CHAPTER 60
Frankie
Niko’s on the phone again. That thing has been ringing nonstop since we returned from Las Vegas a few hours ago.
I rise from the sofa and leave the room immediately, not making a sound. I take refuge in the kitchen, where he can’t see me, and where I can’t hear him. I stare out at the sunset over Lake Tahoe, wishing its dramatic beauty could bring some peace to my soul.
It can’t. Nothing can.
Niko’s voice suddenly erupts in rage. I cringe when he begins screaming. I lean my palms against the marble countertops for balance and drop my head, taking deep and regular breaths to keep steady, all while the ugly yelling and cursing continues.
I used to think the Russian language was exotically beautiful, but that was before I started to understand the gist of Niko’s conversations.
Before I could detect the nasty way he barks orders to his underlings. Before I could sense the smarmy way he grovels and begs for forgiveness to whatever horrible man is on the other end of the line.
I know all these calls have something to do with the night of the murders. Of course they do. Something went wrong that night—like Niko fucked up somehow and now he’s in trouble, trying to save his own ass.
And he’s taking it out on me.
Niko’s phone started ringing almost as soon as we took off from Vegas in his private jet, on our way to his house in Tahoe. I did nothing to disturb him, of course. I kept my eyes down and away as the plane climbed into the sky.
“What are you looking at?” he demanded. I knew Niko was talking to me because it’s the only English I’d heard since he answered the call.
I re-crossed my legs in the seat across from him and produced a sweet smile. “Nothing, baby. I was just looking out the window down at the ground.”
“No, you weren’t. You were watching me. You were listening to my conversation, trying to determine what I was talking about.”
“No, baby. Really, I wasn’t.”
He narrows his eyes at me as if my voice irritated him. I knew he was going to hit me if I didn’t find a way to distract him, to calm him.
Even though I just wanted to throw him out of the plane.
I sat there in silence, my smile frozen in place, my body already tightened in anticipation of being hit. And all I could think was that I was so damn tired of playing this game. Sick and tired of being humiliated and used.
“Get away from me,” Niko snapped, his tone heavy with disgust. “Daniil! Take her to the back. I don’t want to see her.”
And even though the seatbelt sign was on and the plane was in a steep climb—and I could barely walk on a flat sidewalk in those fuck-me shoes—I did what he told me.
I immediately excused myself and stumbled downhill to the back of the plane, falling into a seat and staring out the window, pretending like I wasn’t ready to vomit or break into uncontrollable sobs.
Daniil stayed nearby, of course. He stood in profile, hands clasped in front of his huge body. I saw the fading bruises on his face, the ones he got when he made the mistake of stepping out from the driver’s seat of the Lincoln and into Special K’s fist.
Standing there, looking out of the window, he pretended like he wasn’t there to guard me. Or intimidate me.
Right.
In the kitchen now, I feel a large presence behind me. I don’t have to look up to know who it is. Niko’s still in the other room hollering and groveling, which means Daniil now watches over me. It’s what he does.
I hate being held captive. I hate Niko. I hate Daniil and the other henchmen who never let me out of their sights. More than anything, I haaaate this game.
But I have to keep playing. It’s my duty to keep the MacLaines safe. Their well-being depends on my ability to keep this game going. As long as Niko has me to kick and hit and torture and use, he won’t go looking for anyone who might have known me in Sweetbriar. I have to keep this going for them.
I hold them all in my mind’s eye—Jasmine’s eyes sparkling with curiosity, Jamie’s homespun straight talk, Phyllis’s wisdom, Special K’s stoic badass brothers and his wonderful sisters-in-law—imagining them alive and well keeps me going.
Yeah, I’d like to stay alive, too, if I can finesse it. But I’m doing this for Special K and the family he loves. I’m doing it for the man I love. The family I’d love to be a part of, if only things had been different.
I straighten and push away from the kitchen counter.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I tell Daniil. He nods and follows me, waiting outside the closed door.
I look at myself in the mirror. I’m already bruising around my eyes and jaw from where Niko hit me on the plane.
I hope my eye doesn’t swell shut. But if it does, it doesn’t matter.
No one will see me. It’s not like I can just leave the house and go shopping.
I’m not even allowed to walk to the end of the dock by myself.
It’s been thirteen days since I delivered myself to Niko, and I can already tell that he’s losing patience with me, even though I continue to do everything he asks. But I can’t hold his interest. I know he wants to move on.
What “moving on” means for a man like Niko Koslov is anyone’s guess. Will he slice my throat or throw a boulder around my neck and toss me into the lake? Will he sell me?
I blink at my reflection. It hardly seems possible that just days ago I was truly happy. I was floating in the hot spring with Special K, my body humming with pleasure under his touch, his big cock inside me, his big body rocking me and protecting me under a huge blue sky.
I was honored and humbled that he’d share his secrets with me, even knowing I couldn’t do the same.
He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I should have told him that I’m his forever. That I’ll always love him, no matter what. That he’s the most honorable, decent man I’ve ever known. I should have used those exact words and more.
Because I don’t think he knows just how much I wanted to be his woman.
“I’m sorry, cowboy,” I whisper, closing my eyes. A hot tear rolls down to the corner of my mouth.
A pounding at the bathroom door makes me jump. “Yes?” I check to make sure my lipstick isn’t smeared or my false eyelashes aren’t coming loose.
“Come out of there, potaskushka. I need to fuck you.”
“Coming, Niko.”
I hate him.
I’ve let him do every disgusting and sick thing he’s wanted to do to me.
I’ve gotten so good at reading his appetites, that I can anticipate what he’s in the mood for.
I’ve found that if I offer myself to him in advance, in just the way he likes, I can sometimes get through it faster and with less damage to body and soul.
Sometimes.
And so tonight it will be more of the same. He’ll use me, hit me, call me every degrading thing he can come up with in both English and Russian, and then he’ll use me again.
My hand goes to my cheek. I don’t care about bruises. I don’t care about broken bones or broken skin or my broken heart.
I just have to keep playing the game.