Chapter 7 – Violet #2
His brows lift, just slightly. There’s that flicker in his eyes—equal parts amused and intrigued.
He stalks toward me, unhurried, like a predator toying with its prey, but I stay right where I am. Even as he stops in front of me. Even as he leans down and grips both arms of the chair, boxing me in.
His face is so close now. Inches.
I can feel the heat of his breath. Smell the sharp smoke of his cologne. The glass of whiskey rests loosely in his fingers behind me. I should be terrified. I’m not.
“I’m not scared of you,” I whisper.
He studies me for a moment, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s reading between the lines of my heartbeat. Then—
“That’s what I like about you,” he murmurs. “Fear bores me.”
My breath catches, and for the first time I realize that whatever is happening between us…it’s not just captor and captive anymore.
It’s something else entirely. And that should terrify me more than anything.
But I don’t know what comes over me.
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—like I’m both a puzzle and the fire that might burn him alive. Maybe it’s the tension, the silence, the charged air crackling between us like something electric.
Or maybe I’m just losing my damn mind.
Because I lean forward and press a soft kiss to his lips.
It’s brief. Barely a brush. But it happens. And in that instant, I forget everything—why I hate him, why I should push him away, why I should scream.
His lips are warm.
Kaz’s eyes flash wide for a heartbeat. Just one.
And then he moves.
His hand snaps up, fingers wrapping around the side of my neck—not tight, not hurting, just holding—and he crashes his mouth onto mine like something feral has finally broken loose inside him.
The kiss is brutal. Desperate. Raw.
His mouth claims mine, and my body forgets how to breathe. His other hand slides up my thigh, fingers grazing the bare skin beneath the hem of the satin slip I stupidly wore, and I let out a sharp breath against his lips.
My hands move before I can stop them, skimming up his chest, feeling the hard lines of muscle beneath the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him like I’ve wanted this all along.
But then—
Kaz pulls away.
Fast.
Like the moment scorched him. Like he’s just remembered who we are.
He backs up, chest rising and falling, eyes dark and stormy.
I sit frozen, lips swollen, heart galloping, wondering what the hell I’ve just done. Wondering why…I want to do it again. What the hell has come over me?
He’s still breathing hard, staring at me like he’s one wrong move away from breaking something.
Then his voice drops—low, rough, unsteady.
“If I taste you again….” He swallows hard, jaw clenched. “I won’t be able to stop. And if I can’t stop, I’ll never be able to let you go.”
The words hit me like a slap and a caress at the same time.
He steps back, running a hand through his hair like he’s punishing himself, and adds, “So if you really plan on leaving someday—if you want your old life back—stay the hell away from me.”
And just like that, he’s gone.
He turns and strides out of the study, the door slamming shut behind him like thunder in my chest.
I sit frozen in the massive leather chair, lips still tingling, heartbeat still chaotic. My fingers are curled around the armrest like it’s the only thing tethering me to this moment.
I feel…breathless.
And furious. At him—for leaving. At myself—for wanting him to stay. What is wrong with me?
How does he seem to have more control than I do?
I’m the one who was kidnapped. I’m the one locked away. I should be the one with all the righteous anger and zero confusion.
And yet….
All I can think about is the way he said never be able to let you go. And the worst part? Some tiny, screwed-up part of me liked the sound of it.
God help me.
Because I think I’m losing my mind.
I bolt out of the study moments after Kaz disappears, my cheeks burning, my heart still thrumming with the heat of that kiss. I don’t stop to think—I just run.
By the time I make it to my room, I slam the door shut behind me, wishing I could lock it, but it only locks from the outside. I head straight for the closet.
I need to talk to Noelle. I need to hear her voice, ask why she’s not responding to me, remind myself that the real world still exists, that I’m not going completely insane inside this twisted mansion.
I need to beg her to please find a way to get me out of here before I completely develop Stockholm syndrome.
I crouch down and reach behind the stacked shoeboxes where I earlier tucked the burner phone Arina gave me. But in my haste, my arm knocks into another one of the boxes. It crashes with a thud. A shoe rolls out.
And something else falls with it. Another phone. My breath catches. It’s not mine. I stare at it like it might explode. It’s a different make. Different model. Sleek. Black. No identifying stickers or marks.
I don’t touch it. I don’t have to. Because I already know—I’ve never seen this before. And Arina definitely didn’t give it to me.
This wasn’t here yesterday. I’m sure of it. A sick, icy chill curls up my spine. Someone else has been in here. Someone else planted this.
I press a hand to my chest, trying to slow my breathing, but the air is suddenly too tight to swallow. My throat burns. My instincts scream at me not to touch the phone. Not to call attention to it. Not to say a word.
Kaz can’t know. Because if he didn’t plant it…someone else did. And that means someone else is watching me, too.
I slowly pick up the shoebox and shove the fallen shoe and the mystery phone back inside, burying it like it’s a loaded gun. I don’t know who to trust anymore.
As I’m still contemplating this, I hear a knock come from the direction of the living room. I frown. Who could it be? Kaz and Arina don’t knock before barging in.
I shove the burner phone back into the closet, burying it deep in the corner behind a pile of sweaters, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’m back in my room when I realize the knock wasn’t coming from the door, it was on the window.
My blood runs cold.
The window is supposed to be bolted shut. I checked it when I arrived. Multiple times. There’s no balcony. No ledge. Nothing.
Wait—is it a bird? Maybe. I relax a little.
Another knock. Louder this time. Before I can take one step toward it, the glass shatters loudly. Glass everywhere.
Daggers fly through the air, glinting silver under the morning light. One slices clean through the edge of the curtain, embedding into the headboard beside me.
I scream.
I barely have time to think, to breathe, when the door slams open with a thunderous crack.
Kaz.
He’s at the window in seconds, gun drawn, all grace and danger. He doesn’t speak—just scans the shattered glass, eyes wild, furious, calculating.
I’m still on the floor, shaking. My ears are ringing. There’s glass everywhere.
“Kaz—” I start, my voice barely a whisper.
He doesn’t look at me at first. He leans out of the broken window instead, yelling something in Russian I can’t catch. His face is stone, but his jaw is clenched so tight I think it might snap.
Then he turns to me.
His eyes land on mine.
I’ve seen them angry. I’ve seen them amused. But I’ve never seen them like this.