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My life, in the twinkle of an eye, had turned upside down to something I did not recognize. It had been an uneventful life before he waltzed in. I was normal. A normal human being, going to college and working a completely normal job. Life was simple, but it was fine. I was fine.
It had only been a day, but it felt like a week since I had been locked up in the room, which did not look at all like a prison cell. It was beautiful. The drapes and the rest of the simple décor had a touch of modern chic to them. The sheets were soft and, though I was never going to admit it, I slept better the previous night than I had in days.
I pulled my legs to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. My thoughts drifted to Liam, and I remembered Rafail’s words.
You are so fucking gullible. So clueless. You think your cousin is a fucking saint, don’t you? News flash, krasotka: he is not. He worked with us for years in the Bratva.
Worked for years with the Bratva?
I didn’t have a phone to check the internet but recalled one time I’d browsed randomly and stumbled on interesting facts about organized crime syndicates. The Russian mafia—The Bratva—was one of those that popped up. The facts had seemed intriguing to learn about from a distance:
There were a lot of politics and bribery involved in what they did. A lot of tousle and violence too. I didn’t know a lot about the mafia, but I knew one word that generally described them.
Dangerous.
I shook my head. No matter how many times I tried to process those words, they still didn’t fit Liam. My Liam. I'd grown up with him. That couldn’t be him. That wasn’t him. We told each other everything, knew everything. When he had to go away, he said it was for work. And I believed him every time, because ... why wouldn’t I?
I knew all shades of my cousin, and ‘dangerous’ and ‘bloody hands’ were not the words to best describe him. It just didn’t cut it. Sweet, kind, caring, and everything good were more like him.
Rafail said he’d betrayed them for money, that he was a traitor. But how? Liam had never been the materialistic type. He treasured values and virtues more than money. He was the first person to teach me the importance of being honest and transparent and to do nothing I couldn’t defend in the future. And Liam would never, ever kill anybody. How could he hurt Rafail’s uncle?
Tired of thinking, I stretched my legs out and sighed. Unfortunately, Liam wasn’t the only one plaguing my thoughts. He was as well. He’d infiltrated my thoughts, and etched himself in my mind, leaving behind memories of temptation, and lust. Things I had only ever read about but never experienced. His touch had seared deep into my skin and sent thrills down my spine. I couldn’t stop thinking about it; about the way he held me possessively, rough—like he would never let me go. Like I was his.
“Delusional ...” My mind sang. But I couldn’t force myself to accept it. That kiss was anything but delusional. My lips still tingled from the sensation. They were so soft that I would have liked to bite him. But that might not have gone down well with him. He might have gagged me right afterward.
Warmth had spread below my stomach and settled between my legs, and I had ached for him. Needed him like I needed oxygen, at that moment. It was crazy how much I enjoyed it. Maybe somewhere deep down, I was just as messed up as he was.
I shook my head and rose from the bed. I had to get out of here. This place was messing with my brain. But what if that was what he wanted; to break me, twist me from the inside out, and make me think the way he wanted me to think?
My fingers curled by my side, and I marched toward the door. Never! I would never conform to his whims.
Carefully, with my heart in my mouth, I held down the door handle, jerked, and pulled it towards me. The door creaked quietly but the harsh pounding of my heart against my ribcage made me hear it volumes louder.
When no guns or knives came flying through the air, I relaxed—for just a second—before plotting my escape from a house I didn’t know. It was surprising that there were no guards outside the room. I’d expected to run into a battalion. But their absence was to my advantage. I had to find a way to leave and get help for Ava and Liam, wherever they were.
Instinct was overriding common sense.
I tiptoed outside the room and shut the door behind me with more caution than when I opened it. The cool hardwood underneath my bare feet caught my attention, and so did every other significant detail in the hallway.
It was beautiful. Some parts of the walls were lined with tall glass windows through which you could look out into a beautiful garden, and strange plants sat in the corners under old paintings by Valentin Serov. I recognized them from a history textbook I had stumbled across in the library.
I had forgotten to tiptoe and instead walked to more art paintings hanging on the walls, running my fingers over the fine brushstrokes on each canvas. My lips curled into a smile. Everything looked nice as if a normal person lived there and not a psychopath who kidnapped unsuspecting girls and accused innocent cousins.
I retracted my fingers and the smile melted off my face. I suddenly remembered where I was, my status as a prisoner in this house, and the reason I’d left the bedroom. There were lives to save.
As quick as a flash, I spun on my heels and started testing doors, one after the other. They were all locked. Well, except one.
The knob rattled in my hand. I twisted it and it opened. Gingerly, I entered, and his scent tickled my nose, full force. My eyes widened. Cigars and musk, and rain on an open field. I was willing to bet that this was his room. But it was empty. No one was inside.
The décor was a mixture of modern and Russian history. It was intriguing, and I felt a flutter in my tummy knowing Rafail had an eye for art and appreciated it. My eyes roamed from the hard wooden floor to the high ceiling, the king-size bed, and the fascinating view of his large estate through the tall floor-to-ceiling windows. And there was good news; there was a balcony just outside and the windows were, in fact, doors.
Hope flickered like a small candle flame in my chest as I padded towards it, eager to set my plan in motion. But it blew out once I saw the height, from the balcony to the ground floor. If I dared to jump, I most likely would die. And for now, I’d rather stay locked up and alive than dead and mush on the ground.
I had resigned myself to the fact that I wouldn’t be doing any stunts from the balcony and was about to turn around and run back to my room when I heard the door close behind me with a soft click. All the air left my lungs.
I know I don’t have telekinesis to close a door, and unless ghosts and ghouls are haunting this house, someone else has closed it. I spun on my heels. Someone with raven black hair, olive skin, and the darkest brows I’d ever seen. But what shocked me even more was the loose-fitting black sweatshirt and the form-fitting jeans he was wearing.
Jeans!
