Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Hailey
By the time I shoved my key into the chipped, peeling door of my apartment, my cheeks were still burning.
Viktor Ivanov.
The name rolled over my tongue and sent a jolt through my body—sharp, electric, the kind that made my pulse stutter.
A few hours earlier, in that cramped office, the way he'd flirted so openly had left me breathless. I still felt it in my lungs.
He was dangerous. The kind of man you don't get curious about. You get the hell away from.
My brain screamed at me to run—don't go near that edge, don't look down into that kind of dark.
But then I remembered his eyes on me, that blazing blue stare.
I remembered how he'd praised me like it was nothing, like I'd earned it.
And my heart had clenched like something warm and strong had wrapped around it and wouldn't let go.
Fear mixed with something hotter. Something I couldn't talk myself out of.
I bit my lip and turned the key.
The lock clicked.
I pushed the door—and stopped dead.
A wave of stink hit me, thick and nasty. Cheap cigarettes and sour sweat.
My blood went cold in one second.
The living room's busted ceiling light flickered like it couldn't decide whether to work. My landlord—heavy jowls, greasy face, thinning hair—sat sprawled on my old couch like he owned it. His feet were up on my coffee table. In his hand, he toyed with my spare key.
"Evenin', Hailey." He grinned, showing yellow teeth. His eyes slid up my legs like slime and stopped on my chest. "You're real late gettin' home. Had me waitin'."
"How the hell did you get in?" I stumbled back, my spine hitting the doorframe. Every hair on my body stood up. "Get out. Get out of my apartment right now, or I'm calling the cops."
"Cops?" He snorted and hauled himself up, filling the room with his bulk. "You might wanna read your lease first, sweetheart. Clear as day—if you bring trouble around here, if you violate terms, I can take the place back whenever I want and keep your deposit. This unit? Still mine."
"What are you talking about? I never brought anyone back here." My hands shook as I reached behind the door toward the umbrella stand.
"Oh yeah?" He took two steps closer, smile turning nasty. "Then what about that Audi punk hangin' around downstairs the other day? And what about those cops showin' up that mornin'? You told me you'd explain."
He leaned in, breathing like rot. "You look like a good girl, Hailey. But you sure as hell stirred up a lotta mess. What—your rich boyfriend who picked you up today didn't bother sendin' anyone to check on you?"
Shit.
So much had happened these past days, I'd forgotten about finding a new place. And his filthy, glassy eyes—he'd decided Matthew was my leverage.
"This isn't your business. Give me my deposit back. I'm moving out tomorrow morning." I wrapped my fingers around the heavy old umbrella, knuckles going white.
"Give it back?" He rubbed his hands together, greedy and hungry, his gaze turning downright obscene. "That's a lotta money."
Then his grin widened. "But if your sugar daddy didn't show, guess he dumped you, huh? Tell you what—close that door, be a good girl, have some fun with me... I'll give you double your deposit back. Hell, you can even stay here for free. That's a sweet deal, sweetheart."
He lunged.
Those greasy hands shot for my shoulders.
"Don't fucking touch me!" I screamed and swung the umbrella like a bat, cracking it toward his head.
"Bitch!" He jerked aside. The umbrella slammed into his shoulder instead. He roared, pain flashing across his face—and then he didn't back off. He ripped the umbrella out of my grip and flung it away, then grabbed my wrist and yanked hard, dragging me into the living room.
"Let me go! Help—" I kicked and clawed, thrashing like my life depended on it.
"Yeah, scream." He shoved me down onto the couch and dropped his weight on me. His stink choked the air out of my throat. "Like anybody in this dump gives a damn. Quit playin' innocent."
Terror clamped around my neck. I drove my knee up, frantic, and grabbed the glass off the coffee table. I smashed it into his head.
Glass shattered. Blood sprang up where it cut his forehead.
"You little slut." His face twisted, pure rage. "I'm gonna kill you."
His hand rose.
I squeezed my eyes shut, sure this was it—
BANG.
The sound exploded through the apartment.
The front door flew inward like it got hit by a truck. Wood splintered. Dust and debris blasted into the air. The door slammed into the wall with a sick, heavy thud.
The landlord froze mid-swing.
Shaking, I looked toward the doorway through the flickering light.
Viktor stood there.
He wore a black dress shirt, the collar open. His suit jacket hung lazy over his forearm. The dim hall light carved out his tall frame—hard lines, broad shoulders, pure control.
And the violence rolling off him? It wasn't hidden. It wasn't polite.
His ice-blue eyes held something that made my stomach drop. Not anger. Not irritation.
Kill.
But when my gaze hit his, I didn't feel fear.
I felt safe. So safe it hurt. Like I might start crying just from breathing again.
"Get your filthy hands off her."
His voice stayed low. Rough. Quiet in a way that turned it into a threat you couldn't ignore.
The landlord scrambled off me like he'd been shocked, falling back on his ass and scooting away. All that swagger drained right out of his face.
"W-who the hell are you?" he stammered, trying to puff up. "You can't just break in—I can—"
Viktor didn't let him finish.
He stepped into the room—smooth, fast, like a predator that didn't waste motion. No weapon. No warning.
He lifted a leg in polished custom leather and drove his foot into the landlord's stomach.
The man flew back like a kicked bag of trash and slammed into the corner. He curled over, gagging, clutching his gut.
Viktor walked up slow, looking down at him like he was nothing. He didn't even bend. He pinned the landlord's hand—the one that had grabbed me—under the tip of his shoe.
Then he ground down.
A sharp crack snapped through the room.
The landlord screamed, animal-loud. Tears and blood ran together as he clawed at the floor. "My hand—please! Please, stop! I'm sorry! I didn't know she was your woman! I won't— I'll give the deposit back! All of it! Just—please—"
"You should've kept your mouth shut." Viktor's eyes stayed dead cold. He pressed harder. "Take your trash and get the fuck out. Now. And if I see you in this building again..."
He paused, the corner of his mouth curling—mean, calm, cruel.
"I'll pull you apart one bone at a time."
"I'm goin'! I'm goin'!" The landlord scrambled up, shaking, not daring to look at Viktor. He dragged his ruined hand and bolted out of the apartment like a beaten dog, spitting curses under his breath as he ran.
Footsteps pounded down the hall. Then silence.
In the tiny living room, all I heard was my own ragged breathing.
Viktor turned.
That violent heat in his eyes shifted the second he looked at me, turning into something darker and deeper—like a current you couldn't see until it grabbed you.
I slumped on the couch. The last of my strength drained out of me. The near-death panic, the humiliation, the filthy hands—then him, kicking the door in like a storm and putting himself between me and everything.
It all collapsed into one tight, wordless feeling in my chest.
He came closer and dropped to one knee beside the couch.
"Are you hurt?" His voice rasped. His hands—warm, steady—cupped my face.
His fingers were rough with faint calluses. The second they touched my skin, I broke.
I threw myself into him, arms locking around his neck. I buried my face in the cedar-scented warmth of his throat and sobbed like I couldn't stop.
"If you hadn't—if you hadn't shown up..." My words dissolved into ugly crying. Tears soaked into his shirt. "What would I have done?"
His body went still for a beat.
Then he wrapped me up tight, crushing me to him like he needed me there. His big hand rubbed down my back, again and again, smoothing my hair.
"I'm here." His lips brushed close to my ear. His voice dropped even lower, possession threaded through it like steel. "No one touches you."
I pressed against his chest, listening to his heartbeat—strong, steady—and I hated how fast I sank into the shelter he offered. How much I wanted it.
"Tell me." When my sobs finally turned into broken hiccups, he pulled back just enough to look at me. His gaze pinned me in place. "Besides that piece of shit—who else has been messing with you? Tell me everything."
I couldn't lie to those eyes.
"Matthew..." I sniffed, my voice thick. "The landlord used the thing with Matthew—when he called the cops before. He threatened me with the lease and the deposit. He... he tried to force me."
Viktor's expression darkened.
The air felt like it stopped moving. Something lethal slid off him, cold and brutal, and his blue eyes turned into winter.
"Good." He gave a short, ugly laugh.
Then he didn't give me a second to react. He stood and grabbed my wrist, hauling me up off the couch.
"Viktor?" I gasped, stumbling to keep up.
"You're not staying here tonight." His tone left no room for arguing as he pulled me toward the door.
"But my stuff—"
"I'll have someone handle it."
He dragged me down the stairs and shoved me into the passenger seat of a black Aston Martin parked at the curb. Then he leaned in and buckled my seatbelt himself.
His face hovered inches from mine. Our breaths tangled. The heat coming off him—pure male, sharp and intimate—made my pulse trip.
He stared right into my eyes, voice low and certain. "You stay in my sight tonight."
The engine roared and tore into the dark.
The drive felt thick with silence, the kind that made your skin too tight. At one point his right hand left the wheel, reached across the console, and took my hand. He held it hard and pressed it down on his warm thigh through his suit pants.
The heat bled into me. I felt awkward, trapped—and I still didn't pull away.
When we rolled into the Ivanov Group underground garage, the whole building looked asleep. He led me by the hand to his private elevator and took it straight to the top floor.
He pushed open the heavy double doors of the CEO's office and didn't stop. He pulled me behind the desk to what looked like a seamless wall.
A fingerprint lock clicked.
The hidden door slid open.
I froze.
This wasn't an office.
It was... obscene.
More luxurious than any presidential suite I'd ever seen—by a mile.
Thick Persian carpet sank underfoot. A massive bed dominated the room, dressed in deep charcoal silk that screamed money.
One side held a glass-walled bathroom with floor-to-ceiling windows.
Near the entrance, a small walk-in closet lit up with motion-sensor lights.
"Go take a shower." He released my hand and stood in the doorway, filling it. "Security in this building is tight. My office area especially. You're safe here."
He paused, his throat working, his voice dropping even rougher. "If you need anything, use the bedside phone. I'm right outside."
Then he turned and left.
The hidden door slid shut between us.
I stood alone in a room that smelled like him and looked like power, my head spinning. I couldn't stop replaying him—kicking my apartment door in with that hell-dark look, then pulling me into his arms like he'd claim me with his hands.
Logic still whispered he lived in a world that ate people alive.
But right then, warmth spread through me anyway—new and unstoppable—filling the cracked places in my chest like I'd been starved for it.
I sucked in a breath, took a hot shower, then grabbed an oversized black shirt from his closet and pulled it on.
I sank into the massive bed. The cool silk sheets slid over my skin. They held a faint trace of his cedar scent, and it wrapped around me like a quiet threat and a promise at the same time.
Through a one-way glass window, I could see into the CEO's office. A single lamp still glowed, dim and gold, on the other side of the wall.
I stared at that steady light in the dark and listened—really listened—to the sound in my chest.
My heart kept hitting hard, out of control, over and over.