Chapter 23
Willow
The car tore down the road.
I had a death grip on the seat belt, my stomach rolling.
Streetlights streaked past the windows, one after another, smeared into long bands of light that dragged across the pavement.
Artyom sat behind the wheel, his jaw locked so tight it looked like it might crack.
I didn't know where he was taking me. I didn't dare ask.
He turned onto a quiet street, and the house slid into view. I recognized it. This was where Artyom lived.
He killed the engine and got out.
A moment later he came around to my side and yanked the door open.
I still didn't let go of the belt.
He glanced down at me, reached in, and hit the release.
Click. Sharp. Small. I stayed frozen in the seat.
"Out."
I pulled in a shaky breath and got out anyway.
He walked ahead. I followed, about three steps behind, like a dog that didn't trust the hand holding the leash.
The entryway light snapped on, bright enough to pick out every line in the wood grain under our feet.
He took off his coat, hung it by the door, and kept moving deeper into the house.
I didn't follow.
His voice came from the end of the hall. "Come in."
I stood in the middle of the living room and didn't move.
When he came back out, he'd already stripped off his dress shirt. He wore a dark gray T-shirt, the collar damp in one spot like he'd splashed water on it and forgotten.
He looked me over once. "Go shower."
I just stood there, fingers twisted into the hem of my clothes.
"I..." My voice jammed in my throat. "I don't have anything to change into."
He stepped into a side room and came back with a neatly folded gray T-shirt and a towel.
He didn't look at me. He just turned and walked off again.
I went into the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it. The bolt made a dull little sound as it turned.
When the hot water hit my shoulders, something in me finally loosened.
Steam rose and crawled over the mirror in a slow fog.
I stood under the spray and let it run through my hair, down my back, down everything I couldn't stop shaking.
When I came out, one of the living-room lights had been turned off. Only the floor lamp by the couch still burned, soft and low.
He sat on the sofa. When he heard my footsteps, he turned his head. His eyes paused on me for a beat, then slid away like I hadn't earned the right to be looked at.
"Come here."
I walked over and sat on the far end of the couch, leaving about a body's worth of space between us.
He glanced at me once, then grabbed my wrist and yanked.
I stumbled hard into him, landing at his side, my shoulder bumping his arm.
He leaned in, staring down at me. His gaze dragged from my face to my collarbones, slow and deliberate.
"We already did it," he said. "What the hell are you blushing for?"
Heat rushed into my cheeks. This was not the time for that.
His eyes lifted to my face, and I saw it, the anger. Not loud yet. Not exploding. Just packed down and burning under the surface, thin as ice with a black current moving underneath.
"You came after me on purpose, didn't you?"
I shook my head, lips parting. "No..."
"Ethan sent you?"
"No."
"He told you to sleep with me, to steal my files, to act like you didn't know a damn thing."
"I didn't!" I shouted it. Tears slipped out of the corners of my eyes before I could stop them.
I didn't know why the flash drive had been in my suitcase, but I hadn't done this. I hadn't.
Artyom gave a cold, ugly laugh. "You didn't even try to explain. The second you pulled the suitcase out, you tried to run. How the fuck am I supposed to believe you?"
He caught my chin and forced my face up.
"Willow," he said, voice low, deadly calm, "I always thought you were stupid. Do you have any idea what happens to people who betray me? None of them walked away whole."
I didn't answer.
His eyes held on my face for a few seconds, then he dipped his head like he was going to kiss me.
I couldn't. Not like this.
I turned my head, trying to dodge him.
His mouth twitched, like it wanted to be a smile, but it collapsed before it formed.
The way he looked at me was the same way he looked at quarterly reports and risk assessments. Cold. Blank. Like a judge who'd already sentenced you, just taking one last look at the defendant.
The next second, before I could even speak, he slammed me down into the couch.
He was strong. Not the controlled kind of strong I'd felt before. This was different. Wild. Angry.
"Artyom!"
I lifted my head, staring up at him, and something shifted in those dark gray eyes. Something restless. Hungry.
He leaned closer. "Where did he touch you?" His voice was quiet, almost conversational, which made it worse. "Your forehead? Your pretty little face? Your tits? Or somewhere more private?"
"I didn't," I said, shaking. "Artyom, you can't talk to me like that. You can't humiliate me."
He moved in even closer, his breath cold against my skin. "Yeah. I can."
His shirt had ridden up, open enough that I saw it again, that long scar that cut from his left shoulder down across to his right waist, a brutal line carved through muscle.
I tried to fight, but the sight of it stole the strength out of my body. The scar lay across him like a warning. Ugly. Vicious.
Artyom followed my stare and let out another hard, humorless chuckle. "You wanted to know where it came from, didn't you?"
I didn't speak.
"My father," he said. "That scar was his gift." His voice stayed soft, but it hit like ice chips driven into my ears. "He tried to kill me so he could lock his position down."
"He was a traitor, too."
He lowered his head until his nose nearly brushed my cheek, that sharp, winter-cold presence wrapping around me. "After that, I swore I'd never show mercy to a traitor."
My clothes turned to rags in his hands.
There was rage in his eyes. And jealousy.
His eyes told me the truth: I belonged to him. Only him.
His mouth crashed against mine, rough and demanding. I gasped, and he took the opening, his tongue pushing past my lips. His kiss tasted like rage—hot and bitter and consuming.
"Artyom—" I tried to speak, but he swallowed my words.
His hands moved down my body, pushing the borrowed T-shirt up and over my head. The cool air hit my skin, raising goosebumps across my bare chest.
"Did he touch you here?" His palm cupped my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple. "Tell me."
"No, I swear—"
He pinched, making me cry out. "Liar."
"I'm not lying!" Tears blurred my vision. "Artyom, please!"
But he wasn't listening. His mouth moved to my neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin. His hand slid lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of my underwear and yanking them down.
I was already wet. I hated that my body responded to him even now, even when fear coiled tight in my chest.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Your body's more honest than your mouth." His fingers slid between my legs, finding me slick and ready. "You want this."
"That's not—" My protest died when he pushed two fingers inside me, rough and sudden. I gasped, my back arching off the couch.
"Not what?" He pumped his fingers in and out, his thumb circling my clit. "Not true? Your pussy's dripping, Willow."
Shame and arousal twisted together in my gut. I turned my face away, but he grabbed my jaw and forced me to look at him.
"Watch me."
He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean. His eyes never left mine.
Then he stood, undoing his belt. The leather slid free with a sharp sound that made me flinch. He shoved his pants down, his cock already hard and thick.
"Turn around."
"Artyom—"
"I said turn around."
Something in his voice made me obey. I shifted onto my hands and knees on the couch, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
His hand pressed between my shoulder blades, pushing my chest down against the cushions. The position left me completely exposed, vulnerable.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't betray you, I swear."
"Shut up."
He positioned himself behind me, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Then he thrust in, one brutal stroke that filled me completely.
I cried out, my fingers digging into the couch cushions.
He didn't give me time to adjust. He pulled back and slammed in again, setting a punishing rhythm that left me gasping.
"This what you wanted?" His voice was rough, harsh. "This what you let Ethan give you?"
"No, Artyom, I didn't—"
He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into my flesh as he pounded into me. Each thrust pushed me forward, the force of it making the couch creak beneath us.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm so sorry. Please believe me—"
"Sorry for what?" He leaned over me, his chest against my back, his breath hot in my ear. "Sorry you got caught?"
"No!" My voice broke. "I didn't do anything. The flash drive—I don't know how it got there!"
He straightened up and changed his angle, hitting something deep inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. A moan tore from my throat before I could stop it.
"There it is." His hand slid around to stroke my clit. "Feel good?"
"Please—" I didn't even know what I was begging for anymore.
He pulled out suddenly, leaving me empty and aching. Before I could process the loss, he flipped me onto my back, hooking my legs over his shoulders.
This position let him go even deeper. When he thrust back in, I screamed.
"Look at me." His hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, just holding. "Open your eyes."
I forced my eyes open. His face hovered above mine, those gray eyes burning with something I couldn't name.
"I didn't betray you," I whispered. Tears streamed down my temples into my hair. "I swear on everything. I would never—"
His jaw clenched. He slammed into me harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room.
"The flash drive doesn't matter."
"What?" I could barely form words around the sensation of him filling me over and over.
"The fucking flash drive!" He groaned, his rhythm faltering for a second before he found it again, even more brutal than before. "It's not about that—"
"Then what—" A particularly deep thrust cut off my question, dragging a wail from my throat.
"What matters is..." He didn't finish. Instead, he pulled almost all the way out and drove back in with such force that my whole body shifted up the couch.
"Artyom!" I grabbed his shoulders, my nails raking down his back.
He hissed at the sting but didn't slow down. If anything, he moved faster, harder, chasing something I couldn't quite grasp.
"I didn't betray you," I kept saying, the words tumbling out between moans and gasps. "Please believe me—"
His hand left my throat and slid into my hair, gripping tight. "Stop talking."
But I couldn't. "I wouldn't. Artyom, please—"
He kissed me to shut me up, his tongue invading my mouth with the same aggression as his cock invading my body. I kissed him back desperately, trying to pour every ounce of sincerity into it.
When he broke the kiss, we were both breathing hard.
"Turn over again."
My limbs felt like water, but I obeyed, rolling onto my stomach. He pulled me up onto my knees, one hand on my hip and the other between my shoulder blades, keeping my face pressed into the cushions.
This time when he entered me, it felt impossibly deep. I whimpered into the fabric, overwhelmed.
He set another relentless pace, his hips snapping against my ass with each thrust. The angle made every nerve ending light up, pleasure building in my core like a wildfire.
"You're mine." His voice was rough, strained. "Say it."
"I'm yours—" The words came out muffled.
"Louder."
"I'm yours!" I turned my head to the side, gasping for air. "Only yours."
His hand slid around to rub my clit, and suddenly I was right on the edge, teetering.
He thrust in deep and held there, his whole body going rigid. I felt him pulse inside me, filling me with heat.
The sensation pushed me over the edge. I came with a broken cry, my body clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through me.
We stayed like that for a long moment, both of us shaking, breathing hard.
Finally, he pulled out and collapsed beside me on the couch, gathering me against his chest.