10. The First Move #2
This time I can't stay quiet. The sound tears out of me—high, broken, desperate—and he doesn't try to muffle it. He just fucks me through it, riding the waves of my orgasm, using my body like it belongs to him.
"Good girl," he growls. "That's my good girl."
He pulls out suddenly, spins me around, presses my face against the glass. I can see my reflection—flushed, tear-streaked, ruined—and behind me, his reflection, dark and hungry and wild.
"Look at you," he says. "Look at what I've done to you."
He slaps my ass. Hard. The sound cracks through the greenhouse, and I jolt forward, hands splaying against the frozen glass.
He grabs my hips and yanks me back, burying himself inside me again. This angle is deeper—too deep—and I sob as he starts to move, rough and relentless, each thrust pushing me harder against the glass.
"You're going to come again," he says. "You're going to come on my cock, and then I'm going to fill you up, and you're going to keep it. You're going to walk back into that house with my come dripping down your thighs, and you're going to remember exactly who you belong to."
"Gabriel—please—"
"Please what?"
"Please—I can't—"
"You can. You will."
His hand snakes around my front—fingers finding my clit, rubbing rough, fast circles. His other hand fists in my hair again, yanking my head back, arching my spine.
"Come for me," he growls. "Now."
I shatter for the third time.
This one is different—deeper, more intense, pulling something from the very core of me. I scream his name, and the glass fogs with my breath, and my body convulses around him, milking him, demanding him.
He follows with a broken sob.
I feel him pulse inside me—hot, thick, endless—and his hips stutter, losing their rhythm. He collapses against me, forehead pressed to the back of my neck, breath ragged and warm against my skin.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
Then he pulls out. Slowly. Carefully. I feel his come trickle down my thigh, and I shiver.
He turns me around. His face is flushed, tear-streaked, beautiful in a way I've never seen before. He cups my face in his hands—gentle again, so gentle—and kisses me soft and slow.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"
"Don't." I touch his face. "Don't apologize. I wanted it. I wanted you."
"You did?"
"I did."
He kisses me again—tender this time, reverent. His thumbs brush away the tears on my cheeks.
"I love you," he says. "I love you, Monika."
And this time, I don't tell him to stop.
This time, I kiss him back.
"I know," I whisper. "I know."
He kisses me. Soft this time. Tender. The kiss of a man who has finally found something worth holding onto.
"We're going to stop him," he says. "Together."
"Together."
He holds me for a long time. The greenhouse is cold, the night is dark, the world outside is falling apart. But in here, in this moment, we're something else. Something stronger. Something that might actually survive.
I don't know if we will. I don't know if anyone will.
But I know one thing.
I'm not alone anymore.
We sit on the bench afterward.
His arm is around my shoulders. My head is on his chest. The orchids watch us in silence, their petals pale in the moonlight.
"I've been thinking," he says. "About how to stop him."
"And?"
"And I don't know if we can." He pauses. "Not alone."
"Then we need help."
"From who?"
I think about it. The options are limited—the servants, the guards, the men who work for the family. None of them would help us. None of them would risk their lives for a waitress and a disgraced son.
Except one.
"Viktor," I say.
Gabriel stiffens. "Viktor works for my father."
"Viktor works for whoever pays him. And he's been with this family for thirty years. He knows where the bodies are buried—literally. If anyone can help us, it's him."
"You think he'd betray my father?"
"I think he'd do what's right. And I think he hates Nathan enough to stop him."
Gabriel is quiet for a long moment. Then he nods.
"Okay," he says. "We'll talk to Viktor."
We leave the greenhouse separately.
Gabriel goes first—out the back door, through the garden, into the house through the kitchen entrance. I wait five minutes, then follow. The house is quiet, the servants asleep, the portraits watching me pass with their painted eyes.
I stop in front of Elena's portrait.
She looks down at me with her sad smile, her dark eyes, her face that looks so much like mine. I wonder what she would think of me. I wonder if she would understand.
I wonder if she would forgive me.
"I'm going to stop him," I whisper. "I'm going to save the children. I'm going to save this family."
She doesn't answer.
But I feel something shift in the air. Something that might be hope.
I walk to my room. I close the door. I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
The plan is simple. Talk to Viktor. Find out what he knows. Build a case against Nathan—not for the police, never for the police—but for Aleksander. For the family. For everyone who might be able to stop him.
It's not a good plan. It's barely a plan at all.
But it's a start.
And it's mine.
I don't sleep that night.
I lie in the dark and think about Gabriel. About the way he looked at me. About the way he said "I love you" like it was a promise and a prayer. About the way he fucked me against the glass, desperate and hungry and utterly, completely his.
I think about Nathan. About the way he's spiraling. About the way he's becoming something I don't recognize. About the way he looked at me when I called him a monster—and the way he didn't deny it.
I think about Aleksander. About the way he held me after I told him. About the way he said he would fix it. About the way he looked at me like I was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.
I think about myself. About the girl I used to be. About the woman I've become. About the person I'm going to be when this is all over—if it's ever over.
I think about Tasha. About her empty eyes. About the way she said her name like it was a secret she'd forgotten she was allowed to keep.
I think about all the children in all the cages. All the women. All the lives that have been destroyed by this family, by this empire, by the men who claim to love me.
I'm going to stop them.
I don't know how. I don't know when. But I'm going to stop them.
Even if it kills me.
Even if it destroys everything.
Dawn breaks.
I watch it through the window—the sun painting the sky in shades of gold and pink, the snow glistening on the ground, the world waking up to another day of secrets and lies and pain.
I get out of bed. I shower. I dress in jeans and a sweater—the same clothes I wore on the farm, the same clothes I wore before I became a Mire.
I'm not a Mire today. I'm not anyone's ward, anyone's mistress, anyone's possession.
I'm just Monika.
And I'm going to save them all.
I find Viktor in the kitchen.
He's drinking coffee, reading the paper, the same way he does every morning. He looks up when I enter, and I see something in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or curiosity.
"Miss Monika," he says. "You're up early."
"I need to talk to you."
He sets down the paper. He looks at me for a long moment, his old eyes sharp and assessing.
"About what?"
"About Nathan. About the children. About everything."
He doesn't react. He just waits.
"I know you've been with this family for thirty years," I say. "I know you've seen things. Done things. Things you're not proud of."
"Everyone has things they're not proud of."
"Then help me stop him. Help me save the children. Help me save this family before it destroys itself."
Viktor is quiet for a long moment. The kitchen is silent—the only sound the hum of the refrigerator and the distant murmur of the house waking up.
"What makes you think I'd help you?" he asks.
"Because you're a good man. Underneath everything, you're a good man. And good men don't let children suffer. You might not care much about the women being trafficked, but children are something else."
He stares at me. His eyes are old, tired, full of things I can't name.
"You're right," he says. "I've seen things. Done things. But I've also tried to do good where I could." He pauses. "What do you need?"
"Information. About Nathan's operations. About the trafficking routes. About the people he's working with."
"That's dangerous."
"I know."
"If he finds out—"
"I know."
Viktor nods slowly. He picks up his coffee. He takes a sip.
"I'll help you," he says. "But we have to be careful. Nathan has eyes everywhere. If he suspects—"
"He won't."
"How do you know?"
I think about Gabriel. About the way he held me. About the way he promised to help.
"Because I'm not alone," I say. "I have help."
Viktor looks at me for a long moment. Then he smiles—a small, sad smile.
"You remind me of her," he says. "Elena. She was brave too. Stupid, but brave."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's an observation." He stands. "Be careful, Miss Monika. The Mires don't let go of what's theirs."
"I think I've figured that out."
He walks out of the kitchen. I stand there for a long moment, my heart pounding, my mind racing.
I have a plan. I have help. I have hope.
For the first time in a year, I feel like I'm doing something that matters.
I'm not going to let them destroy me.
I'm going to destroy them first.