14. The Good Time
Chapter 14
The Good Time
"I thought we were having a good time, da? " Nikolai says. He leans forward, his eyes narrowed, his handsome face contorted with barely controlled fury. "Why would you spoil that?" He slams his napkin down on the table.
“Well, if you found out your parents or some unknown uncle betrayed you, would you be compliant then, huh, Nikolai Romanov ?” I spit.
He stares at me. His dark hair, usually perfectly styled, is now slightly disheveled, a few strands falling over his forehead, giving him a more feral look. The anger in his eyes is palpable, burning like wildfire. His lips curl into a dangerous smirk.
He's losing control. That's my chance.
“Your parents, they run— for you. They want—keep you safe. We—looking for you for many, many years. I—-glad I found you.” He gets up and steps towards me, his anger receding, replaced by a quiet intensity that sends shivers through my body. His eyes, as they lock onto mine, darken. A hunger sets in them, as he gazes at my body.
“And if you—not comply,” he says, "I—take what is rightfully mine, what was given—-me through my papa ."
I shake my head from side to side, my hands clenching into fists. I can't believe this. This is all wrong.
"You don't!" I finally manage to say, my voice trembling. My breath hitches. My hands shake, my fingers digging into the tablecloth.
He chuckles. “Oh, but I do. Yan Petrov’s daughter."
My stomach churns. “Don’t talk about my father like you know him!”
“Your father was in—difficult position," Nikolai says, his voice calmer. He leans back, his gaze piercing. "Your father was—good man, but he had bad brother. And now—you— mine.”
He pauses, letting those words sink in. I can't move.
"Enough of this," he says. "Enough foreplay. It is time I make you—rightfully mine. You see this—honeymoon night, da? "
“I won’t comply—"
“Maybe it's better if you don't—more fun—for me,” he grunts, his eyes turning dark. He's enjoying this, enjoying the power he has over me.
"Tie her to bed," Nikolai says, his voice a cold command. His eyes flash, a predatory gleam, then shift to a dark, husky desire. "I will have what is—mine.”
Two of his men grab me, their hands rough against my skin. I kick and scratch, trying to fight them off, but they’re too strong. My body is a writhing mass of defiance, but I'm helpless against them. I see a glimmer of red, the blood staining my fingers from where I've clawed at their arms.
"You—only hurt yourself," Nikolai says, shaking his head from side to side, a cruel amusement twisting his lips.
He's not going to let me escape. He's not going to let me win. But I'm not giving up. I'm going to fight until the very end.
A kick to the balls, Ava. I tell myself, remembering Zara’s training. At least she made me stronger before she betrayed me. But I can’t get a good angle. They're too close, too strong.
I find myself bound to the bed, the rough ropes biting into my wrists, drawing blood.
"And her legs," Nikolai commands. His voice carries the weight of a tyrant. “Spread them.”
Two of the men spread my legs and bind them to the bedposts, the ropes cutting into my skin, the pain sharp and undeniable.
"Now leave us," Nikolai says, loosening his tie as he approaches me. His gaze lingers on me with hungry anticipation. My insides scream.
Nikolai leans down over me. He’s close to my ear. "I going to make you want me," he growls. "I make you come again and again, and you—beg more.”
He loosens his belt, his fingers tracing the line of my dress, the movement sending spikes of adrenaline through me. He pushes his body against mine so I can feel all of him.
"Never," I sneer.
He laughs, a low, guttural sound that makes my blood run cold. "I love resistance. I look for a partner, a trophy, and a brain. Not—tool." He reaches for the top of my dress, his fingers brushing against my skin, sending a shock wave through my body.
The scent of his cologne, spice, and musk fills my senses. It’s like a wolf's perfume, primal, feral. My chest heaves, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The rope biting into my wrists burns me. The silk of my dress feels like a foreign substance against my skin. I can feel the pressure of his body against mine, and I know, with a chilling certainty, that I'm losing control.
"I don't want you!"
He laughs again, his eyes gleaming with a dark amusement. He slowly lowers the straps of my dress, the top of my dress, his touch deliberate and controlled. The silk slides open, revealing my bare shoulder. His thumb traces a lazy circle around my collarbone, sending involuntarily jolts of electricity through me. He caresses my bare shoulders, his lips moving slowly, sensually, across my skin. He thinks he's winning. He thinks he's breaking me. But he's wrong.
He leans closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "You—beautiful, Anya . So strong. So—resistant. And all mine, to do with what pleases me.” He pulls back, his eyes locking onto mine. "You going to make this interesting."
His hand finds its way to the zipper of my dress, his touch a burning brand against my skin.
I swallow hard. I need to distract him. I need to make him think I'm giving in and enjoying this. Then, I'll strike.
He smiles. "You know you want it." He continues to unfasten the zipper, the silk of my dress sliding open, inch by inch, revealing more of my skin.
His other hand runs up and down my inner thigh, stopping just before it reaches my apex. The heat of his touch makes me shudder, a primal response that I try to control. I have to think of Alexander, of Katerina. I have to stay focused. I can't let him break me. They are coming. I know they are.
I shift my game. I have to. He likes my resistance, so I need to change it up. I arch my back against him, feeling his hard length press against me. He pushes back roughly, a delightful surprise in his voice.
"Oh, fuck, Anya ."
I can feel his eyes on me; his gaze is hot and possessive. As his hands run down my side, over my hip, I turn slightly towards him, stretching the rope tight around one of my wrists. The other feels loose, a thread of hope woven into the knot. He's distracted. He's enjoying this. Although I didn’t intend for this, it’s good.
I throw my head back and moan slightly a soft, seductive sound. But I hold back. I don't give away too much. I don't want him to know I'm faking it. As I turn, his hand brushes against my breast, making my nipple harden involuntarily.
"That—my girl," he growls, his voice rough. His mouth connects with my nipple through the fabric of my dress, blowing warm air on it. "We don’t want you—get cold," he says in a musky voice, pressing himself against me.
I feel like a bird caught in a spider's web, struggling against the silken threads that bind me.
My wrist, the one in the looser loop, is my focus. I twist and turn it, pulling it towards me. My movements are slow and deliberate. I can feel the blood dripping. Its warmth is a slick lubricant against the rough rope. It’s painful, but I don’t make a sound. The more blood, the more slippery the rope will be, and the easier it will be to get free.
I whisper into his ear, my voice raspy, "You're so—big, oh, Nikolai." My eyes gaze down at his cock behind his pants, a fake admiration filling my gaze. He is big, but that's not the point. Flattery is the point, raising his ego, and making him think he's invincible. And then—strike.
Zara's training, her words echoing in my mind. "A kick to the balls, ragdoll."
"Just wait until you feel all of me. You—thank me after. Many women will pay good money to be–-you. I treat you well, slatka . Only the best for you." His voice is seductive. He thinks he's got me.
I let out a low moan, spreading my legs slightly, inviting him in. I try to maintain the illusion of surrender, of desire. He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding, his gaze focused on my breasts, then on my face.
Don’t look at my wrists, don’t look, don’t look.
"You know," he says, "you’re more than—pretty face. You have spark eyes."
He leans closer, his gaze intent. "A passion that—intoxicating. I want you to feel it, too. I want you to want me. To fuck me."
"Don't be so hasty," I say. "Let me get comfortable first."
He smiles, his eyes gleaming. He moves away, leaving me momentarily free, his gaze never leaving my face. He's letting his guard down. Now's my chance.
"Make yourself at home," he growls.
My eyes dart towards the door. If I can just get close enough—
I focus all my energy on loosening the ropes, my fingers working feverishly against the rough fabric. The burning pain in my wrists is excruciating. With a surge of energy, I manage to slip one hand free, the rope falling away with a satisfying snap. I'm free. I'm going to make this count—for me and for the women.
I take a deep breath, my body trembling. My hand shoots out, a swift, powerful movement aimed at his groin. My bloodied hand connects a precise strike that sends him reeling back.
He stumbles, a strangled gasp escaping his lips. His face contorts in pain. It's my chance. I know his weak spot. I won't let Zara’s betrayal be in vain. I'll use everything she taught me to survive.
I aim another punch, another precise strike to the side of his neck, where his carotid artery runs close to the surface. He crashes to the floor, his eyes wide with shock, and then he is out. He doesn’t move. I can’t believe it .
I throw my legs over the side of the bed, my body moving with a newfound strength. I'm free.
My heart pounds as I race towards the door. What about the men outside? I didn't hear a lock click when they left, meaning they hadn't bothered securing me. They probably underestimated me.
They thought I wouldn't dare try. With a slow, deliberate push, I ease the handle down. The door clicks open. Yes. The two men outside, eyes glazed with boredom, haven't even registered my escape. One stares down the hall, and the other finally glances my way, but the connection doesn't register—that I'm alone, that I'm making a break.
I kick the first man hard in the groin, a precise move that sends him crashing to the floor, his hand flying to his privates, a cry escaping his lips . I'm getting better at aiming! Maybe Zara taught me a little too well...
I turn to the second man, who's just starting to react, his eyes widening in shock. I use Zara's fighting technique, a swift, sharp strike to his pressure point, the solar plexus for pain, and then to the carotid artery with my other hand. He collapses, unconscious, before he can even raise his weapon.
I push open the door and sprint down the hallway. My lungs are burning, and my legs are aching. I hear the sounds of commotion behind me, but I don’t dare look back. I have to get out.
I can see a glimmer of hope at the end of the hallway, a door. I don’t know this part of the club, and it feels—secluded. Cut off from the rest of the place.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins, a tidal wave pushing me forward. I burst through the door, and another hallway stretches before me like a dark tunnel. Behind me, I hear the shouts and the pounding footsteps of at least one of the bodyguards. I can't stop. I can't look back. I'm not going to let him catch me . Not this time.
I run, my legs screaming. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I must get away. Door after door, I fling them open, each one a desperate gamble. I have to find a way out. I have to get to Katerina and Alexander.
I hear their footsteps getting closer, the thudding rhythm of boots a terrifying soundtrack to my flight. They're gaining on me.
The hallway seems to stretch on forever. I push open a door, the scent of grease and cooking spices hitting me like a punch to the gut. I'm in a kitchen, a chaotic, cluttered space. I need to hide. I need to think.
I spot a small closet in the back, a narrow space crammed with cleaning supplies and old containers. I dive into it, my body slamming against the cold metal shelves, my pulse throbbing in my temples. It's only a sliver of a refuge, but it's enough for now. My breaths come in ragged gasps, and each inhale is a desperate attempt to replenish the oxygen my lungs crave.
Where are the girls? Lena? Tatiana?
I reach for my pocket, my hand instinctively searching for the phone, for the lifeline to Katerina, to Alexander. But it's gone. Where the hell is it? Ah, I changed clothes when I was with Nikolai. Of course, the phone is there. Shit!
The world seems to close in on me. I try to swallow, but my throat feels dry, my mouth a cottony desert. I can't move. I can't think.
Tears well up on my eyelids, hot and stinging.
Where do I go? Which direction? Should I stay put? My mind is a swirling vortex. I can smell the spices and cleaning solutions, a strange mix of aromas.
I hold my breath. I'm okay—they're not coming in.
Calm down, Ava. Stay calm.
But then I hear it. A muffled sound, a whisper, carried on the air. Voices. They're coming closer.
I can't stay here. I have to move. I leave the closet, and I reach for the shelf, my hand instinctively grabbing a long, sharp knife. It's cold and smooth beneath my fingers.
I scramble back into the tiny space, pressing myself against the cold metal wall of the closet. My body is trembling like a wounded animal.
The voices are closer now. They're moving through the kitchen, their voices a low murmur. I can't make out the words, but I can feel the tension in their tones. First, a woman's voice. Then a man's. And another man. I'm not sure how many there are. My senses are heightened, and every sound is amplified.
My hand tightens around the knife. I am a warrior. I am Ava Parker. And I will not go down without a fight.
My wrists are bleeding from the ropes that cut into my flesh. The blood, a crimson stain, seeps down my arms, leaving a dark trail on the floor. I gasp. Are my bloodstains outside, on the kitchen floor?
The voices drift around the kitchen. I don’t know where they are. I hold my breath, my body taut like a wire. I hear the sounds of movement, the rustling of fabric.
And then, the sounds fade. The voices retreat. A thick and heavy silence descends upon the kitchen. I let out a breath. I'm not sure how much time has passed, but it feels like an eternity . I have to get out of here . I push open the closet door, stepping out into the silent kitchen.
But before I can take a step, a strong hand clamps over my mouth, silencing any sound I might make. My heart leaps into my throat. I freeze, my body stiff with terror.
“Shhh,” a voice whispers. It’s a familiar voice.
Then, I feel a gentle and reassuring touch on my shoulder. I can smell her scent, the earthy aroma of moss, rain, and old perfume.
Katerina.
The world shifts. The pressure on my chest eases, the tension draining from my body. I am not alone. Katerina is here.
I pull away from her hand, turn, and throw my arms around her, my body collapsing against hers. My eyes are filled with tears.
“Katerina—” I sob. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Hush child, hush,” she says and looks around.
"Where is Alexander?" I whisper.
Katerina doesn't answer. She simply strokes my hair, her touch gentle. "It's okay."
I stand there, clinging to her, my body shaking, my relief so overwhelming it makes my head spin. I'm safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
“Alexander? Can I talk to him?” I ask.
Katerina pulls out a phone, her movements quick and efficient. She dials a number, her voice low, not to be heard. "Yes, I got her."
There's an answer on the other end, and then she says, “Come. I send— location.”
I release the tension in my jaw. We're not out of this yet. But knowing Alexander is coming makes things a little better. Knowing that I'm not alone. That I don't have to carry it all by myself.
“Katerina,” I say.
“Yes, devushka ?” she says, her gaze flicking to the door.
“The other women, he has them. Nikolai has them. We need to get them out of here.”
Katerina nods, stretching her gray hair and setting it up in a tight bun. "All in time, Anya . All in time."
I look around, trying to find another exit to see if Alexander will come from where I entered. I can’t see the entire kitchen; it's huge. Industrial-looking, it has massive appliances and stacks of gleaming stainless steel. It's a kitchen built to feed an army, not a family.
I hear something outside the door, a muffled sound that makes my skin prickle. The creak of the door opens slowly, making me shiver. He’s just being careful, Ava.
I look back at Katerina, then back to the door. My mind's racing, replaying her words to me. "Anya." She called me Anya .
"Wait, Katerina, why'd you call me that?" I ask, tilting my head. "Anya—"
Katerina doesn’t answer. Her eyes are fixed on the door.
" Mamma, " a deep voice says smooth and almost seductive, a voice that makes me stiffen.
It’s not Alexander.
I freeze up, trying to breathe, but the air doesn’t come in easily. My whole body tenses, every muscle coiling in preparation for a fight.
“ Syn ,” Katerina says, her voice steady. She slowly walks toward the door, embracing the man in a stiff hug. “You—late, my son,” she says, her tone a mixture of reprimand and affection. She straightens his tie, a gesture of motherly care that makes my stomach churn.
My head spins. The world feels like a dizzying carousel, and I feel like I will faint. This can’t be true. It must be some cruel joke played by someone inhumane.
“I had— business I needed to take care of, mamma ,” Nikolai says, his gaze falling on me. Burning with an intense heat, his voice is annoyed. “I thought we getting along, Anya .”
“Don’t call me that!” I hiss, turning my head frantically for another way out. I don't see any. I tremble, and my vision turns blurry.
“Alexander,” I mumble.
“He— not come for you,” Nikolai says, a smirk on his lips. “What I offer him—-bigger than anything you—-ever give him.”
“Y-you bribed him?” I ask, my voice shakes.
“I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, da? Like in movie,” Nikolai says, licking his lips and stepping towards me. “I promise I keep you alive, and he can run EverBlue from here, unlimited resources, millions of dollars for him to please himself with money, women. He say yes to me.”
“He wouldn’t!”
“He already did. EverBlue—better hands now, with him.”
“You’re lying! Besides, Cole is in charge of the company. He won’t give up his power,” I say.
“Cole is—tool. A means to an end,” Nikolai says, his voice dismissing. “The Raven, his alias, his dramatic cover, and his over-the-top actions. We can’t have that. He too—sloppy.” He shakes his head, his gaze fixed on me, a possessive gleam in his eyes.
I can’t breathe. This is a nightmare.
I stand there, rooted to the floor, my gaze locked on Katerina. She's a different person now, a stranger in the shadows of this room. She betrayed us. She betrayed me. Just like Zara.
“Katerina,” I rasp. "Why? Why did you do this?"
“Sssh, Anya ,” she says. "Blood—family—is stronger than friendship, devushka. "
My heart sinks. It's like everything I knew about her was a lie.
“So, you were just pretending too, like Zara?” I ask, my fists clenched at my sides. "You helped us! You were on our side!"
Katerina shrugs, her gaze cool and distant. She's so calm, so collected. It's unsettling. “I did—I had to do it to get—the bride for my Nikolai. He's been—enthralled—by you for a long time, da? Watching you grow into beautiful, smart woman."
She reaches out, her fingers tracing the outline of Nikolai’s face. She pinches his cheek playfully, her lips curving into a chilling smile. "He needs someone like you, Anya . Special.”
She laughs, a brittle sound that echoes through the room. This is so wrong. So twisted.
Everything I thought I knew about Katerina, her loyalty, and her motherly compassion, crumbles. I almost don't feel sad anymore. I feel a load of anger, a strong current, like a hot spring, bubbling inside me.
“Katerina,” I say. “Why? You were with Cole, a prisoner, too, in his warehouse. I don't understand—”
Her gaze shifts to me, and the playfulness in her eyes vanishes, replaced by a cold, hard stare.
She steps forward, her hand raising swiftly. I duck, but the slap isn’t for me.
Instead, it connects with Nikolai’s cheek, causing what looks like a stinging, burning sensation that sends a shockwave through him. He reels back, his hand flying to his cheek, his eyes wide.
“ Mamma !” He says.
She’s furious—furious at him. And at me? I don't know what to think.
"That was for leaving me in—hole with the Raven, the Cole ! For being his makeup girl—for human traffickers. Pfffuuu.” She spits on the floor, the sound sharp and stinging. Anya, right—Smart girl—I did not like it there.”
Her eyes are intense.
“Sorry, mamma, ” Nikolai says, bowing his head.
She pulls Nikolai closer, pressing his body against her, her arms wrapping around his waist. "Is okay–missed you, my son."
I want to throw up, but I can't even speak.
Katerina’s words echo in my ears, “Blood is stronger than friendship.”
I watch as she presses a kiss on Nikolai’s cheek, her voice a soft murmur, "You, my son. You—my world.”
My legs feel weak. Everything is so—wrong.
“Let’s go,” Nikolai says. “It is time.”
“Time for what?” I ask.
No one answers. Instead, he grabs my arm and leads me out of the hallway.
“Remember Anya, do not be—liability—or else…”
Stumbling out into the hallway, my eyes catch a crowd of people. It’s them! The other women, Lena, Tatiana, and others, all of them, the women from the safe house, are being led away down the corridor, their faces pale with fear, their eyes filled with desperation. They're being treated like cattle, like property.
They're being handled roughly, their bodies pulled and shoved. The scene makes my blood run cold.
One of the girls stumbles, her thin body collapsing under the weight of a guard’s grip. The guard laughs, a cruel, guttural sound, as he grabs her by the hair, dragging her to her feet. A spark of primal rage ignites within me.
To hell with them.
My gaze locks on Zara, who's also here, her face betraying no emotion, her eyes cold and distant. It's as if she's become a stranger, a ghost of the woman I once knew.
"Zara," I say. "You—you—why did you do it? Betray us?"
I see the flicker of a shadow in her eyes, a hint of guilt, but it disappears quickly. It’s replaced by a blank emptiness, a chilling confirmation of the depth of her betrayal. She's gone. She's just another one of his puppets.
I want to scream. I want to rage. But a deeper, colder feeling chokes my anger, a crushing sense of hopelessness. The world is cruel. I can’t trust anyone. And no one cares about me.
I try to believe that Alexander wouldn’t abandon me, but even that hope is shadowed by the doubt Nikolai and Katerina have planted in my mind.
Nikolai’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He's talking on the phone, his voice a low growl. I can't hear the words, but I can feel his tone's raw power and ruthless authority. He's in control—always in control—and he's the one pulling the strings.
“Yes, kill both of them.”
My heart stumbles. The fluorescent lights blur into a dizzying haze.
“Get the ship ready,” he says. "We leave tonight."
He hangs up the phone, his gaze sweeping across the corridor, landing on me. His eyes are dark, filled with an unsettling intensity.
“Kill who?” I ask.
He looks at me, his eyes cold, stripping away my last hope. "Alexander Bourne and Cole Cohan," he says, his voice cold, emotionless.
I stammer. "But you said—"
“I changed my mind," he says. "He is—a liability. As long as he's—alive, he will come for you. Unlike The Raven, I clean up my messes. Leave nothing behind.”
He picks up a piece of dried meat from the kitchen counter and takes a bite, slowly eating and swallowing it like an animal, his eyes never leaving mine. He's a monster, and I'm trapped in his world.
“With him out of the way, no one will know you're—missing, and no one—come for you,” he says.
“And her friends, Sarah—-Harvey—policeman?” Katerina asks, brushing a strand of hair back in her tight bun.
Nikolai laughs a sharp cut sound. "Sarah is no—worry. She bent backward once Cole got—Gilbert and say he—kill him.”
What? Gilbert? I realize now why Sarah is or was helping Cole. She was blackmailed.
“And Harvey—he useless, idioyt ,” Nikolai laughs. “Almost-retired police officer against Veles? Is joke. Half the police on Veles payroll. ”
He pauses, his gaze sweeping over me. “Port Haven is mine—It always was. Just like papa said.”
"Bless him," Katerina murmurs, tracing the sign of the cross on her forehead, chest, and shoulders, her gaze lifted to the sky. "Rest—peace."
So pappa Romanov is gone.
My gaze flickers to Katerina, Katerina Romanov. How can she be Nikolai's mother?
“ Papa would be proud, syn ,” she says, cupping his face.
I steal a glance at Katerina. Her expression is unreadable. She’s watching Nikolai with both affection and possessiveness in her eyes.
I try to catch her eye, connect, and find a flicker of understanding. I need her to help me. Maybe she is not lost after all?
"Katerina," I say. "You can’t let this happen."
She looks at me, her expression cold and distant. She laughs, a brittle, chilling sound.
“You done— Anya , your days in America are over,” she says, indifference etched on her face. “You will live with Nikolai—in Russia. He will treat you decent—if you don’t make trouble.”
My heart sinks. I’m just a pawn, a piece to be moved around.
I want to cause trouble and make them pay for what they’ve done, but the words are trapped in my throat. I can’t speak, and I can’t move. I’m frozen; my body is a prisoner.