostrils flared. He could smell the fear on me, the desperation. "You are asking me to prove my ownership when men are dying outside that door?"
"Yes," I hissed. "Prove you own me, or he will take me back."
Something in him snapped. A low, guttural sound tore from his chest. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back to expose the diamond choker.
"I’m going to kill him for sending that to you," he snarled, his face inches from mine. "And I’m going to make you forget he ever existed inside my fortress."
He kissed me. It wasn't soft. It was a collision. A bruising, iron-tasting claim that knocked the wind out of me. I tasted blood—his or mine, I didn't know.
"Say his name now," he demanded against my mouth. "Say his name and then scream mine."
"Aris," I choked out. "Aris is dead to me."
"I am your shield," he growled. "Don’t you forget that."
I dropped to my knees. I didn't think about it; I just did it. I needed to feel the floor, the reality of his legs, the undeniable hierarchy. I clutched his thighs, digging my fingers into the wool of his trousers.
"Kneel, Scarlett. Show me who keeps you safe."
"Yes, Master. Only you."
He didn't give me time to breathe. He hauled me up by my arms, slamming me back against the steel door. The impact rattled my teeth. The cold metal bit into my bare back through the torn silk.
"This is what ownership feels like," he said, ripping the slip down to my waist. The fabric tore with a sharp zip.
"I know, Smirnov! Take it!" I screamed.
He didn't wait. He unbuckled his belt, the leather slapping against his legs. He was feral. The calm, bespoke suit-wearing businessman was gone, replaced by the enforcer who murdered people for a living. And God help me, that was exactly what I needed.
He gripped the diamond choker like a handle, using it to tilt my head back. He bit down on the junction of my neck and shoulder. Hard. Pain flared, sharp and hot, overriding the sick nausea in my stomach.
"Mine," he muttered against my skin. "All of it. All of you."
"Yes! Mark me!"
He lifted me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, and he thrust into me.
It was one brutal, unforgiving motion that slammed my head back against the steel. I gasped, the air leaving my lungs in a rush. He was big, hard, and absolutely relentless.
"Open your eyes," he commanded, holding me pinned against the door. "Look at the man who will keep you alive."
"Nikolai!" I gasped his name like a prayer.
"You want me? Take me!"
He began to move, a punishing rhythm that matched the violence of the world outside. My heels scuffed against the steel door, seeking purchase. I met every thrust, grinding back against him, desperate for the friction to burn away the memory of Marco’s ring.
"Say it again! Say my name like I own your soul!"
"Nikolai! Nikolai, please!"
He pulled away abruptly, carrying me across the room. He didn't set me down gently. He swept his arm across the massive oak desk, sending monitors, maps, and coffee mugs crashing to the floor.
"Get on the desk, Scarlett," he ordered, slamming me down onto the polished wood. "Where I can see every piece of what I keep."
"Now, Nikolai. Take me now."
He drove into me again, harder this time. My back slid against the scattered papers and pens. A pen dug into my hip, a sharp bite of pain that I welcomed. The desk groaned under our weight, shifting on the floor.
"This hurts, Nikolai," I panted, my nails digging into his shoulders.
"It should," he gritted out, sweat dripping from his forehead onto my chest. "It should remind you who controls the pain."
"Harder! Fuck me harder, please!" I was begging. I didn't care. The shame was gone, incinerated by the need to survive.
"If you wanted gentle, you chose the wrong man, little cunt."
He grabbed my hair, wrapping the dark strands around his fist, pulling my head up so I was forced to look at the sealed door.
"You hear that silence?" he panted against my ear. "I bought that. Who protects you, Scarlett?"
"You," I sobbed, close to the edge. "Only you."
"Say it! Say my debt is paid in blood, and I am yours!"
"I belong to the man who owns me! Nikolai! I’m yours!"
The words broke me. My body seized, vibrating with a climax that was violent and tearing. I screamed, the sound raw and ugly, tears spilling down my face. I clamped my legs around him, trying to crush the life out of him, trying to merge with him.
"That’s it," he growled. "Break for me."
He followed me over the edge seconds later. He groaned, a deep, animAlistairtic sound, and drove into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt. He froze there, his body shuddering, his heavy breathing filling the small room.
He collapsed forward, his forehead resting against the diamond choker, wetting the stones with his sweat.
"Still mine," he whispered, his voice wrecked.
"Yes," I breathed, staring up at the ceiling, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Forever."
We lay there for a long time in the silence of the panic room. The world outside was burning. Men were dying. My father was probably watching the smoke rise from a mile away. But in here, pinned beneath the weight of the monster who claimed me, I was safe.
Nikolai finally lifted his head. His eyes were clear again, the feral heat receding behind the wall of ice. He smoothed his hand over my throat, his thumb resting heavily on my windpipe.
"Tell Hassan I need a clean suit and a status report," he said to the empty air, knowing the room was bugged for his lieutenant.
He started to pull away, but I grabbed his wrist.
"Stay for a minute," I said. It was the softest thing I’d ever said to him.
He looked at me, then at the door, then back at me. He didn't pull away. He stayed. And for the first time, the weight of him didn't feel like a cage. It felt like a fortress.