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These days, when I gazed at the ceiling, Anton’s lifeless eyes faded to a distant memory, and hollow grey eyes replaced the image. I saw him hover above me, moving in and out of me soft and easy. I heard his name from my lips, moaning, begging him to go harder... I closed my eyes, but the creeping warmth didn’t stop traveling as ripples on my skin. Sighing, I shoved the fluffy comforter off my body and a cool breeze swept over my bare skin.
When I entered the bathroom, I stopped by the mirror. Goose bumps rose at the sight of red bite marks on my neck, shoulders, and breasts; and if I looked between my thighs, I was going to see more. Crimson appeared on my cheeks. With more attention, I traced my finger over the marks, remembering how savage last night had been. I blushed because, deep down, I liked it. I’d practically asked for it. He marked me with my permission.
“...and if I bite you, what then?”
I’d looked him in the eye, kissed him like a sex-starved horny adolescent, and said, “Bite me.” And he bit me in places that sent me to the clouds.
Gripping the edge of the vanity, I steadied myself—reeled myself back to the present. While I stood here reminiscing on the full week of unending sex, my father must have been worried sick about me. The last time I’d set eyes on him was at the church, on the day of the wedding. We hadn’t talked since, but I was sure we both knew there was no saving me now. Dad’s only possibility to plot an escape would have been killing Viktor, but because of the baby involved, he wouldn’t interfere. Especially because the baby had Russian blood.
Knowing my people as well as I did, and from the lessons Dad taught me, it would be a hard time before they accepted the little one. Hence, Viktor posed allegations against Declan about him killing our baby if he had the chance. This was my burden to bear, and I had to shoulder it; to figure out a way to still be helpful to my family.
After a hot bath, that only enhanced the pleasure stings of Viktor’s marks on me, I padded to the wardrobe, selecting a strapless tube top on a black pair of shorts.
For the sake of some decency, I wore my hair down to shield the gleaming marks and set to detangling the curls. That’s when I noticed the absence of Viktor’s car keys. It was barely seven in the morning, and he’d gotten an early start. Hurrying to the window, I pressed my face on the glass. My husband’s car was not under the shed—his favorite parking spot—or any other place. He was not at home.
I’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to snoop around and fish out anything that could pose a threat to my family, and one had graciously presented itself.
Hair troubles forgotten, I kept the brush and pitched forward to the corridor.
Filing past so many rooms, I tried to ignore the many beautiful decorations lined up. If I didn’t have an important task, I could stare at them all day long. Padding the floor, I tiptoed down the stairs, craning left and right and over my shoulder to clear signs of nosy maids in the shadows. Thankfully, no mole popped out of its hole.
A few more doors past the lit foyer, and I found what I searched for—Viktor’s home office.
I remembered the last time I’d been led to his office. It was the day I escaped. Two months might not have been long enough to forget the directions, but that day I’d followed one of his men and didn’t bother paying attention to details.
Everything about the glum look screamed Viktor Voronin-Varkov. Plus, it was locked. Since I’d started the hunt, that was the only door in the entire house with a fancy door handle. Grabbing the silver knob, I pressed down.
And it was the only room with a door that was locked.
I glanced over my shoulder and tried again but it bounced back. Frustration tried to rise to the surface till I recalled the pin trick. Another lesson, but this time Declan had been the tutor. Fishing through my hair, I pulled out a slim fancy pin I used to keep the curls from spilling over my eyes. Positioning it inside the lock, I started work—twisting, turning, picking like some low-class high school criminal after a rival’s lunch in the locker.
A minute later, I was drowning in the sea of excitement when the locks turned. I entered briskly and closed the heavy wood with a soft click behind me. It smelled like him. Cherry, perfume, and musk.
Instantly, being in the office felt wrong.
I’d broken in and entered, literally, and thinking about Viktor’s possible reaction if he found out scared me. I might have been married to him, but my loyalty to my family could not be questioned. If they were under threats of an attack, I considered myself as an insider to give them a heads-up.
On the desk sat a black laptop, a neatly arranged pile of files, and a shiny black gun. My heart skipped at the sight of it. That was one lesson I hadn’t been taught; how to use a gun.
I eyed it as I scampered closer to the polished table. Must have been a spare. His gun was silver.
Teetering toward the laptop, I saw it was on, but a password was needed for access. I raked my head and typed as many words I could think of: pain, sardonic, VVV, I want you to scream, ...
Nothing worked. I might have tried his birthday, but I didn’t even know that. We’d never talked about that.
Lying beside the laptop was one of the documents. It was open and the details were unambiguous. I picked it up and read through it. Initially, it appeared to contain a lot of sketchy information on some sales of ammunition, laundering of funds, drug trafficking, and the names of a few politicians with an “X” marked over their faces. Then, I caught my father’s name scribbled in black on the next page in between lines.
Reading through, the terms of the document became clear. It was an agreement between Viktor and an American named Benjamin Hawk to bring the Irish down for good.
The name Benjamin Hawk rang a bell. “It was a man. Said his name is Benjamin Hawk, and that he had important information for us... he is willing to help us take down Viktor.”
My heart thumped in my chest, and I closed the document.
The contents of that file had to be reported, and my father had to know that the man called Benjamin could not be trusted. He was playing both sides, the Russians and the Irish, and his intentions could not be clearer. It looked like a smart move to play the opposing sides against each other; and knowing my father and Viktor, which meant fighting to the teeth. Benjamin planned to get them to eliminate themselves. With them out of the way, which left him standing.
Plucking my phone out of my pocket, I dialed the person who could pass the information across faster. He picked up on the second ring.
“Declan—oh, thank God! I have something important to tell you about Benjamin...”
