Chapter 7 - Emmanuil
She was doing that on purpose.
I turn away from the cubicle, tearing my eyes off her, angry that I got so lost in watching her. I didn’t intend to look, but it was impossible. She’s impossible.
Impossible to be around, impossible to deal with. She has no sense of reason or logic. She’s annoying, difficult, and challenging in every way.
She’s fucking toying with me all over again.
She’s so heartless that she doesn’t care what she put me through in the past, and now she’s playing with me again.
Teasing. Pushing my limits. Seducing me.
I’m not blind or stupid. I know she was arching her back and moving like that because she remembers I used to love the way she would dance for me.
She’s probably trying to find a way to control me, and for a moment, it almost worked.
How the hell am I supposed to stay in control when she looks so incredible?
And that dress. The things I would like to do to her in that dress.
It was beyond divine. She looked so insanely gorgeous that it should be illegal for her to wear something like that in public.
What would happen if she wore that to a cocktail bar?
Is she really that clueless as to how predatory men are?
That every single one of them would have their eyes locked on her, with one thing on their mind? One goal?
Does she want that?
I shove the door of the dressing room area open and storm moodily into the main part of the boutique. The woman behind the cashier’s desk glances nervously at me. I glare at her, daring her to say something, and she quickly turns her eyes away, back to whatever she was looking at in front of her.
Mind your own business. It’s better that way.
These thoughts about Anya are sending me into a quickly spiraling rage.
I don’t want to think about her wearing that dress at a bar.
I don’t want to think about other men looking at her—or about her enjoying the attention.
I don’t want to think about who she’s been with these past five years of her life since she ditched me with such cruel disinterest in what she put me through.
I don’t want to be turned on by her to the point where I can barely think.
She takes her time in the cubicle, just pushing me closer and closer to losing my temper with her.
I pace up and down inside the store. It’s a small, cramped boutique, wall to wall rails of dresses and sexy outfits. Every one of them would look incredible on her.
I get impatient and go outside to pace outside the doors where the annoying cashier can’t nervously glance at me anymore.
Anya can’t leave any way but through these doors, so I’m not worried about losing her in there, but I want to leave. Now.
I hate malls. I hate shopping. I hate being out in the open with her like this.
She claims to be smart enough to take care of herself, yet here she is again, alone, not a care in the world for the risks she’s taken. And on top of that, she’s pissing off the one person who can keep her safe.
Maybe I should have just left her here to fend for herself.
I snort, knowing I could never do that.
As many times as I’ve envisioned ending her life, it was because of the pain of how much I loved her, and I would never truly be able to hurt her.
Not physically.
A mischievous thought flashes through my mind.
I would hurt her physically, but she’d have to beg me for it. She used to love it. I wonder if she’s still into that.
Finally, Anya comes out, carrying a white paper bag, slung over her arm.
“You didn’t?” I snap, angrily.
“Actually, I did. I got it in pink and in black. Looks like I’ll need to go out twice to show it off,” she huffs, pouting those gorgeous lips at me and raising her brows, daring me to argue more.
“You’re so fucking clueless, girl,” I growl at her, my anger reaching boiling point. “You’re so naive, utterly blind to the world around you. What do you think will happen if you wear that dress, Anya?”
The truth is, she’ll be adored. She’ll be the center of attention. She’ll be spoiled and gushed over. And I hate the thought of every single one of those things happening.
She was mine. No one else was ever allowed to touch her.
“If I wear the dress? What will happen if I wear this? I can answer that—I’ll feel beautiful. That’s what will happen. And I have every right to feel pretty, Emmanuil,” she snaps at me, spinning on her heel to walk away.
I should let her walk away. But I can’t. I should leave this alone. Take her home. Stop this childish argument.
The mall is busy, but I don’t care.
I’m worked up, turned on, angry, and tense. I take two quick strides to catch her and grab her arm. I spin her to face me, pulling her up against my chest and wrapping my arms around her waist to hold her there.
“You know you’re beautiful, don’t you? You pretend to be coy and innocent and sweet, but you know how beautiful you are—that’s why you use it as a weapon.
You use it to get what you want, to taunt and take, and then to break the heart of the person you’ve captured.
Who else did you do that to, Anya? Who else’s heart did you steal and burn? ”
Her eyes flare with hurt.
“You’re such an asshole,” she says, breathless and horrified. She presses her hands against my chest to push me away, but I hold her tighter.
If she wants to play with me, I will play with her, too.
Her body is locked against mine as I run my hand up her back, caressing her slowly. I rock my hips forward, pressing my cock into her stomach.
She hesitates, her attempts to escape my grip weakening. Her breathing is faster. Her eyes flash with doubt.
I run my hand up her side and over her shoulder as she glares at me, refusing to be affected by me, despite the way her heart is clearly racing.
I let my fingers wrap around her jaw, then run down her throat as I tilt her head up with my thumb.
My lips are hovering above hers. My cock is stirring as I feel the warmth of her breath against my mouth.
I want to drive her crazy. I want to turn her on and leave her restless—the same thing she’s doing to me. I want to push her limits and make her desperate and show her that she isn’t the one in control. And she isn’t the only one with the power to use her seduction to manipulate.
But when she moans, a soft, sweet, beautiful moan that slips from her lips just as mine are brushing against hers—
It almost breaks me.
I have to step away before my cock becomes rock-hard, and I have no way to hide it in such a public space.
I clear my throat and dust my hands over my shirt. My body is pulsing, pulling me back towards her. I fight against it, my heart hammering in my ears.
I look at Anya, and her face is set, void of emotion as she stares back at me.
She doesn’t look affected at all.
Did I imagine the sound?
Did I imagine that beautiful, breathless moan?
Am I going crazy?
I shake my head and let out a heavy sigh.
“Let’s go,” I huff.
“I’m not done shopping,” she sasses.
“You are, and we’re leaving.” I move to grab her arm, because I’ll drag her out of here if I have to, but she pulls away too quickly.
“Anya, do not make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here with everyone staring,” I warn her.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, her eyes flaring wide.
A low chuckle vibrates through me.
“Do you not remember all the things I dared to do to you, kitten?”
She scrunches her nose. “I already told you not to call me that.”
The grin that spreads over my lips is one of satisfaction. I’m getting to her. She’s losing her cool. That charade of carelessness is slipping away.
“Walk,” I demand, tilting my chin in the direction of the exit.
She opens her mouth to argue again, but decides against it, spinning away from me and storming ahead. Despite her long legs and quick strides, it’s easy to keep up with her.
“Why do you have to take the joy out of everything?” she mutters, more to herself than me, so I ignore it.
I start to look around, watching people going in and out of stores as we walk past them.
Shopping, buying things that they think will make them happy.
But happiness isn’t found in a mall. I understood happiness once.
But it turns out it was fake. Emotions are nothing but a mix of chemicals in our brain, tricking us into thinking we’re happy—or in love—or whatever the hell our brains want us to believe.
It’s all bullshit.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my heart going cold as soon as I see him. This is the last thing I need now. And this is the exact reason why I warned Anya not to come out alone.
“What now?” Anya snaps, turning to face me.
“Get behind me.”
Something in my voice makes her obey me without question. Why can’t she always be this accommodating?
I draw my gun, holding it at my side, my eyes locked onto my enemy. A man who recently made an attempt on my life.
The mall is too busy for this. There are so many innocent people around us—this won’t end well.
At first, I think he might not have seen me, but the smile that spreads over his face as he turns towards me quickly makes me realize he followed me here. This is a targeted, planned attack. Three men step to his side, and at the same time, they all reach for their weapons.
“Fuck,” I mutter again.
Behind me, Anya lets out a quiet yelp, and I feel her hands reaching out to touch my back, her fingers knotting in my shirt, looking for reassurance. She’s obviously realized what’s going on.
Everything moves in slow motion as my senses heighten and Alexei Smirnov turns, his gun raised, his finger on the trigger.
Instincts take over.
“Everyone, get down,” I scream loudly. Most people don’t move.
They keep walking, ignoring the madman yelling for no reason.
So I fire one bullet up into the ceiling.
That’s when they start screaming, running, and dropping to the floor to cower in fear.
I don’t care where they go as long as they make an attempt to get somewhere safer.
By that time, Alexei has opened fire, and I’ve at least managed to get some of the civilians out of harm’s way—for the most part.
I fire several shots in quick succession, directly at him and his men.
Anya screams behind me.
“Stay close,” I shout, no longer feeling her hand on my back and wanting the reassurance of her touch to know she’s okay.
A bullet whips past my ear, the pressure of it brushing against my skin.
“What about all the people? They’ll be hurt.” Anya screams again.
“Stay behind me,” I yell, pulling her with me as I keep us moving, keeping providing cover fire, ducking behind a stone pillar as bullets slam into it.
The screaming around us continues. Young kids, women, children. Only a fucking monster like Alexei would do this in a mall.