Chapter 6
Chapter six
Matysh
Where the fuck is he?
Boris was supposed to be here at the dock an hour ago. And I mean, maybe being late is nothing more than a power play on his part, but I have half a mind to say “fuck you” right back and leave.
I lean against the cold metal of a shipping container, my hands shoved in my jacket pocket as I stare out at the water. I can see the Statue of Liberty in the distance, with all the different riverboats blasting Christmas music, sailing toward it. I frown.
Fucking holidays. They were never something my father allowed us to enjoy—not until we were older. My faded, long-lost childhood memories seem to beg to differ…
But I’ve killed too many people since then.
“Marriage looks good on you,” Boris calls, interrupting my thoughts. The collar of his coat is raised to cover his neck against the biting cold, and in that moment, I can’t say I see any resemblance between Catarina and himself.
Which is a good thing.
“You’re late,” I say flatly.
He grins. “Well, the abnormally cold early December temps are getting an ache in my bones. Still, you look less…tense?” He gestures over the length of my body.
“Hardly,” I deadpan. If anything, I’m more tense than ever, fighting the goddamned urge not to go back into Catarina’s room and fuck her senseless. But…
Something has kept me at bay. Dignity maybe.
“I assume you and my daughter have been getting along nicely,” Boris says, meeting my gaze. I’ve got a few inches on him, and I don’t have a clue where he’s going with this.
I glare at him, my arms folded across my chest. “Is that why you called this meeting?”
He ignores me. “You’ve consummated the marriage?”
I purse my lips. “Yes.”
“I assume you would have led with her being pregnant if she was.” Boris sighs and looks out at the water. “You're not lying to me, are you?”
“Why the fuck would I lie?” I bristle, swallowing down the offense. “I have no reason to withhold anything from you.”
“Well, you won’t let me talk to her myself,” he bites back.
I shake my head, my fists clenching at my sides. “I said she needs some time to settle in.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I ignore it, though I feel a flicker of worry in my chest, thinking it could be about Catarina. But she’s at home surrounded by people that I pay more than enough to keep her safe.
If anything, she’s probably just berating Helena again. That seems to be a new hobby for her.
I shouldn’t be worried about her, but God knows who the people who killed my brother have next on their list from my family. And the only way I can make sure she’s safe is by being there myself.
“How many times have you—”
“I will let you know when she is pregnant,” I cut him off, disgusted at the audacity. “All other information is private.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I just worry you're not trying hard enough. This whole deal rests on a child to unite our families. If we don't have that, then I don't think peace will be an option.”
“This was about a message,” I sneer, suddenly pissed the fuck off. I uncross my arms and take a step forward, towering over his smaller frame. Who the fuck does he think he is questioning me about my wife’s and my private fucking matters?
He raises his hands in a low surrender. “I just want to make sure you’re being efficient in the bedroom.”
Before I can say anything to let him know how out of line he is, my phone buzzes in my pocket again. I'm tempted to leave it alone. But in the back of my mind, I hear Mikhail’s voice whispering, “Protect her.”
And there’s just something about it that I can’t ignore.
In spite of everything, I look at my phone and see that it's Helena calling. I sigh and answer. “This better be important.”
There's a moment of pause on the other end and I hear a sharp inhale. “She's gone,” Helena says in a sharp, panicked voice. “I've looked everywhere in the estate, she's nowhere. There's vomit in the toilet in her room, too.”
I pause, every cell in my body on high alert as I process her words. Catarina is missing.
Catarina is missing and there was vomit in the toilet. It could be her having a bad reaction to breakfast, or it could be morning sickness.
Is Catarina pregnant?
Eto koshmar (This is a nightmare).
I eye Boris, and then hold up an index finger before taking a few steps away from him. “What do you mean? How could this have happened?” I keep my voice low, but the anger is already pulsing through my veins. I glance back at Boris, and inwardly wince.
His interest has already piqued, and his eyes are glued to me while I whisper on the phone.
“Is something wrong with Catarina?” There's panic in his voice as he asserts himself. I ignore him to listen to Helena.
“I left her in her room and when I came back with lunch, there was a makeshift rope tied to the bedpost. It seems like she climbed out the window,” Helena explains.
“It’s the most… it’s like the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever seen.
I never would’ve expected her to…You know.
” Her voice shakes as she speaks. “I’m so sorry—”
I hang up the phone before she has a chance to beg for forgiveness. I might fire her on the spot, if I stay speaking with her any longer. Or maybe call in a hit. I can’t fucking see straight.
“Is my daughter okay?” Boris is now closing in on me, his eyes laced with frustration. “Tell me now.”
“Your daughter, my wife, seems to be one hell of an escape artist,” I snap at him, shaking my head and dialing Jed, my head of estate security.
“How the fuck did you let this happen, Jed?” I grit out, keeping my tone under control, if only by the skin of my teeth.
Jed is fired for this. I should kill him.
“I'm trying to isolate her on the surveillance cameras right now,” Jed replies, remaining calm even though this is the worst-case scenario. “I’m working on it. We just found out.”
I press my fingers against my forehead, trying not to lose it to anger or panic. I have to go look for her, but I also have to know what direction to start looking. I'll waste more time searching everywhere without a lead than I will if I have an educated guess of where to begin.
“Ah, looks like she headed south across the yard toward the park,” Jed grunts. “I don’t think she’ll get too far. She’s got no way to get a taxi or—”
“I’ll find her,” I say, turning on my bike and quickly peeling away from Boris before he shares his own thoughts.
Fucking hell, Catarina. You’re going to pay for this.
It's only 4:00 p.m. in the afternoon, but the sky is already dark. To make matters worse, it's fucking SantaCon in the city. Drunks dressed up like Santa Claus and elves are wandering around with shot glasses hanging from their necks on red and white beaded necklaces.
They walk in the streets like sidewalks were never invented, ignoring all the cars honking as they try to drive past all the obnoxious, drunken idiots in Santa and elf costumes.
Who the hell has time for this kind of shit?
I ignore all of the drunk pedestrians as I drive. They scream and shout, jumping out of the way to avoid being mowed down by me on my bike. I have no doubt I can handle a hit and run. I’ve handled much worse.
I get on the road and zoom between cars, not caring about my own safety in the slightest. The only thing on my mind is the promise I made to my brother.
And I can't protect Catarina if she's not with me.
Escaping like this is dangerous for a myriad of reasons. Not only is she probably malnourished from refusing to eat for so long, but it's fucking cold and I doubt she's prepared for that.
On top of that, there's been radio silence from all sides since the wedding three weeks ago. I have no idea where the threat is coming from. No one is showing their cards right now, and that’s more unsettling than all-out war.
That's not even mentioning how dangerous it is for a woman to be alone in the dark, in the quiet suburb. Just the thought of some greasy old man spotting her and taking advantage of her feeds the flame in my chest.
Don’t let your mind go there, I warn myself. Besides, it’s not my problem what the fuck happens to her. She’s the one who chose to leave.
But still, if I have to knock down every damned door in Kings Point to find her, I will. And anyone helping her with this foolish escape attempt will have hell to pay.
Delayed hell, because by the time I get to Kings Point, the sun has completely set and the only light around is from the city across the water.
I detour through Kings Point Park, where Jed told me it looked like she was heading.
I don't see anybody walking their dog or taking a late night stroll, probably all content to stay inside and watch Christmas movies while drinking eggnog. Fucking weirdos.
And then I see the pale figure running barefoot out of the woods toward the path.
Ah, there’s my ogonyok (Little Flame), and she’s coming right for me.
She’s waving her little arms in my direction. I almost laugh at the irony as I hit the brakes and skid to a stop, angling myself on the bike to keep it from flipping.
“Help!” Catarina cries behind me, running in my direction. I sit on my bike, my helmet still in place, and watch her with a mixture of anger and relief settling in my stomach. “I’ve been trapped in a–”
I take my helmet off, and she freezes mid-sentence. The fear in her eyes cuts through the moonlight, and she lets out a sharp exhale.
Gotcha.
All she's wearing is a pair of loose-fitting pajama shorts and one of Mikhail’s oversized sweaters she's refused to part with. Even after running through the woods for God only knows how long, she looks damn incredible, her hair messy and eyes wide.
“Go on. Finish the sentence,” I smirk.
She doesn't move as I climb off my bike and storm closer, standing inches away from her. Catarina refuses to look at me. She focuses on my chest with a hard look in her eyes.
“You fucking asshole,” Catarina snaps, as her voice shakes with each word. I can’t decide if it’s anger or the cold. Or maybe both.
I almost say something. But then I think about everything that could've gone wrong. I think about all the people who want me dead, who would harm her just to get to me. I think of all the sick fucks who could’ve seen a young woman like her and done the unthinkable.
My blood boils. I breathe heavily, my breath fogging the air around us like smoke.
And she might be carrying my child.
It awakens a whole new monster in me.
I grab her arm tight in my hand and drag her toward my bike. She stumbles and has to jog to keep my pace while she tries to pull her arm away. Eventually, I let her wiggle her arm free.
“Why can't you just let me go?” Catarina shouts. “I don’t want to be trapped with you! I can’t fucking stand to think that you touched me.”
I whip my head around to look at her and see tears streaming down her face, disgust etched in the corner of her mouth. It’s clearer than ever that she hates me, and I don’t know why this fucking bothers me. I hate her, too.
“You said that you don't want this either,” she continues, her voice still trembling. “Just say that I escaped.”
I burst into a wicked laughter, mocking her as I tower over her. “And what would you do? Where the hell would you go, Catarina? Hmm?”
“Anywhere but here.” She crosses her arms in front of her, and her eyes finally meet mine. “I’d rather live out of a trash can than have to be in the same vicinity as you.”
I shrug. “Well, I can arrange for you to live out of garbage, if that’s what you desire.”
She lets out a frustrated groan, and then throws her hands up at me. “I can't live like this, Matysh! I can't spend every hour of my life surrounded by the same four walls. You've had your fun, you've tormented me enough. Just let me go.”
I tilt my head, trying to understand. This was never about tormenting her, and she doesn't see that. This is about protecting her. Protecting both our families. And taking my brother’s revenge.
My voice lowers unwantedly. “If I let you go, the same people who killed Mikhail will come after you, do you not understand that?” I clench my jaw at the thought. I don’t know who would be responsible, but I know they wouldn’t make it clean. That’s not how it works in this world.
Catarina shrugs her shoulders and barks out a sad, pained laugh. “I would rather die than live like this.”
A pause settles between us as her words sink in. My promise to Mikhail echoes in my mind and I shake my head. I grab her by the back of her neck and lead her to the bike. She winces under my touch.
“You don’t own me!”
I stop walking and turn her to face me, increasing pressure.
“Yes, Little Flame. Yes, I do. You’re wearing my ring, you carry my name.
” I close the gap between us, staring down at her with an intensity in my eyes that makes Catarina gulp.
“And as it stands now, you might be carrying my blood. Isn’t that right? ”
Catarina gasps, and her fingers immediately go to her stomach. She grips the fabric of the sweater, shaking her head.
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t need to. The silence speaks volumes.
“Thought you could run away, huh?” I ask, feeling a flood of anger at the idea of her putting my child at risk. “You thought you could run away with something that belongs to me?”
“I didn't ask for this,” Catarina grits out in response, her defiance unwavering. “I didn’t want you.”
“You might think you can just get up and run away and I'll just sit back and let it happen, because I can’t stand you,” I begin, my voice low as I lean in closer to her. “But you’re so damn wrong. As long as you're carrying my child…and as long as you're bound to me… you're mine.”
“I'll never be yours,” Catarina whispers, shaking her head at me with disgust on her face.
“Oh, you already are, and you’ll thank me for it someday,” I say before grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward me.
I’m too quick for her to fight back, and she’s left to only whimper her protests.
I force her onto the bike and settle in behind her, feeling every tremble of her body. Whether they’re from the cold or something else, I don’t know. And right now, I don’t care. Before I put the helmet over her head, I lean forward close enough that my lips nearly graze her ear.
“Run again, Little Flame, and I'll put your fire out.”