Chapter 8
ANYA
Iavoid Viktor as long as I can. I completely skip dinner and don’t come down again until it’s well after midnight and I’m hopeful he’s gone to bed.
I pad down the stairs and look into the kitchen to ensure he isn’t there. I grab some food and a couple of water bottles and head back to my room, prepared to stay there as long as I can. I close the door firmly behind me, wishing I had a free hand to flip the camera off before I do.
The problem is, now I really feel like a prisoner. I don’t want to leave my room and risk running into him again. If it were up to me, I’d never see him again, but that’s not an option in his house, with his guards, and his rules.
I force myself to go to sleep, even though all I want to do is scream for hours. Not into my pillow, either. I want him to hear my screams all night long. I want them to keep him up and force him to lose sleep because of me. It’s the absolute least he deserves for this.
In the morning, I pace the bedroom, wondering what I should do to really punish him today.
I could always try to run again, but that would end up being more of a punishment to me.
I know, now, that leaving the safehouse isn’t an option.
I’ll have to find another method of escape.
I’ll have to practice a supernatural amount of patience to wait for my moment.
In the meantime, I just want to destroy everything in this house. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to destroy. The furniture is all so bare, and there’s nothing remotely sentimental here to wreck. So, I continue to pace, stomping on the floor as loud as I can.
Then I realize that there’s only one advantage I have over Viktor.
He needs me alive if he has any plans of using me against Mikhail.
There’s no way to really injure myself here, so I opt for a hunger strike.
I push my small dresser against the door and lay in bed, determined that I won’t come out of my room again.
That lasts for all of two hours, when a guard bangs on my door.
“Ms. Malenkova, you’re needed downstairs,” the guard says through the door, though his voice is muffled by the dresser.
“Tell Viktor to fuck off,” I scream back, crossing my arms and staring at the wall.
I hear the doorknob rattle and the guard tries to open it, but it’s blocked by the dresser.
“Ms. Malenkova,” he tries again. “I must insist that you open the door.”
“And I must insist that you go fuck yourself,” I shoot back, glaring toward the dresser.
I hear him walk away, but I know that isn’t the end of it. He’s very likely gone to get backup.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, there are more footsteps. It takes three men to push the door open, but I don’t try to fight them. It’s just a waste of energy, and I’m trying to conserve as much as I can. After all, a hunger strike requires a lot of work.
“This is cute, really,” Viktor says once he’s managed to squeeze himself through a small crack in the door. “But it won’t work. I’ll remove all of your furniture if I have to.”
“I don’t care,” I answer dispassionately. “You might as well put a bullet in my head now, Viktor. If my only way out of this house is a body bag, so be it.”
“No one wants you dead,” he answers with an edge to his voice. “And I’m not letting you starve yourself. Get your ass downstairs now.”
“You have no way to make me,” I answer him, bored. “I simply refuse to do anything you say.”
“Anya,” he warns darkly, before grabbing an edge of the dresser and pushing it away from the door.
“Try it,” I challenge.
He sighs and goes back out to the hallway where he talks quietly to his guards.
All three men enter and the guards grab me under my arms. I don’t even try to fight them as they lift me off the bed.
They drag me out into the hallway, but I go boneless.
One of the men grunts and throws me over his shoulder.
I can’t help but want to laugh as he struggles down the stairs. When we reach the kitchen, the guard unceremoniously sets me down in a chair, where there’s a sandwich and a bag of chips waiting.
“I’m not eating,” I tell Viktor.
“Fine.” He shrugs. “Then you can just sit here all day and stare at it.”
“Or,” I say in an argumentative tone, “you can admit that this was a half-baked plan and let me go.”
Viktor snaps and the guards disappear, close enough to intervene if I threaten Viktor’s life, but far enough away that we have a semblance of privacy.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he warns warily. “Just eat the damn sandwich and I’ll let you go back to your room.”
“No,” I answer firmly, crossing my arms. “I’m not eating again until you agree to let me go.”
“You’d really rather starve to death?” he asks, cocking his eyebrow at me.
“I’d really rather leave on my own terms, but since that doesn’t seem to be an option, I’ll take my chances.”
“Anya,” he huffs in frustration. “It doesn’t have to be this way. You’re safer here than you would be on your own. Why can’t you just accept that?”
“I will never accept being held against my will,” I spit back. “You’re every bit as bad as Mikhail and my father. You’re just a sadistic asshole just like them.”
His jaw clenches a bit, and I realize I’ve hit a nerve, but he doesn’t yell.
“You’re just acting out because you want any sense of control. That’s fine, Anya. If you want to starve, be my guest. I’m still not letting you leave this table until you eat.”
“Then I guess we’ll both be waiting here for a long time,” I answer calmly, relaxing back against my chair.
“I guess we will,” he responds, relaxing into his own.
His phone rings, but he doesn’t respond. I know it’s Sergei. It’s almost always Sergei.
“You should really get that,” I tell him. “I’m sure you aren’t willing to lose your entire organization just to watch me eat.”
“He’ll come by if it’s that important,” Viktor says, shutting his phone off.
“Is that how you run your Bratva?” I ask with venom in my voice. “A real pakhan wouldn’t let their captive keep them from their work.”
His eyes flash, but he doesn’t take the bait.
“I’m more evolved than most other pakhanov,” he responds lightly. “And certainly more patient. Your fiancé is starting a war in the streets while I’m sitting here, watching you eat. I’d say you got the better end of the deal.”
“He’s not my fiancé,” I respond, unable to disguise the disgust in my voice.
“He certainly thinks he is,” Viktor says with a smile. “He says you’re his property and he will do whatever it takes to get you back.”
“I’m no one’s property,” I say, my voice rising. “Not his and certainly not yours. I belong to myself.”
I hate that he’s found exactly how to get under my skin. I especially hate that I’m reacting to it all. I should be staying calm and collected, but he’s gotten to me.
“And you’ve decided to let yourself starve,” he answers thoughtfully. “What a great use of your free will.”
“When I die, my blood will be on your hands,” I remind him through clenched teeth. “I wouldn’t have to do this if you would just let me go.”
“Oh, Anya,” he says in a pitying tone. “Do you really think that resigning yourself to death gives you control? It’s desperate and transparent. You’re better than this.”
I grab the chips and lob them at his head. He only flinches a little as they hit him squarely on the forehead.
“Maybe not,” I say, grabbing the plate and throwing the whole thing at him. He dodges that, and it falls to the floor with a satisfying crash.
“Stop being so childish,” he goads me.
“Let me leave!” I scream at him. “Or let me die.”
“That’s not going to happen,” he answers, getting up and moving into my space. He braces himself on the table, leaning over me. “You will eat, and you will behave, and you won’t force me to break into your room again.”
He’s so close, I can feel his breath on my face. My heart races at the closeness in a way I don’t understand.
“Make me,” I challenge him, and don’t miss the way his eyes darken.
I don’t know which of us moves first. It happens so fast. One moment we’re staring each other down, the next, our lips are locked in a passionate embrace and he’s pulling me up, spinning me around, and pinning me on top of the table.
My hands reach for his shirt, pulling and tugging until it’s gone and my hands are free to roam over his bulky muscles. He’s absolutely ripped underneath that button-up shirt. Even his muscles have muscles. I’m overtaken by a desperate desire to lick them. I blame the hunger.
He wastes no time stripping me down. He removes my pants before pulling me up to remove my shirt, all the while, never breaking the contact between his lips and my skin. He kisses me everywhere. My face, my neck, my chest.
I want to smother him. I want to rob him of all of his breath until he’s gasping for air. I grab the back of his head and pull him back to my lips, hoping in some delusional way that I can steal his breath. The harder he breathes, the more triumphant I feel. It grows inside of me like an ache.
There’s so little I can control right now, but I can control this one insane moment.
My hands wander down his chest and over the soft hair of his happy trail until I can feel his erection tenting through his boxers. When I reach for it, it causes him to breathe heavily.
His hands slide down to my hips, where he slowly pulls down my underwear. This is insane. The heat of the moment rushes to my head, and I feel almost dizzy. I want this. I also don’t. I hate him. I also need to control him. I need to consume him.
I pull his cock from his boxers and position him at my entrance. He may be on top of me, but we both know I’m the one with the power here. I could tease him. I could bring him so close to the edge of pleasure and then end this, walk away, leave him panting and desperate.
He’s holding his breath now, waiting for me to make a decision. I hope it’s torturing him. I hope he’s losing his fucking mind right now.
“Anya,” he whispers in a broken voice, and I know that I’ve got him exactly where I want him.
I nearly laugh as I open myself to him, pulling him inside of me. He groans out low and slow, nearly collapsing on top of me in relief. Good.
I set the pace. He moves inside of me, but I control our movements.
He thrusts wildly, but he’s left with the knowledge that I could end this at any time.
Damn it, I hate how good he feels, though.
He’s big and he knows what to do with every inch of his cock.
He finds places inside of me that I didn’t even know felt good, and he pushes in deeply.
I try desperately not to let myself get lost in the sensation of it, but it’s a losing battle.
With every thrust and every kiss, he’s pulling me closer and closer to the edge of my sanity.
He hits a spot that feels so good, I can’t contain the moan that comes out of me.
Then, as if he’s memorizing me, he hits it over and over until I’m screaming and careening toward the finish line.
He only lets himself go when my walls tighten around him and my body starts to shudder involuntarily. His release crashes over him violently, like he’s lost all power. Like he’s surrendering it all to me.
As soon as he’s done, I push him off of me. I don’t look at him as I quickly grab my clothes and dress. What the hell was I thinking? I’ve given him exactly what he wanted.
I don’t look at him as I go to the stairs.