AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I wondered why Viktor hadn’t said a word about my actions and instead treated me like a princess who deserved a reward. Did he not care that I was a murderer? A sigh escaped my lips and a heavy feeling spread through my chest. Deep down, I wanted to pretend that everything was normal and that we could continue with the captor-captive script, but that was ... impossible.
Leaving me alive meant I had a fighting chance; a chance to redeem myself somehow.
Maybe he should have killed me when he had the opportunity.
There was no going back after what had happened. What I did changed everything. I could no longer pretend to be the same person I was before.
The door creaked open, and I didn’t need to open my eyes. It was him—my worst nightmare. His strong musky scent displaced the lemon-lavender scent in the room, and I wasn’t sure why, but I found his more soothing. The door clicked shut, but he didn’t make a move forward. I could feel his hot eyes on me, searing through the thin fabric of the flimsy oversized T-shirt I was wearing and burning my skin.
An hour earlier, the maid handed it to me with the underwear after she dropped the tray on the nightstand and said, “The boss vants you to have this,” with her thick Russian accent.
The room might be a little less than seventy degrees, but I was sweating for reasons I could not fathom. Shaking my head, I opened my eyes, pushed my legs off the bed, and looked at him. It was pointless to ignore him and pretend his aura wasn’t suffocating me in the room. But the second my eyes met his, I wished I had kept up the pretense and forced myself to fall asleep.
For a split second, I almost forgot how to breathe. Almost. He looked like a wet dream; like a fitness model who had just stepped out of GQ magazine and had just the right amount of everything. Before I regained control, I let my eyes wander over his physique: from the tight-fitting black T-shirt that clung to his hard abs and biceps like a second skin, to the mesmerizing art of the black ink on his arm that stretched to his neck. He had a raw masculinity and feral appeal to him that awakened desires in me that I didn't even know I had.
Embers blazed in his dark eyes—intense heat—and the shimmering drops of water on his dark, unkempt waves made him look sexy as hell. He must have just stepped out of the shower. He leaned back against the door, crossed his arms, and studied me with a slight smirk.
The words dried up in my throat.
Watching this man, my world colliding with his, must have been a sick joke of the universe—or maybe God, we hardly knew each other. Viktor Voronin-Varkov was the best symbol for the word “irony” He was the type of man the girls in my high school fantasized about. He should have been the perfect gentleman. Should have been ...
But then this man was scarred and had darkness in his heart. His handsome face was nothing more than a mask that hid the savage villain underneath.
“Did you like your dinner?” The smooth, rich timbre of his voice brought me back to the reality where we played captor-captive in a beautiful bedroom. I blinked and frowned. Why did he act like he cared?
“Yes, I did.” I fidgeted with my fingers, stretching the hem of the large T-shirt further down my thighs to try and shield every shred of dignity I had left—that Anton almost shattered. A lump formed in my throat, and I lowered my eyes. I could no longer withstand his gaze; I felt naked enough, he had never seen me in so little clothing.
“What?” I heard a tiny sliver of amusement in his voice when he said, “No ‘thank you’ for the generous host? It could have been yucky porridge.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again. Then I stepped closer to him to see his face as I asked him the question that stabbed a thousand needles into my chest. He stared at me with half-hooded eyes, and his five o’clock shadow accentuated his luscious lips. Why did I take note of that?
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you doing all of this? I motioned to the bedroom.
He pushed himself away from the door and my heart raced when I realized how close we were. His chest was almost touching mine and we shared a steamy eye contact … or so I thought.
“You mean why am I giving you a place to sleep that is not a cage?” I heard the mockery in his voice. But I was in no mood for games. I needed an answer, and I needed the truth.
“If we are stating the obvious, yes. Why am I here? Why haven’t you killed me? You saw what I did. I—” Heart pounding harshly against my ribcage, my breath faltered. “I killed one of your men, a member of your brotherhood. I’m not stupid; I know how these things work. There are consequences attached to actions like that and, so far, I am aware of, none of those consequences include lovely bedrooms, dinner, and a bathroom.”
A little voice in my head shouted at me to back off, but I was mesmerized by one of the symbols inked on his neck. It was in the shape of a bird with flames and tiny spears around it. It was unusual and, I almost dared to say, beautiful. I wanted to know what it meant.
“Eyes up here, milaya.” The corner of his lips was drawn upwards, revealing that he knew what I saw. “I know what happened. I know that he tried to take advantage of you...” The muscles in his jaw ticked and there was something deeper in those midnight orbs. “He wanted a good fuck before killing you. Fucking classic revenge move, as old as time.”
I was acutely aware of how close we were and didn’t know how much longer I could withstand him. His warm breath spread like fire over my skin.
“You did the right thing...”
Huh?
“I’m impressed. You fought back, you protected your honor.”
What did he mean by being impressed? I killed someone and ran a knife through his throat. Why was he not punishing me for that? How were my actions justified?
I swallowed. “I... I don’t understand.”
His hands reached for mine and he held my wrists gently against his chest. His expression hardened and he said something I hadn't expected. Something that shattered my conclusion that he'd rather take bullets than talk over a cup of coffee.
“We were so fucking poor—my mother, my sister, and I. We lived in a shack, like fucking rats feeding from hand to mouth. It was hard, it was cold, and girls my sister’s age already had careers on the streets. My sister, though... she was different. Always carrying her head and shoulders up like she was some fucking saint.” The smallest smile formed on his lips. “I thought she was too— the most beautiful angel I knew. But that changed after two bastards took that pride away from her...”
