15. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Isabella
A sane person might have gone straight to one of Nikolai’s clubs and taken his offer of help. Sanity did not run in my family, nor did we want it to.
I’m going to get away from this cursed city and disappear. I’m at my happiest when I’m able to sing, I’ll make a life for myself performing small gigs, travelling around. It might not be as glamorous, but at least I’ll be free. I stop outside a car rental place, and I’m about to go in, when I remember most of the businesses on this side of town are controlled by my dad. All transport businesses will be on high alert.
With a fleeting glance, I turn away from the car hire and head onto West Brink bridge. I’ve never crossed it on my own before. Prior to this week, I’d never crossed it in my life. Now is the third time in a few days. I pass the invisible line kid-me never crossed and enter the Bratva side of Righteous Cove.
As soon as I see a car hire, I hurry inside and rush over to the front counter. An old man sits behind the counter, squinting through thick glasses at a crossword on the back of a newspaper.
“Hi! I’d like to rent a car.”
“Oh yes,” he glances up, moving in slow motion, “let me run you through what we’ve got.”
After a painfully slow back and forth, he hands me the keys to a car and gets out of his chair to show me to it.
“Thank you.” I nod, snatching the keys a little too quickly.
“No need to rush.” He grumbles. “Whatever you need will come to you. Rushing it and trying to control it only pushes it further away. Took me a long time to learn that.”
What he says seems to make sense, but I’m in too much of a hurry to really take it in. He takes me through to a back room, opening the door for me.
“It’s just through here.” He says in his dreary voice.
I rush into the room with my eyes on my phone, scrolling through potential routes to get away from here. The door clicks closed behind me. I look up.
Fuck.
I expect to see my getaway car standing in front of me. Instead, I see a wall of white wallpaper. The door locks behind me and it dawns on me. I’m trapped. The old guy must have been on someone’s payroll. The question is whose? If it’s the Irish, this might be the last room I ever see. If it’s my dad’s, I’ll be dragged back to face a level of punishment I can’t even stomach imagining. If it’s the Bratva…
“Hey! Come back! Let me out of here!” I bang my fist against the door, but no one answers.
After hurling a stapler at the window and trying to smash it with my elbow (I think my funny bone has been permanently sent into retirement after that), I drop into the chair behind the desk and stew in the anxiety.
The minutes stretch into hours, but nothing changes. Footsteps quicken the passing of time as they approach the door. They’re heavy, slow, purposeful. I scramble over to grab the stapler from the floor and hide it behind my back.
I’m not going anywhere without a fight.
The door opens and I’m pinned by those monstrous eyes once again.
“Going somewhere?” He drawls as he enters the room.
Nikolai Ilyin scans me with his eyes, hovering over my legs for a moment that sends a shiver across my thighs.
“Watching me out of the shadows for once? How brave of you.”
I force confidence into my voice, but his presence drains it away. He’s wearing a sharp suit and the same intoxicating aftershave from before.
“You’re lucky. If you’d gone to the rental place five minutes further along the street, Callum O’Shea would have you right now. You’d be in a little room like this one, but with no lights. Tied to the chair. At his mercy. You’re not used to being at a man’s mercy, are you, princess?”
I lick my dry lips and grip the stapler behind my back tighter.
“Am I at your mercy now?”
He draws closer, the darkness in his gaze making my heart pound hard against my ribs. My dad always kept boys away from me, and now I was alone, locked in a room with a man. But Nikolai feels like more than a man. He’s the type of monster that makes men quiver in their beds. I know what he wants, but I can’t give it to him. I’d rather die than give that up. His stare makes me feel naked, as if I’m being exposed under a bright light. I’m hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin. He steps forward and my nerve breaks.
I swing at him with the stapler. If I can connect with his temple, I might have a chance.
Nikolai snatches my wrist in mid-air before I even come close to making contact. His fingers burn into my skin and I drop the stapler, and with it the last ember of hope crumbles into ash.
“You’re misbehaving, Isabella.”
I bite my lip as his grip tightens.
“Fuck you.” I hiss, because my words are the only weapons I have left. “You don’t own me.” But the look in his eyes says the opposite. In this room, he knows I’m powerless. There’s only the two of us, and I have no defences left.
He pushes me back until my ass presses against the desk behind me. He takes up the space between my legs, brushing them apart with his tensed body. I glare up at him, hoping the fire in my eyes might shame him into stopping, but he isn’t the one to avert his eyes.
“You have so much fire.” He purrs as my eyes lower to the ground.
Deep breaths Iz. You can get through this.
“What do you want?”
I keep my eyes down until the silence after my question stretches out. When I look up, there’s a slight shift in his deep green eyes. He takes in a slow, deep breath through his nose, and then takes a step back, as if he’s just regained the little self-control mafia men usually posses.
“I want to know if you’re okay. Did you get hurt when you escaped the party?”
What?
I shoot him a distrustful look. Is he toying with me?
“I’m fine.” I keep my guard up.
The sincerity in his eyes throws me off balance. Since when did Bratva murderers show sincerity?
“I want you to come with me.”
“Why?” I can only see one reason, and it’s not one I want to entertain.
“Because you’re beautiful. Because I want everyone to see me claim Don Leonardo’s daughter as mine. Because if you don’t come with me, Callum O’Shea will have you killed by the end of the week. Are those reasons good enough for you, princess?” He cups my chin in his hand. “Such a shame to waste such a beautiful face.”
I slap his hand away and jerk my head back.
“My name is Isabella. Not Don Leonardo’s fucking daughter. Not princess. Isabella.” I sound out every syllable the second time I say my name.
His eyebrows raise at the cursing, but it’s in amusement, not shock.
“You’re coming with me, Isabella .” The Russian twang in his accent curves around my name. I’ll never tell him, but it sounds good coming from his lips.
I give him a stubborn glare, but there’s nothing I can do. Besides, he’s right. My chances are a lot better with Nikolai protecting me, even if it is for his own reasons.
“Three things.” I say.
He watches me intently.
“This doesn’t mean I need you.”
“ Da. ”
“And it doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed about what you’ve done.”
“Naturally.”
“And it definitely doesn’t mean I want you.” I pause, the look in his eyes sending a tingle across my skin. “Are we clear?”
He chuckles. “Crystal clear, princess.”
I hold out my hand like we’ve just settled a business deal. He glances at it and arches an eyebrow.
“Well?”
Nikolai’s hand swallows mine completely. He squeezes and pulls me into him. This must be what it feels like to make a deal with the devil.
"You're mine now."