7. Rose
Rose
I try the door again, but the handle just shakes in the frame, still locked. I mutter a curse under my breath and run my hand through my still-damp hair, wrapping my arms around myself as I begin to pace back and forth.
It’s been an hour since Ilya left. An hour.
I didn’t hear him locking the door, but after I took my shower and changed my clothes, I stepped out, only to discover that he’d locked the door behind him.
He wants me in here, and he has no intention of letting me wander.
Which suggests to me that there is something in this house that he wants to keep me away from...
I am wearing some of the clothes he picked out for me, a simple black sweater and jeans.
They fit perfectly, and I have no idea how—and frankly, at this point, I really don’t want to know.
There’s so much he knows about me, and yet the most I have seen of his place from the inside is these two rooms. I need to get out.
I need to get the lay of the land, show him that I’m not going to take this imprisonment lying down.
I root through the cabinets in the bathroom to find something to pick a lock with; it’s a skill I picked up when I was in college, when I was constantly losing the keys to my dorm room and had to break in using whatever I had in hand.
Those locks were so crummy, I could probably have just lifted the doors right off the hinges, but lock-picking has been a useful skill over the years.
I close my hand around some bobby pins and grin.
I head to the door and crouch down in front of the keyhole, pushing a pin into the small space and feeling around for the small pieces of the lock.
I wiggle it around, squeezing one eye shut to focus on the hooks I need to push loose to get the door to open.
At last, I hear it click, and the door swings a couple of inches away from the frame.
I instantly push it back into place, not wanting to alert anyone that this door is unlocked.
I already saw all the guards he kept on the front door, and I’m not particularly keen to run into any of them.
It wouldn’t surprise me if he has guards stationed outside this door, to ensure I can’t escape on him.
I feel like some kind of criminal, even though he’s the one who has done the kidnapping.
I inch the door open again and peep around, looking up and down the corridor to make sure it’s empty.
It looks like I’m in the clear. Letting out a breath, I slip out from behind the door, picking my way hurriedly along the corridor and flattening my back to the wood-paneled wall.
I am barefoot, which allows me to move a little more quietly, but I can still feel my heart nearly beating out of my chest.
I reach the end of the corridor and look around.
I can see a couple of guards standing by the main front door, but they are facing away from me.
I notice a couple of large pillars in the entryway that can provide enough cover if I were to dart between them at just the right time.
I don’t even know where I’m going, just that I need to get out of that room.
I can’t let him control me. Not so completely, not so soon.
I inhale deeply, let it out, and bolt for the first pillar. Pressing my back against it, I pause, listening for the guards. A few seconds of silence later, and I think I may have pulled it off. Okay, next one...
I dart between the pillars until I reach the far end of the entryway, where another corridor leads towards a set of stairs.
It looks like this is the living area, with a kitchen visible through an archway and what looks to be some kind of office opposite it.
If I enter the kitchen, I might be able to find some kind of weapon.
Before I can think too much about it, I rush for the kitchen, ducking through the archway in a panic and making it inside.
I look around, half-terrified that I’ll be walking in on someone who will bust me as soon as they lay eyes on me, but I find it empty and hurry to the drawers, pulling them all open in the hopes of finding something sharp.
I hope I won’t have to defend myself, because if I believe it might come to that, I will start to freak out, and it’s imperative that I keep my—
"Rose."
I spin around, my heart dropping when I find Ilya standing there in the doorway. His gaze is impassive, but I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves. I suck in a sharp breath, wishing more than anything that I could take it all back, but it’s too late for that now.
"What are you doing out of your room?" he growls.
"Oh, uh, I was hungry," I reply lightly. "I just wanted something to eat, so after I had a shower, I came down here to—"
"The door was locked."
"Was it?” I reply innocently, digging my brows together in what I hope passes for genuine confusion. "I didn’t notice anything."
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key. "I know, because I’m the one who locked it."
My toes curl against the cold tile. I don’t know how much more I can bullshit him before he calls me out on it, or what happens when he does.
"You picked the lock?" he asks, cocking an eyebrow as he takes a few steps towards me. I lean back against the counter, but he doesn’t stop coming, standing near enough that I can almost feel his body heat.
"I didn’t know you could do something like that," he mutters, amusement edging his tone. "You really weren’t kidding when you said people hide things under those masks, huh?"
For just a second, I think that he is going to brush this off. Let me go with a slap on the wrist. That he finds it charming that I’m so willing to stand up for myself, even when it’s against someone like him.
But then, he catches my wrist, his fingers closing easily around me.
"Let me make one thing clear," he tells me firmly, leaning in close enough that I can smell his aftershave once more. "When you’re in my house, you do what I say. I’m only trying to keep you safe. Don’t give yourself one more person to worry about, huh?”
I stare back at him, trying to muster the courage to say something, anything, in return. But whatever comes out of my mouth now, I’m sure he will make me pay for it one way or another. And I don’t want to push my luck any more than I already have.
"Tell me you understand," he demands, pushing his face even closer, so close I can feel the graze of his stubble on my skin. His hand rises to grasp my chin, drawing me towards him so I have no choice but to look into his eyes.
"I... I understand," I breathe.
And with that, he kisses me.
It doesn’t feel like a kiss borne of passion, but possessiveness, as though he is reminding me that I play by his rules and nothing I say or do is going to change that.
And right now, there is nothing I want more than to give in to it, right there in the kitchen.
His fingers dig into my chin, his other hand on my hip, pulling me against him.
I can feel the stir of his cock in his pants, the promise of something so, so good just out of reach...
His tongue snakes into my mouth the second before he pulls back, stepping away from me just as quickly as he kissed me.
He drags his hand over his mouth, not breaking eye contact with me, and I struggle to bring my heartbeat back down to normal.
How can he just... do that? Kiss me that way, like there is nothing he wants more than to make me his, right after he spoke to me so threateningly?
And why is there something inside me that responds to it?
"Back to your room," he tells me. "Now."
I know better than to argue this time, so I duck my head down and allow him to lead me through the corridors, back the way I came.
"I’m going to put guards on your door from here on out," he tells me darkly. "Given that the lock wasn’t enough."
My head droops. I should have been more careful leaving the room. Now there is no way I will be able to sneak around without being caught if he has his guards on red alert, looking out for me. And whatever privacy I have left is about to go out of the window.
"You don’t need to do that,” I say. “I won’t do it again, I promise. I was just... looking for a charger for my phone, that’s all."
He stops just in front of the door, looking back at me. "You didn’t hear what I told you?" he says. "Anything you need in this place, it comes from me. I’ll get you a phone charger."
I breathe a sigh of relief and step past him back into the room. If I have a charger, I can call Becky and let her know everything that is going on. I need to talk to someone else about how fucking crazy this is, or I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.
"And you’re still having a guard rotation on this door twenty-four seven."
"No!” I protest, rushing back to the door before he locks it. If he shuts me in here again, I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to talk to him in person, and I don’t want to risk letting him go without pleading my case again.
"I’m perfectly safe back at my apartment," I reason with him, doing my best to keep my voice steady. "I know that might be hard for you to believe, but—"
"It’s not hard for me to believe," he replies. "But you’re safer here. And so is my child."
The way he phrases it, it’s clear which part of that equation he values more. I shake my head again, trying to cut through whatever mental block he seems to have about this child’s paternity.
"You have to hear yourself, right?" I demand. "You can’t just tell who the father of a child is this early in the pregnancy, not without a bunch of tests. This is much more likely to be Petar’s baby than it is yours, whatever you’ve deluded yourself into thinking."
"It’s not possible—"
"Yes, it is!” I exclaim impatiently. "I don’t know why you’re so intent on believing that I’m not telling the truth about hooking up with Petar right before I was with you, but—"
"Petar’s sterile."
I stand there for a moment, too shocked to respond, wondering if he is playing some kind of trick on me. It sounds exactly like something a man like him would play. Something cruel and needless that would make everything in my life that much harder.
"How do you—"
"I just know."
He stares at me for a second, like he is daring me to argue with him. I cross my arms over my chest, doing my best to cut myself off from this conversation before it can go any further.
"I need to get some rest."
"My point exactly," he agrees, his eyes narrowing. "I’ll bring you that phone charger. But you stay here. Understand?"
I nod. No point arguing with him on this matter any further; he has clearly already made his mind up about how this is going to go.
I watch as he stalks for the door, as though giving me a chance to call him back if I have more questions, but I stand my ground.
I have already given him more time than he deserves in my head, and I will be damned if I allow him any more space to get under my skin.
He leaves, pulling the door shut behind him, and I make my way over to the bed, perching on the end of it and pressing my hands to my belly. Could the child I’m carrying really belong to him? Could it really be that simple, that Petar could never have been the one to get me pregnant?
I put my head in my hands, willing my mind to slow down. Whatever is happening here, I am not going to be able to make it out in one piece if I keep letting my head get the better of me. No, what I need to do now more than anything is pull myself together.
Even if it feels like the entire world is falling apart around me.