Chapter Thirteen #2
She snatched a robe off a nearby chair and spun to point at him. “I’m naked, Romanov. I’m not going to go sprinting into the darkness of the night. I just need some fucking space.”
“Nyet. You will not run from me again.”
That was exactly what she’d do. “Space. Respect it.” Keira fled the room before he could say anything else unforgivable. Her body ached as if it resented the distance she put between them.
She’d done this.
She chose this, every step of the way, and now she was in over her head and she had no one else to blame but herself.
That didn’t make it any easier to bear. She might not have signed on to this situation hoping for a great love, but she had dared hope that she’d be something to Dmitri.
Maybe not a partner, but more than a goddamn pet.
If they kept this up, she wouldn’t be surprised if he bought her a fucking collar to make it official.
Caged. Always caged, no matter which way I turn.
Desperation beat in her blood and she picked up her pace. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Keira just needed to… disconnect.
The stairs loomed before her, and she had to check her pace before she fell.
She paused to shrug on the robe, finding it long enough to drag on the ground and draping several inches past her fingertips.
But it was warm and comfortable, and even if she despised him currently, she couldn’t deny that Dmitri smelled good.
She lifted the hem like it was some bastardized version of a ball gown and hurried down the stairs. No footsteps sounded behind her, but she didn’t doubt for a second that Dmitri would send someone to fetch her. Even this small rebellion would be crushed.
It took precious minutes to reach her bedroom, lock the door, and head for the bathroom.
She sank onto the floor and opened the cabinet, moving fast enough that she knocked over the vodka bottles, but not caring.
She picked them up with shaking hands and lined them up in a little row on the floor in front of her crossed legs. Not enough. But it would have to do.
She unscrewed the first cap and inhaled slow and deep. The rubbing alcohol smell should have repelled her, but it smelled like a different sort of home. Like penance. Keira lifted the bottle to her lips.
It never made contact.
It was ripped from her grasp, leaving her gaping at Dmitri as he flung it into the sink hard enough that it bounced like a pinball. She gasped. “What the hell are you doing?”
“One could ask you the same thing.” He pointed at the sink where the little bottle lay in a pool of liquid that she could smell from where she sat. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I would think that’s obvious.”
“Oh, da, it’s obvious enough. One bump in the road, one hint of a fight, and you almost fling yourself down the stairs in your haste to get to the bottle.”
He’d been following more closely than she realized if he’d seen that misstep. She held perfectly still, even though every fiber of her being screamed at her to grab another bottle before he did something unforgivable. “If I want to drink—”
“Finish that sentence.”
She’d never seen him so threatening, not even when he was actually threatening her or someone she cared about. Dmitri’s gray eyes blazed at her, daring her to do exactly as he commanded. She lifted her chin. “It’s my business.”
“Wrong. So fucking wrong. You do not get to drink yourself to death, using me and everyone around you as an excuse while you do. That is where this road ends, Keira. It doesn’t stop at the bottom of this bottle, or the next, or the next.
It ends with you in a coffin and every single fucking person who cares about you standing around as they lower it into the ground.
Your brothers. Your sisters. Charlie. Me. ”
She stared, trying to process. “It’s one fucking drink.”
“Lie to yourself if you must, but you will not lie to me.” His gaze flicked down to the cabinet she’d been hoping he would forget about, and he moved forward with purpose.
“I thought withdrawal would be enough to deter you. I was wrong. If I have to assign you a babysitter to ensure you don’t backslide, I will do it. Do not think I won’t.”
It wasn’t a bluff. If he thought for a second that she was a danger, he’d ensure that she wouldn’t have access to anything resembling alcohol.
Keira leaned back against the wall with a thud as Dmitri grabbed the remaining pair of bottles and set them on the counter next to the sink.
She snarled. “God forbid your possession be in less than perfect working order.”
He muttered in Russian and poured the first bottle down the drain. Keira watched the clear liquid disappear and had the uncomfortable urge to drag her hands over the surface of the counter to drink whatever she could manage. Fuck me, I’m a mess.
It took less than two minutes to empty the two remaining bottles and wipe down the spilled vodka from the counter. Only then did he turn to her. “What do you want, Keira?”
Shock stole her breath for several long seconds. Had anyone since Devlin ever actually asked her that? It took two tries to find her voice. “I don’t know.”
His expression softened for a split second before he set his jaw. “You don’t want to be a possession? Fine. Figure out what you do want to do and go for it. Stop being a victim and fight.”
“I have no power!”
His eyebrows rose. “No power.” Dmitri huffed a laugh. “For fuck’s sake, Keira, you have more than you know and I’m a damn fool for telling you as much.”
Surely he didn’t mean…
She didn’t have power over him. That was absurd. He owned her as he was so fond of telling her. It wasn’t the other way around.
Except…
She’d seen Dmitri with nearly every member of her family, and he’d never acted around them the way he acted around her.
Even as early as their second meeting, he’d indulged her, just a little.
She dropped her arms to her side, letting the robe gape open.
It was hardly indecent, but his gaze followed that slight bit of skin all the same. “You want me.”
“You’re stating the obvious. Again. Why?
You know how to play the game, Keira. You’ve proven you have brain in that beautiful head of yours.
It’s only that poison that dulls it.” He slashed a hand through the air toward the sink.
“Choose now—perpetual victim or the role you were always meant to play.”
What game was he at now? She tried for a belligerent tone. “And what role is that.”
“My motherfucking queen.”