Chapter 13 #2
“Fuck.” Viktor’s eyes grow dark and heated as he drinks me in, his fingers digging into my shoulders as I slip back onto his lap. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
He jerks me forward, his mouth claiming mine, demanding and staking his claim as his hands move to my hips and he pushes me down onto him.
“Now ride me,” he orders, releasing me, and I do as he says.
Fuck, I do as he says, riding Viktor until we’re both moaning and panting, sweat-slicked, twined together, until his fingers wind themselves in my hair and pull until my neck is exposed to him and he sucks at it.
“Come for me Leah. Now.” Viktor snarls, the predator coming out as I ride him wildly, clench around him, my head spinning with ecstasy.
My orgasm breaks over me, and I cry out as I come undone, the world exploding with it until I’m nothing but raw energy and passion. Viktor holds me, keeps me moving, as he joins me in release, pumping me full of his hot seed.
Within this moment of pleasure, I know I’m gone, drawn to Viktor, not by force, but by him, his raw magnetism that leaves me breathless and utterly, completely consumed.
In that moment, there is no past, no future, no world outside of his arms. Only the fire, the heat, the overwhelming sensation of being desired, claimed.
My doubts, my insecurities, they all dissolve under the weight of his touch, his kiss.
Monday morning dawns with a deceptive calm after the wild storm the weekend became. I’m still not entirely recovered and quite off balance from my “talk” with Viktor. We didn’t exactly clear up the expectations, and I’m still unsure in what capacity the man wants me. In all senses of the word.
The sky is a pale, watery blue, and a crisp autumn chill hangs in the air.
I drop Eliza off at school, her backpack bouncing as she skips ahead, eager to tell her friends about the food festival and the “bad butt women’s night.
” She waves goodbye, her smile bright, and my heart aches with a familiar tenderness.
“Have a good day, sweetheart!” I call out, watching her disappear through the school’s doors with her friends.
I turn, pulling my jacket tighter against the chill, and head toward the station.
My mind is already drifting to work, to the brief I need to finish, to the endless emails to which I need to reply.
I force the memory of Saturday night with Viktor to the back of my mind until it fades to a hazy, potent dream, a secret warmth still lingering on my skin, a confusing mix of pleasure and unease.
Halfway down the block, I stop to talk briefly to a fellow class parent about the school’s fall festival and the preparations we still need to make.
We say goodbye, and I’m trying to decide whether I have time to stop for a coffee when a black SUV, sleek and menacing, screeches to a halt only a few car lengths ahead of me.
Before I can even register what’s happening, the passenger window slides down, a flash of metal glints in the sunlight, and my blood runs cold.
The first shot rings out, a deafening crack that shatters the morning air.
My mind goes blank with terror as screams erupt around me, people scattering in every direction.
The window of the shop beside me spiders, glass shards raining down, and screams erupt on the sidewalk.
Another shot, closer this time, ripping through a street sign’s pole; it creaks and falls, dangling uselessly just above the pavement.
I instinctively duck, pressing myself against a mailbox.
The sound of gunfire is deafening, ringing in my ears until it becomes all-consuming.
I swear I can feel the vibrations of the bullets tearing into the area around me, the smell of burnt rubber and gunpowder filling the air.
This isn’t a warning—someone is trying to kill me.
A shadow falls over me. A blur of motion, and then a heavy weight slams into me, pushing me down, shielding me. I barely have the presence of mind to look up into the man’s face—it’s Ilya.
More shots ring out, followed by muffled curses, and then the screech of tires as the SUV speeds away. The silence that follows is even more terrifying than the gunfire, a ringing void punctuated only by the frantic pounding of my own heart.
Iliya shifts, his body a heavy weight on mine. “Are you hurt, Leah?” His voice is rough, urgent.
I shake my head, still dazed, my ears ringing. “I don’t think so.”
He pushes himself up, his movements quick and precise. He’s already assessing the damage, his eyes scanning the bullet-riddled cars, the shattered glass. He pulls me up, his grip firm, almost bruising.
“We’re leaving.” It’s a statement, the command in his voice leaving no room for argument.
He doesn’t wait for my response, practically dragging me across the asphalt to a dark sedan that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.
Another one of Viktor’s men is already in the driver’s seat, engine running.
I’m shoved into the back seat, Iliya following close behind, his body a protective barrier between me and the outside world. The car speeds away, leaving the wrecked sidewalk behind, a stark monument to the violence that just erupted.
My mind is reeling. Shooters. Live rounds. They wanted me dead. Why? Who? The questions swirl, a chaotic vortex in my head. And Iliya was there. Was he always there? Watching? Protecting?
Just another sign that Viktor’s reach is terrifyingly long. He wasn’t bluffing about the danger his world could bring to my doorstep.
“Eliza,” I gasp, my whirling mind coming to a screaming halt on the thought of my daughter, in school only a few blocks from where someone just tried to kill me.
“She’s safe. My men are watching over her.”
I want my daughter in my arms, but she’s probably safer where she is, under the watchful eye of the men who serve the man sitting beside me with such a terrifying look on his face that even I want to crawl away.
The rest of the ride is a blur. I stare out the window, the familiar streets rushing past, but they seem alien now, tainted by the recent horror. My hands are shaking uncontrollably, and I press them against my belly, a desperate need to protect the life within me.
We pull up to what is supposed to be an Upper East Side “townhome,” but is clearly a Gilded Age mansion from the grand limestone facade.
The property even has a wrought-iron gate and fence.
When Iliya shepherds me out of the car and through the gate, I realize it’s guarded by two men with bulletproof vests and enormous guns, who stand just inside the sculpted hedges.
There must be more men, hidden out of sight, because the crawling on the back of my neck indicates I’m being watched.
This is a fortress nestled amid the crowded city streets, grand high-rises, and the sprawl of Central Park.
This is Viktor’s world.
The front door opens, and he stands there, framed by the ornate doorway. His face is grim, his eyes burning with an intensity I’ve never seen before. He takes one look at me, at my disheveled appearance, the lingering shock on my face, and his jaw tightens.
“Come,” he says, his arm curling around my shoulders as he takes over leading me up the steps and inside. I lean on him because my legs are still wobbly, and I’m still trembling so hard my teeth chatter.
“Are you unharmed?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface.
I nod, unable to speak through the shock, but also because the sheer opulence of the place is overwhelming.
Stretching in front of me is a high-ceilinged palace with mahogany accents, marble paneling and floors, and carved crown molding, all topped off by a dome of glass and crystal at least two or three stories above us, spilling light into the entryway.
“Leah.”
I drag my thoughts away from the pattern in the glass to Viktor, who is gripping my upper arms and looking into my face, his forehead creased with concern.
“Leah, tell me you’re okay. Take a breath. Focus on me.”
I do as he says, oxygen flooding back into my lungs and washing away a small bit of the fog.
“I’m okay,” I manage.
Viktor watches my face for a moment longer before he pulls me into his arms. It’s not a gentle embrace, but a possessive, protective hold that crushes me against his chest. I can feel the raw power in him, the controlled rage.
“They tried to kill you,” he states, his voice a guttural growl against my hair. It’s not a question, but a declaration. I knew it as the truth when the bullets were flying, but to have it confirmed sends me into another spiral of terror.
I pull back slightly, looking up at him. “Who? Why?”
“Let me deal with that,” he says, his eyes cold and hard. “What matters is you’re safe. And you will remain safe.”
He leads me inside, through a vast, marble-floored foyer that echoes with our footsteps. The silence here is different from my apartment, a heavy luxurious quiet.
We stop in a grand living room filled with rich furnishings and expensive art. He turns to face me, his hands on my shoulders, his gaze unwavering.
“This changes things, Leah,” he says, his voice firm, leaving no room for pushback. “This is no longer a choice.”
My heart sinks. I know what he’s going to say. I’ve known it since Iliya shielded me from those bullets.
“You and Eliza are moving in here,” he states, his voice absolute. “Today. Immediately.”
My mind screams no. My independence, my life, my carefully constructed world, all of it is crumbling around me. But the image of those bullet holes, the memory of the gunfire, flash through my mind. The fear is still a cold knot in my stomach.
I open my mouth to protest, to fight, to cling to the last vestiges of my freedom, but the words catch in my throat.
He’s right. This isn’t a choice anymore.
Not when my life, and more importantly, the lives of my children, are at stake.
He just saved me. He’s offering protection, a fortress against the unseen enemies lurking in his world.
I look into his eyes, and I see not just dominance, but a fierce, unyielding resolve. He will
protect his own.
A single tear escapes, tracing a path down my cheek. I can no longer say no. I can no longer fight him. The world I knew is gone, shattered by bullets, replaced by a new, terrifying reality.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word barely audible, a surrender that feels both devastating and strangely, profoundly relieving. “Okay, Viktor.”