Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ember
I know it now, with every cell of my body, this isn’t Rodion. He plays games, dangerous ones, but they’re just that—games. He teases and torments me and leans into making those fantasies come to life.
But he doesn’t hurt me. He loves to tease me, to play around a bit with the element of fear. But this? This is next level.
This is not a game.
I have to keep my head on straight. I have to stay the course. I can’t lose my shit, not now.
Someone shifts in the front seat. Then his voice, the same one that’s plagued me for years.
“You don’t have to be afraid, Ember.”
Shawn.
My worst fears are confirmed.
His tone is soft, almost coaxing. “I know what you really want, Ember. It’s alright that you’re playing hard to get. I know you really want me; you just haven’t admitted it even to yourself yet.”
My heart thuds painfully. He’s delusional, a fucking psychopath, and I hate him.
“You say you only like these mafia men and dangerous situations in your books,” he continues. The car turns sharply. “But I know the truth. You crave danger. You’re not afraid of it, not at all.” He chuckles. “You kinky little girl.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as bile burns the back of my throat.
“I know you better than he does. He’s not like us.” His voice drops to a dangerous register. I want to scream at him, but I’m gagged and incapable. “He’s playing at being protective. Pretending he didn’t use you to build status when that’s exactly what he did.”
What?
“I see you, Ember. The real you. And you know I love you, even if you’ve disappointed me.”
Tears burn my blindfold. I fight a sob that threatens to break free as I twist my hands and try to find a weak spot.
Does Rodion know I’m gone?
Is he tracking me?
Shawn’s words press on me like the cold, steel edge of a blade to my neck. “You can fight me, but I know the truth. I’m the one who deserves you. Not him.”
My breathing hitches.
No.
My body might tremble, but my heart steadies.
I think back to Rodion’s smirk, the way he’d lift my chin when I got riled up. He let me fight him. He let me push back, gave me agency and free will. He knows how much that matters to me.
Maybe that’s why I love him. I love him.
Here, in the back of Shawn’s car, I see so clearly now it makes my heart ache.
I trust him.
Maybe my book boyfriends offer safety in danger, a place where I can explore but stay in control. The fantasy was never about submission but about trust.
I’m not going to lose him.
I want him to protect me. I want that fierce, sometimes irrational, unapologetic dedication to keeping me safe. Owning me.
I want all of it.
Shawn won’t win. I’ll be sure of it. He won’t.
An engine roars behind us, growing louder.
Oh god, oh please, please be Rodion.
I can still see the lethal flicker of his eyes as he promises brutal retribution to anyone who tries to hurt me.
I’d tie him to a chair and make him watch me ruin you, slow and raw, before I cut out his eyes…
Rodion doesn’t bluff. He gives me all of who he is, the brutal and the beautiful, every ounce of morally gray that I crave in my books right here, in all his Bratva glory, tats and weapons, and the fierce, undying protection of a man who loves me.
You don’t want a gentleman, little queen.
I don’t now, and I never did.
“He’s too late,” Shawn growls in the driver seat. “He can’t have you.”
I twist my wrists harder, feeling my skin burn under the ropes.
Come on. Come on…
The car swerves violently as Shawn tries to lose whoever’s trailing us. I stifle a whimper, completely unable to stop myself from crashing headfirst into the door. Pain radiates along my skull with these stupid restraints holding me tight.
Gunfire explodes behind us. Shawn screams and curses, the car tilting dangerously to the right.
Shawn seems to be fighting for control, but whoever it is, is gaining on us. Something bumps the back of the car.
Has he caught us?
I can imagine exactly what he’s going through right now because I know him. Rodion wants to catch us and punish Shawn, but he doesn’t want to hurt me.
The way Shawn is driving, he might get his wish sooner than later. I’m straining against my wrists when I feel something hit my palm. Is it—I trace it with my fingers and realize it’s the tail end of the restraints he sloppily tied.
I work at the knot and feel a shift of movement. I can do this.
Rodion slipped a knife into a sheath on my thigh. If I can get to it—
I have to keep my head in the game, have to stay on task here. He won’t notice if I undo my restraints. I shift the fabric of my dress, cursing the layers, when I feel the cold, hard metal of the knife at my thigh.
I swallow hard. Yes. Yes.
Who the fuck am I?
Maybe I am cut out for mafia life.
I’m the wife of a hero.
Slowly, carefully, I move the knife out. It scrapes against my thigh as I pull it out and palm it. Shawn’s swerving and cursing. He hits something hard, and I stifle a scream when I prick my own damn leg with the blade.
He never would suspect I had my own weapon.
With trembling fingers, I slide the knife into my palm and shave at the restraints. I can feel it yielding even as I can’t see. Finally, my wrists swing free. I grab the blindfold at the back of my head and yank it off.
Shawn’s face is a mask of fury as another gunshot rings out.
I contemplate stabbing him, actually tearing into someone’s flesh with a weapon, and the thought makes me want to vomit.
But I have to get away. Does it make sense to hurt him while he’s driving though?
My thoughts go crazy, and I can’t reel them in, no matter how hard I try.
Shawn curses, swerving dangerously close to a guardrail. The SUV scrapes alongside it, sparks flying. Another shot rings out. I hear a pop, and the side of the car immediately swerves. Another gunshot followed by another pop.
He’s here, and he’s shooting out the tires.
The SUV screeches to a stop because he can’t drive it another foot. It slams against the guardrail with a sickening crush.
My ears ring.
Silence.
I sit still, not sure where I can go next, what to do—
Heavy footsteps.
Measured. Unhurried.
He’s here, and he’s going to enact brutal justice. I tremble and breathe a little more easily even as my belly clenches.
The driver’s side door wrenches open as Shawn tries to flatten himself against the other side of the car. Rodion reaches in and, with his massive, tatted hand, grabs Shawn by the neck. But he doesn’t move him, doesn’t drag him out like I suspect. Instead, he turns to me, eyes blazing into mine.
“Are you hurt, baby?”
I do a quick mental tally and shake my head. “No,” I whisper.
Shawn tries to take advantage of the opportunity and wriggle out of Rodion’s grip, but that is not going to happen.
“Get out.” Rodion’s voice is cold. Lethal.
I’d bury his body and sleep like a fucking baby.
Shawn shifts, reaching for something—a gun, maybe a knife. But Rodion doesn’t hesitate. Two hands on Shawn’s shirt, and he drags him out of the SUV like he’s a rag doll. The sound of bone cracking echoes like thunder.
Shawn’s body crumples against the pavement.
I look wildly about me. We’re on a vacant road at night, illuminated by bright overhead lights. No one’s here. Behind the guardrail is a row of tall pines, a natural barrier.
I can hardly breathe as I see Rodion’s sure, deadly aim.
I can’t hear him from here but can gather a mix of Russian and Shawn’s pleas for mercy before Rodion takes one of Shawn’s hands in his and breaks it.
I cringe but can’t look away. Shawn screams, writhing, as Rodion pins him to the ground beneath his foot and reaches for his second hand.
He yanks it back with brutal efficiency, and Shawn’s cries of terror and pain echo in the night.
Rodion looks to me. I stare at him through cracked glass. Dark. Dangerous. Blazing with a ferocity that calls to the deepest, darkest parts of my soul.
I reach for the handle of the door and try to open it, but the metal’s crumpled, and the door won’t budge.
Rodion sees me struggling, takes a look at Shawn, then heads over to me, his gun poised at Shawn.
Shawn wriggles away, and in one quick movement, Rodion points his gun at him and pulls the trigger. His kneecap explodes.
I watch. I can’t look away. Shawn screams, a mess of broken bones and blood, but Rodion just pulls the trigger again. His second kneecap explodes.
As he nears me, he calls over his shoulder, “You’d better not fucking die. I am not done with you yet.”
Rodion reaches me, grabs the door, and yanks it hard, but it doesn’t budge. Behind him, Shawn cries like a baby, trying to move his broken body on the ground, blood dripping from his open wounds, but he doesn’t get far.
I climb over the console, fall into the passenger seat, and Rodion pries the door open. I fall into his arms.
“I should kill him now,” he mutters. “But not yet. I want him to suffer, Ember.” His eyes flick back to mine, and he does that thing that I love.
His finger under my chin, he holds my gaze.
It’s never felt more poignant. I shiver, looking at raw brutality and undying devotion wrapped into one.
“Tell me you want this, Ember. Say the word, and this ends.”
My breath catches. I swallow hard, my eyes locked onto his.
“Yes, please.” My voice shakes. “He won’t stop. It will be another woman next. He’s insane, Rodion. A predator. I can’t let him go on.”
Rodion’s smirk is razor-sharp. Terrifying.
Rodion, in real life, makes every book boyfriend I’ve ever met pale in comparison.
Leaning in, his lips brush over my ear.
“He’ll watch first,” he murmurs, his hand already tugging at my hips. “Then he dies.”
My pulse races, and the blood roars in my veins, adrenaline thrumming. I didn’t know until I was here—until I truly felt this—that I’ve never felt more owned in my life.