Chapter 17 Svetlana
SVETLANA
Ican’t believe this is happening. "Safe." I laugh in his face, the way I always wished I could laugh at Iosef and his men without consequence, and it sounds unhinged even to my own ears. "You think this is safe? You think I feel safe with you?"
"Safer than you were in that hotel room with someone following you,” Kazimir snaps back.
"At least I had a choice!"
"A choice to do what?" He leans in, and I force myself not to flinch. "To keep living in that shithole? Keep pretending you're fine when you were barely surviving? To ignore the fact that someone was watching you, tracking you, waiting for the right moment to—"
"To what?" I snap. "To do what you just did? Congratulations, Kazimir. You got there first."
His eyes flash angrily. "That's not fair."
"Fair?" The word comes out sharp enough to cut. "You want to talk about fair? You've been watching me. Stalking me. Leaving things outside my door like some kind of—of—"
"Like someone who gives a shit whether you live or die."
"You don't get to decide that for me!" My voice cracks, and I hate it, hate the way it betrays how close I am to breaking. "You don't get to decide what I need or where I should be or—" My breath comes out shakily. “You gave up that right when you abandoned me the first time.”
"Someone has to." He's so close to me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his skin and smell his cologne and his warm musk, a scent that makes my body respond even as my mind screams at me to run.
"Because you're not taking care of yourself.
You're not eating enough, you're not sleeping, you're living in a place that's barely fit for—"
I shove at his chest, but he doesn't move. "I'm doing the best I can with what I have. Which is nothing, in case you haven't noticed. No money, no job, no—"
"You have me."
The words hang in the air between us. "I don't want you," I whisper, but my voice wavers.
Kazimir’s eyes never leave mine. "Liar."
"I don't want this." I gesture at the apartment, at him. "I don't want to be here. I don't want this baby!”
“You don’t get to decide that without me. It’s my child, too,” he snaps, and I see red. All I want is to hurt him right now, to remind him that I’m not his, that he gave up any right he ever had to mean anything to me when he let Ilya send me out into the cold.
"It might not even be yours," I hiss, cruel and sharp. Words that are meant to hurt.
Kazimir’s expression doesn't change. "And?”
"The baby." I force myself to hold his gaze, to not look away. "It might not be yours."
His jaw tightens, and I see him suck on the side of his teeth. “What you told me in the safe house, about Iosef and—”
“They never used protection,” I spit. “Iosef, Grigory, Pyotr, Evan—they got whatever they wanted, and it definitely wasn’t fucking me with a latex barrier to reduce their pleasure.
They didn’t care if I got pregnant; they would have just had a doctor come and take care of it.
They didn’t care about me. So this probably isn’t your baby, Kazimir, because you came in me once.
You know how many fucking times they did? Do you want me to try to guess?”
"Stop." He reaches for me, but I jerk back.
"Why? Does it bother you? Does it make you uncomfortable to hear what other men did to me? To know you’re not special just because you dumped your cum in me too?"
“You know that’s not what that was—”
"It doesn't matter." I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold. "The point is, the baby could be any one of theirs. So tell me, Kazimir. Would you still want it then? Would you still be so eager to play protector if it's not yours?"
The silence stretches between us. I watch his face, watch the way his jaw works, the way his hands clench and unclench. I'm waiting for him to do the math, to realize that the odds of the baby being his are low, then recoil, to tell me to get rid of it, to—
"Yes."
His voice is low and quiet, but firm. For a moment, I don’t think I’ve heard him right. "What?"
He meets my eyes, and there's something fierce in his gaze. "I want it to be mine. But regardless of whose it is, I'm going to protect you. Both of you."
I stare at him. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"You can't possibly—"
"I can." He moves closer, and this time I don't back away. "You think I care whose DNA it has? You think that matters to me?"
I can’t take this. I can’t handle this kind of nobility from a man whom I feel so strongly that I should hate. I tip my chin up, glaring at him defiantly. "It should."
"Well, it doesn't." His voice is hard now, uncompromising. "What matters is that you're carrying a child, and you're in danger. There was a man following you, watching you, and you were too stubborn or too proud or too fucking scared to ask for help."
“I don’t need—”
“You do. You’re living in a motel. Do you even have a plan for what you were going to do after the clinic?”
“I was going to figure it out—”
"How?" He's close enough that I have to tilt my head back to look at him.
"How are you going to figure it out? You have no money, no job, no support system.
You're alone in a city where people want to hurt you, and you're pregnant with a child that you can't afford to raise, that you feel your only option is to get rid of—"
"That's not your problem."
"It is now." His hand comes up, and I flinch, but he just cups my face, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "I made it my problem when I pulled you out of that cell.”
"When you fucked me?" The words come out bitter. "Is that what this is about? You feel guilty because you couldn't keep your hands off me? Or because you let Ilya send me out of that warehouse alone, and you didn’t help me?"
His eyes darken. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't point out that this is your fault?" I'm pushing now, deliberately trying to be cruel. "If you hadn't let me leave that place alone—” My lips press together briefly. “And you took advantage of what you wanted in the safe house. You know you did.”
"You wanted it just as badly as I did." His voice is low, dangerous. "Don't pretend you didn't. Don't pretend you weren't begging for it. Taunting me. Tempting me."
Heat floods my face. "I was—"
"You were what?”
“I faked it.” I glare at him. “So you’d think I liked it and wouldn’t get angry. You don’t think that’s what I was doing all that time in the compound? I know how to make men think I liked it—”
He chuckles darkly, and his thumb moves to my lower lip, pressing down slightly. "Is that what you're going with? You’re sticking to that? You faked your orgasm?”
"Yes." I glare at him.
"Liar." He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. "You came so hard you could barely stand. You loved how my cock felt inside of you.”
“You don’t know it was real—”
"I can prove it." His other hand slides down, resting on my hip. "Right now. I can prove that you're lying."
My breath catches. "Don't—"
"Why not?" His lips brush against my neck, and I feel my body respond despite everything, heat flooding through me as I feel his large body lean in against mine, his finger wrapping around my hip. "Afraid I'll be right?"
I can feel how wet I am already. If he touches me—
"I hate you." The words come out breathless and entirely unconvincing.
"I know." His hand tightens on my hip. "But you still want me."
"I don't—"
"You do." His mouth moves to my jaw, a brush of lips against skin that makes my knees weak. "You hate that you want me, but you do. You hate that your body responds to me, but it does. You hate that I make you feel things you don't want to feel, but—"
I shove him away with all my strength. He stumbles back a step, surprise flickering across his face.
"Don't touch me." My voice is shaking, but I force the words out. "Don't ever fucking touch me again."
"Svetlana—"
"I hate you," I repeat, backing toward the hallway and in the direction of what I think is the guest bedroom. "I hate you for what you did. I hate you for bringing me here. I hate you for—"
“For trying to help you?” His gaze is dark, that heat that I remember from the safe house burning there, and I need to get away from it.
"For making everything worse!" The words burst out of me. "Everything was fine until you—"
"Fine?" He stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. "You call living in that shithole fine?"
"It was better than this!"
"Was it?" He crosses his arms over his broad, muscled chest. "Was it really better, Svetlana? Or are you just scared?"
"I'm not scared of you."
"I didn't say you were scared of me." He shrugs. "I said you were scared. Of this. Of the fact that despite everything, despite all the reasons you should hate me, you still—"
"Stop." I hold up a hand. "Just stop."
For once, he finally fucking shuts up. But he doesn’t stop looking at me, his gaze holding mine. We stand there in the hallway, the tension between us so thick I can barely breathe.
"I'm going to bed," I say finally. "And tomorrow, I'm leaving."
"No, you're not."
"You can't keep me here."
"Watch me." His voice is flat and final. "You're not leaving until I know you're safe. Until I know the baby is safe. Until—"
"Until what? Until you decide I'm allowed to have my own life again?"
"Until you stop being so goddamn stubborn and accept that you need help."
"I don't need your help." I turn and walk toward the guest bedroom. "I don't need anything from you."
"Svetlana—"
I slam the door in his face.
My hands are shaking as I turn the lock. I press my back against the door and slide down to the floor, everything crashing in all at once now that I’m alone again.
Kazimir kidnapped me. He brought me here against my will, and he’s keeping me prisoner.
I press my hands against my face, trying to breathe, trying to think. I need to get out of here.