Chapter 11
Nika
I can’t tell what Max wants to do more, kill me or fuck me.
Looking into his eyes as his body strains against mine, I don’t know where one desire ends and the other begins. The barely restrained fury and need that practically radiate from him mirror my own confusing tangle of emotions.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“I already told you.” Max grits out the words through clenched teeth. “You’re not going to get it by sitting on my lap and playing games.”
“No?” I shift my weight to grind against him, ensuring he feels every inch of contact. The action issues a pulse of dizzying pleasure through me. “Seems like it’s working pretty well so far.”
His lips stretch thin as his face hardens. “You think this is power? You think because you tied me up, because you’re sitting on me, because you drugged me, you’re in control?”
I tilt back a bit, lessening the pressure against him. “Aren’t I?”
“No.” He leans forward as far as his bound arms will allow, and his breath skates across my lips when he speaks. “Because the minute you untie me and give me even a fraction of freedom, I’m going to put my hands on you and make you regret every second of this.”
The warning should terrify me. A sane person would keep their distance. I should remember that he’s Roman’s weapon, and I’m his target.
None of that happens.
Instead, a fire rages within me. My body responds to the promise in his words, the dark edge of violence and lust all mixed together.
“But I would have to give you that freedom first.” I tighten my grip on his chin and rake my other hand through his hair, tugging viciously enough to make it sting.
“Big words for someone who can’t even move. ”
“Try me.” He clamps his mouth shut as if he regrets his words.
Because they’re laden with our unspoken truths, with everything we’re trying not to acknowledge.
I want to close the last few inches between us and find out if his mouth is as dangerous as his hands. I wonder if he tastes like the brutality he threatens or something else entirely.
How would it feel to have him strain against the ropes while I indulge myself and prove that I have all the power?
Despite my dirty little fantasy, kissing him would be a mistake.
By admitting a truth I’m not ready to admit, I’d cross a line I can’t uncross. One that has nothing to do with my mission, getting the locket back, or hurting my father.
Knowing Max, he’d probably find a way to kill me while we screwed around.
So instead, I adjust my weight again, deliberately grinding down against his hard length.
“Where’s the locket, Max?” I’ll use every weapon in my arsenal—my body, his desire, the attraction crackling between us—to break him.
“I’m not sure you understand how to torture information out of someone.” He wets his lips. “But by all means, keep going.”
“We’ll see.” I slide my hands from his hair to his chin, skimming his rapid pulse.
I caress the hard planes of his muscular chest, faint scars peeking through the gap left by the top two undone buttons. Evidence of a life lived violently, dangerously, on the edge of death.
His chest rises and falls too quickly, his control slipping despite his best efforts.
I continue to map the landscape of his body while he remains powerless to stop me. “Where is it?”
He doesn’t answer. Simply stares at me with those arctic eyes, fury and desire whirling like flame.
Fine.
I rock forward once, slow and intentional, gyrating my hips against him just enough to prove my point. To remind him of his helplessness, of how completely I have him. I skim my fingers under the shirt and jacket hanging loose over his shoulders.
His muscles are defined under his clothing. The perfect place to grip for balance.
He doesn’t react. Doesn’t buck or thrust. Doesn’t give me anything. Just sits with his jaw clenched and his eyes locked on mine, refusing to play the game.
Stubborn bastard.
I half-smile, tip my chin up, and rock again, taking advantage of the situation to indulge myself in ways I never have before with a man.
In the back of my mind, I know I should crush these carnal urges. Ignore them and focus on the mission. Start ripping his fingernails out to encourage him to talk.
But my body only cares about the friction, the warmth, the wetness between my legs. The mission remains a distant thought somewhere beneath desire and instinct.
Then Max lifts his hips.
My toes leave the ground, his thighs and core strength supporting my weight. The motion drives him harder against me, creating pressure in exactly the right spot. I roll my hips, drawing circles right where I need.
I never thought restraining someone could be so damn erotic.
Never realized how good it could feel to have another body against mine.
My head drops back, and a whispered gasp slips past my lips.
No.
I snap my head up again, anger and shame flooding through my limbs. I will not lose control. I can’t let him see how much this affects me, what my body aches for despite what my mind knows.
But he’s still moving. Still lifting his hips in a measured pulse that matches my earlier writhing. I can’t stop myself from rocking against him as he thrusts up to meet me.
We’re practically fucking.
Fully clothed and with him bound to a chair, we undulate together in a primal, instinctive rhythm that’s completely beyond rational thought.
He rubs against the thin cotton between my legs. The fabric is soaked through, useless as a barrier but excellent at molding itself to me.
In this stolen moment of passion, I relish everything. The shape of him, the heat, the texture of his pants, the way he’s straining against his trousers, trying to break free.
His eyes burn with rage and desire, a furnace just waiting to swallow the kindling of my soul.
I know my eyes probably look the same. I’m sure he can see how much I want this, how much I’m losing the battle against my own need.
It doesn’t matter.
He’ll be dead soon and can never tell anyone what I did or how completely I lost control.
For a few minutes, I can have this. I can take what I want from him while he’s helpless to stop me, can use him the way I’ve used everything and everyone in my war against Roman.
I curl my fingers around the nape of his neck. The position brings us closer, allowing me leverage as I chase the swelling ache in my pussy. As my body rolls, my breasts brush against his chest, sending tingling shivers through my dress.
He feels good. Too good.
The hard planes of his pecs, his thighs flexing beneath my ass, the thick length of him grinding exactly where I want it…
With each thrust, pleasure jolts through me, mounting until I’m gasping for air. Any pretense of control shatters.
I dip my head near his mouth, and his breath skates over me.
He lifts his chin, bringing us closer. He’s going to kiss me. I part my lips in anticipation. This is really happening—
His forehead smashes into mine.
Pain explodes across my skull, into my eyes, and down my nose. My vision whites out in bursts of light. I scramble back, my legs tangling in my skirt as I try to get to a safe distance.
Once I peel myself off his lap, I stumble all the way to the remnants of the dining table and the three remaining chairs. It’s way farther than necessary to escape his reach, but I’m not fleeing from his body.
I’m fleeing from mine.
Desire still thrums through me, pulsing between my legs, making my skin too tight and my breath come too fast despite the pain in my head and my apparent death wish.
With a shaky inhale, I shove a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Max glares, his dick still straining in his pants. Apparently, he’s just as twisted as I am.
When I can trust my legs again, I walk to the duffel bag Max dropped near the wall when he first entered.
“Don’t even bother.” A twinge of worry laces his tone. “You’ll never find it.”
Oh, but I think I will. “Aww, your concern is touching, but trust me, it’s no trouble.”
I unzip the bag and start to rummage through the contents.
“If you take it,” Max slouches back in his chair, the picture of nonchalance, “I will hunt you down and destroy you.”
Just like that, another Kozlov man does what they do best. Fuck up my life. “I’ve spent years hiding, Max. You’ll never find me.”
I return my focus to the duffel.
A loud crack spins me back around.
Max doubles over, snapping the chair back and the arms free of their base. Veins throb along every bit of exposed flesh, pinkening his skin with pulsing blood.
He should still be weakened from the drug. It would have worn off enough for basic movement, talking, gesturing, moving his head, but not this. Not enough that he could do something this extreme.
He was thrusting back.
That alone should have told me he’d recovered. Maybe the act even helped him recover.
I need to—
With fury etched in every line of his face, Max rises with the slow squeal of splitting wood. Splintered pieces of the chair fall at his feet.
He kicks out a leg, snapping the cord binding him.
Only one leg remains tied up, and at this point, all he has to do is lift the chair before he’s fully unbound.
Or flex harder and tear right through his clothes.
Dammit.
He tricked me. Quid pro quo, I guess.
For the first time since Isla de Huesos, since the storm and the gunfire and my mother’s blood pooling around her, true terror floods my body and mind.
My control was an illusion. All of it. The chair, the restraints, the drug, the sexual dominance…
I never had him. He was always going to break free. Always going to come for me.
But he hasn’t won yet. I have time to escape. I know these streets, this city, the mountains. He doesn’t.
I snatch up the duffel bag and sprint into the hallway.
Not willing to lose precious seconds in the elevator, I hit the stairs, taking them one flight at a time by holding the railing and jumping. With each drop, the stilettos barely tap.
Above me, the door to the stairwell slams open, followed by loud stamps.
Dizziness rushes over me as I flee. Finally, I hit the lobby and fly through the doors, breathing hard.
The same two security guards who checked on us before linger near the reception desk in the lobby. Their heads jolt up as I sprint past.
“He made me say that.” I heave. “He’s abusive, and he’s after me.”
Both men whip around, their faces grim as they charge toward the stairwell.
That should slow him down.
Smug certainty thins the terror in my heart. If I’m lucky, he might get arrested. At the very least, their questioning will stall him.
Either way, the lie buys me more time.
Outside, I race through the late-night streets, all the way back to the second parking garage I’ve used tonight.
I fumble for the keys in the pocket of my dress. By the time I reach it, my truck’s already unlocked. Flinging the duffel in first, I hop into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
The tires squeal as I peel out of the garage and into the street.
Fat clumps of Seattle snow slap against the windshield as I weave through traffic, taking random turns and putting distance between me and the hotel.
Only when I’m on the highway and heading out of town do I finally let myself breathe.
The weather worsens, flurries accumulating in thick white banks along the road. As visibility drops, I flip on the wipers before finally remembering to turn the heat to full blast.
It’s just the cold. I’m shivering from the cold. That’s all.
But just in case…
I pull my phone out and make the call I never thought I’d need this far into my training.
“Dima.” I hate how I can’t hide the tremor in my voice.
“Kai.” Concern floods through my speakers. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“I got the locket from him.” The words tumble out too fast. “But he’s unhinged. The drugs didn’t immobilize him for long, and now he’s after me.”
“Okay. You did good by just getting away from him.” Dimitri’s tone shifts to that calm, controlled one he uses when I’m spiraling, when the trauma threatens to drown me. “Extract yourself. Stay low. Breathe. Just like I taught you.”
I do as he instructs and inhale in through my nose. Hold. Out through barely parted lips. The panic recedes slightly, enough for me to focus on the road, on the route out of the city, and on survival.
Dimitri has been the center of my world since I was nine years old.
He rescued me before Roman could finish annihilating my family. He’s always been my safe place.
“I’m on my way, Boss.” The nickname steadies me even more, reminding me that I’m not that helpless nine-year-old anymore. “Just get back to the house. Lock it down. You’ll be fine. I’m coming.”
By the time the line goes dead, I’ve wrestled down the terror and locked it away where it can’t touch me.
Max has no idea where I’m going. Though I haven’t found it, I’m positive the locket is in the bag beside me, and up ahead, my mountain sanctuary awaits.
I don’t slow down because every mile between Max and me is life or death.