Chapter 8 - Ninel
I trailed my fingers along the edges of the painting I’d fallen in love with. God, if only I had the money to buy it. I sighed.
About an hour and a half ago, I was restless. I felt caged like a bird with clipped wings. And having Ruslan tail me around like some damn lost puppy? That was grinding on my nerves.
I went straight to the bathroom, dug through Artyom's medicine cabinet until I found muscle relaxers. I was hoping for laxatives, but they’d do. I crushed a few, wrapped them in toilet paper, and tucked them into my bra before heading for the kitchen.
Once there I began to prepare milkshakes. While Ruslan was distracted, I tipped the powder into his, then crumbled Oreos on top to hide the taste, before dumping the rest of cookies on a plate.
When I offered him the glass, he eyed me suspiciously. So I pretended to sip his, and raised my brows. He grunted, took it, and I smiled. Then I grabbed my drink and the plate and headed to the library. I grabbed a book from the shelf, curled into a chair, and waited.
Twenty minutes later he was rubbing his eyes, and rolling his shoulders like he couldn’t get comfortable.
By the forty minute mark, he was stumbling over his own feet as I held the glasses and plate and made my way to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, he splashed water on his face, swaying like he was drunk.
I hid my smile and slipped upstairs and into the bedroom for a hat and sunglasses. By the time I walked past him, Ruslan was slumped against the railing, trying to haul himself upright.
I hustled past him to the garage.
In the garage, I chose the Porsche, specifically because I knew it would piss Artyom off.
Anything that defied him brought me smug satisfaction.
It wasn’t as armed as the SUV, but that was fine.
I was sure there were trackers, so he’d find me eventually.
For now, I just needed to be away from the estate.
At the gate, I told the guards I had a lunch date with Artyom. Surprisingly, no one questioned me.
As I drove toward the city, I kept checking my mirrors to make sure I wasn't being followed.
Now, here I was. Standing in front of a painting I could afford but at the moment didn't have access to any funds.
Maybe I could convince Artyom to buy it for me. He still had my purse, all my money, all my cards. Or maybe I’d just ask the gallery to hold it until I figured out how to get the money.
Just as I was about to turn around and look for the owner of the gallery, strong arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against a solid chest. My body went rigid, panic sparking, and I tried to twist free, only for his hold to tighten, his breath brushing hot against my ear.
“Hey, printsessa.”
Artyom.
The warmth of him pressed into me, and the low rumble of his voice massaging my back switched off the valve that made my lungs malfunction.
“Hi…” The word slipped out, breathless.
“Fancy meeting you here…” His tone was calm, as his thumbs traced slow circles at my waist, the small motion lighting a fire in the pit of my stomach. I bit down hard on the moan threatening to escape.
Was this some kind of game? Why was he being so kind when I knew he was nothing more than a cruel, insensitive asshole? Was it because the room was crowded, and he wanted to play the part? Were his men here too?
“See anything you like?” he asked.
“You do realize we’re in an art gallery, right?” I snapped, a bit louder and harsher than I planned.
I didn't like feeling this way in his arms. Not after what he did to me.
“Mrs. Rykov,” he murmured, his mouth far too close to my ear, “are you giving your husband an attitude in public? Because, I’ll tell you now, that is frowned upon.”
His grip tightened, and a tiny gasp broke through the walls of my throat. Despite myself, the more pressure he applied the more turned on I became. My face burned at the realization.
Remember, Ninel. Anger pushes the feelings down. Tap into it. This is Artyom Rykov. He's cold and manipulative. Don't let him get the upper hand.
“I’m not giving you an attitude. Are we not in an art gallery, Mr. Rykov? Do you not know how much I love art?” I shot back.
I tried to turn and face him, but he kept me in place.
“That very small detail about you,” he said, almost smug, “makes you predictable, printsessa.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I can go for lunch or a shopping spree, considering I don’t have money for either. I thought Bratva husbands took care of their wives?”
“They do. And Bratva wives are expected to take very good care of their husbands in return.”
My head snapped up to his and I saw a brief softness on his face. The moment was broken by a vibration in Artyom’s pocket. His face hardened as he lifted one hand to tap his earpiece. There was a steel edge in his voice as he spoke softly.
“Speak.”
Seeing he was distracted, I tried once more to slip free. His arm clamped around my waist, pulling me flush against him, his erection pressing against my lower back.
Wait? Was Artyom attracted to me?
Are you not a hot, blooded female? Him having an erection doesn't mean he likes you.
I bit my lower lip and forced myself to listen to what Artyom was saying.
“There are two men here who seem very interested in you, printsessa. My guess? They're rivals.”
It was only then I realized that Artyom wasn't trying to be a controlling jerk, he was using his body as a shield.
“I was careful,” I stammered defensively, as my breathing increased. “They couldn’t have followed me. Which means they followed you.”
“It doesn’t matter who they followed. They weren’t looking at me, they had their eyes locked on you. If you’d stayed home like a good little wife…”
“I’ll never be a good little…” My protest was cut short by the crash of a silver platter and the shatter of glass.
Artyom didn’t even glance that way. His grip shifted, iron-tight on my arm, dragging me past the curtain. A gun appeared in his free hand as I stumbled to match his long strides.
“Konstantin, is Kolya here?” he whispered fiercely into the earpiece.
Our footsteps hurried across the wooden floor as he listened to Konstantin’s response.
“Is the alley clear?”
I looked back to see if anyone was following us as we slipped around the corner. I didn't catch sight of anyone.
“Can you access the cameras in the backrooms of the gallery? We’ll need a corner to sit tight until backup arrives.”
I heard men's voices filtering into the room and I knew Artyom heard them too as he quickened his pace.
“As soon as he gets here, let Kolya and his men move in to extract us. By force if necessary.”
Artyom turned us sharply to the left, testing the doors as we passed. The last one opened, it was a janitor’s closet. He turned the knob, we slipped inside and he locked it behind us.
Despite the cramped space, a window offered not only some light to the small dark space but a view of the two cars in the alley. I pressed my hands lightly to the sill, surveying the scene.
Before I could linger, Artyom spun me around, pressing my back against the wall. His hands settled on my hips, sending shock waves through my body as he hovered over me in the cluttered space.
His lips were inches from mine as he whispered, “Unless you want the men in the alley putting a bullet through your skull, that’s not a very smart move.”
“And us being cornered in a closet is?” I whispered angrily, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Until help arrives, yes…”
“I’m not a damsel in distress. Give me a gun and we can fight our way out.”
“We wouldn’t have to fight if you hadn’t snuck away from Ruslan.”
“Maybe if I wasn’t treated like a prisoner, I wouldn’t have to sneak away.”
“You’re not being treated like a prisoner, printsessa,” he growled. “If you were, you’d know.”
I rolled my eyes and pressed my lips together. “Doesn’t seem like it to me.”
His gaze darkened. He inched closer and a shiver ran down my spine.
“If you were my prisoner, you’d be handcuffed to my bed, and whipped into submission.” His hot whispers caressed my neck. “You are my wife…but pull another stunt like this again, and your title could change...”
A forbidden image of me, naked and restrained, flashed in my mind, as Artyom's hand trailed a whip along my body. My breaths were coming fast, anticipation mixing with fear.
I swallowed hard, forcing the thought down, but I couldn’t ignore the throbbing between my thighs.
Ninel! You snap out of it!
I placed my hands on his chest with the intention of pushing him away, but my fingers curled around his shirt instead.
He leaned closer, and pressed his forehead against mine. One hand traced the side of my body, brushing the swell of my breast. I bit my lip to keep quiet, trying to mask the hitch in my breath.
Artyom’s touch and his words made me abandon any notion of the normal fantasy life I had craved.
I’d never had sex, but I wasn’t naive about the many variations there was to it.
The man in front of me had completely shattered that image of what I thought I wanted.
No matter how much I tried to resist, I felt it…
I wanted him, because some part of me knew he could never truly hurt me.
Not when he looked at me like he was now.
The thought of him pleasing me in bed both thrilled and terrified me.
I wasn’t the only one struggling with desire. I felt Artyom’s erection pressing into my stomach, his heartbeat thundering against my hands, and it made everything inside me ache for him.
His hand slid behind my neck and lifted my head so I could meet his gaze.
“What are you doing to me, printsessa…” he said huskily, almost in a pained voice.
Just then, footsteps echoed outside the door shaking us out of the trance. When the knob turned, and rattled, Artyom shoved me behind him. I grabbed his free hand and held it tightly, as I held my breath.
“Mr. Rykov.”
Artyom went to the door and opened it.
“Kolya.”
“Mr. Rykov, are you both okay?” Koyla asked.
“She is,” Artyom stated as we stepped out of the room.
Koyla was a mountain of a man, thick dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, pink lips partially hidden beneath a thick beard and mustache.
“Any word on the men?” Artyom asked as we walked out of the hallway.
Two more guards walked ahead of us and another two brought up the rear. I felt tiny compared to the men.
“No sir, whoever looped the video is skilled. We’ll need your descriptions to run through the database,” Kolya said.
I froze as we approached the curtain we had slipped through earlier.
“So…the men could still be out there if Kolya doesn’t know what they look like…” My voice cracked.
“Stay here,” Artyom ordered.
I nodded, untangling my hand from his, missing the warmth of it. Standing among the guards, I watched him and Kolya walk back into the gallery.
My arms wrapped around my stomach, trying to keep my nerves at bay. After what felt like an eternity, and I thought I needed to step into the gallery because they were taking too long to return, Artyom reappeared from behind the curtain.
Instead of taking my hand, he rested his on the small of my back, and together we walked out.
At the SUVs, he helped me inside, then retrieved the keys to the Porsche I’d been holding, handing them to one of the men before sliding in beside me.
I had half-hoped he’d take my hand in his on the way back home, but he didn’t. I stared out the window, trying to push down the rush of emotions bubbling under my skin.
Maybe it was the adrenaline of being hunted, maybe the fact that we’d been alone, the closeness of the closet…but whatever it was, it was gone now, and I wasn’t about to dwell on it. Artyom sat beside me, stoic and unshaken. If he could remain unfazed, so could I…no matter how much it hurt.