"Maxim has her pinned up against the wall and seat. She's not going anywhere," Cyreck said. "The storm came in fast."
"Just our luck," Roman snapped.
Already the wind had died down, much more slowly and naturally than Airiana would have thought, and she knew Maxim was responsible.
"Are you crazy?" Maxim hissed in her ear, his breath coming from between strong, white teeth. "You'll kill us."
Her arm hurt so bad she couldn't think for a moment. He had her pinned tightly against the wall of the craft, so that she hadn't moved at all when the force of the wind hit. She hadn't been thrown around like the men, but her entire body felt bruised and battered.
"That was the point," she hissed back, not certain why she continued with their private conversation.
Her body had begun to shiver uncontrollably, stress and pain taking their toll. Maxim sighed softly and eased his weight off of her, but was careful not to give her any room.
"Don't do it again or I'll knock you out. Do you understand me?"
She forced herself to turn her head and look at him. Straight into his eyes. Their gazes collided. She was caught there. Held there. A prisoner of his sheer iron will. If anything, his eyes were colder than ever. Like beautiful, untouchable glaciers. A startling blue, like a great pool of ice she fell into and froze there, unable to get out. The shivering increased until her teeth chattered, but she couldn't look away from him.
"I asked you if you understood?" he persisted, each word distinct.
Airiana nodded her head. If she tried to speak she knew she would cry. No one could defeat this man. No one. He was a born killer. She could see it in the cold, dispassionate expression on his face and the deadly quiet of his eyes. He would hit her if she tried anything else and knock her out and not think twice about it.
There was temptation in the idea. She might not wake up. If she provoked him . . . he had a temper. A really dangerous one. But he hadn't lost control.
"Whatever is going on in that brilliant mind of yours, just stop now."
Her stomach lurched. Brilliant mind. He knew. They had come after her for that horrible project she'd conceived when she was a child. It wouldn't go away, no matter how hard she tried to make it.
"Airiana, just for a few minutes, trust me. Nothing is going to happen to you."
Somehow the way he said her name, almost as if he was familiar with her, twisted her up more inside. Of course he knew her name. He had to know whom to kidnap, didn't he? But calling her by name made her resistance seem even more futile than ever.
She detested that he used that low, almost velvet voice, as if he brushed his fingers over her skin to soothe her--or caress her. There was no way not to be affected. She was absolutely certain this was the most lethal man she'd ever come across--and that included both Levi and Thomas.
Tears burned in spite of her violent blinking to prevent them. Her lashes grew wet and spiky just before she managed to pull her gaze away from his.
"I need to take a look at your arm," he said, reaching for her.
There was not a single soft note in his voice, yet he still managed to send her the strange sensation of brushstrokes over her skin. He sounded commanding, clearly not asking, but his touch was gentle when he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged.
She bit her lip hard, suppressing a cry of pain as he straightened her arm. He hadn't hit her in the shoulder, but just above her elbow, a short, straight blow with the heel of his hand that packed a lethal dose of power. She shook her head but didn't attempt to pull away from him. Instinctively she knew he didn't much care what she wanted, and she also was very aware that any movement hurt.
Tears tracked down her cheeks, but at least she remained steadfastly silent, not giving him the satisfaction of having her fall apart. What was all the crap about her father, anyway? Some new psychological warfare to make her think he was on her side? If he'd been on her side, he wouldn't have kidnapped her for these men.
It was difficult, so close to him, not to let his scent surround her. He smelled surprisingly good. Worse, he had gorgeous hair. Thick and black, and it fell around his face in a shaggy cut as if he'd taken scissors to it himself, and she found herself totally caught up in the patterns she saw there.
Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes briefly, resolutely turning her face away from Maxim to stare out the open doorway of the helicopter. They were headed out to sea. Helicopters didn't get far without fuel, so there had to be a boat, a ship, a yacht, something big waiting. Her heart pounded harder than ever at the thought. There would be no escaping, not this far from land with no boat, even if she did manage to slip away from them. She would drown before she got to shore.
"I have to take off your sweater," Maxim said. He touched her wild hair, brushing silken strands from her face. "It's going to hurt for just a moment, but then I can help take the pain away. Do you understand?"
That just plain irritated her. "Of course I understand. I'm brilliant, remember?" It would have been a lovely comeback but for the hiccup in her voice.
"You have the mind of your father. You know that's why they want you, right? To force him to give them what they want." He slipped the sweater from her arm as he gave the piece of information.
Her heart jerked. She turned her head to stare at him. Shook it. He nodded as he pulled the sleeve from her arm. It hurt, but she was so distracted by his revelation she barely noticed.
"He is a great man, brilliant beyond any other in my country. He was attacked some time ago for his work. They were able to steal a microchip but it was taken from them, apparently sat in oil for five years and all the data was destroyed. Theodotus told everyone it didn't matter, just as long as no one else could get the information off of it. Theodotus believes the only way they have a chance of persuading him to do their bidding is to take you prisoner. You're the only Achilles' heel he has."
Hope flared for the first time. They didn't know. If what Maxim was telling her was true, they didn't know anything at all about her project. This kidnapping had to do with her birth father--a man she'd never met in her life. She still didn't altogether believe Maxim, but what could he possibly get out of lying to her?
His fingers touched her bare skin. Heat flared. Sparks bit at her arm, like little fireflies lighting all over her and leaping away. The air crackled between them. He gasped and removed his hands from her skin, leaning back away from her, his eyes glittering with menace.
She couldn't look away, not even if her life depended on it. His eyes were a clear deep blue, and so icy she should have been shivering with both fear and cold, but instead her blood had caught fire and rushed through her veins with the searing heat of a fireball.
"You're Maxim Prakenskii, aren't you?" she whispered, shocked. Horrified. Terrified. She touched her tongue to suddenly dry lips in an effort to moisten them, to get some balance.
Of course he was one of the Prakenskii brothers. She should have known by those eyes. She was more afraid than when she thought he was a stranger kidnapping her. Of course he was a stranger . . . but . . . he was Prakenskii. She knew three of his brothers, and every one of them was dangerous. Potentially he could be dangerous on a personal level as well.
His fingers tightened hard around her arm--her injured arm--to the point of bruising. "Don't use that name. Do you hear me? Anyone who knows that name doesn't live very long. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"
"That you'll kill me if I reveal your true identity." She didn't look away.
"You've never heard of me or my family. Especially my family."
The grip on her arm was fierce and it was beginning to draw the attention of some of the other passengers.
"Is she giving you trouble, Maxim?" Cyreck called. "I'll be glad to come and help you tame that little wildcat."
The man who had nearly fallen from the helicopter, Istvan, laughed nervously, but the other one, Deke, looked down at the ground. That told her a lot about Maxim Prakenskii. He
was considered a man not to mess with. Cyreck had been careful to use a playful tone, one he hoped to garner an atmosphere of camaraderie with.
Airiana nodded her head ever so slightly. Prakenskii was clearly not part of this group, yet they wanted him to be. Like his brothers, he'd been taken at birth and trained to be used as a tool for the government--and she knew the brothers were highly skilled in weapons, hand-to-hand combat, even sexual practices. More, they were all gifted with psychic abilities.
She knew the brothers were used for assassinations and undercover work. They all spoke multiple languages. Maxim wasn't hiding the fact that he was Russian, so whatever cover he had included his own nationality. The Prakenskiis were true operatives, able to shed one skin and easily slip into another.
Just because she knew his brothers--his family--didn't mean he was any less dangerous to her. If anything, he might decide to kill her outright to protect their new identities. She was positive she was right about him, yet not enough that she would ever mention Levi, who was supposed to be dead, or Thomas, who had changed his identity.
The third brother, Ilya, lived openly and comfortably with his own name. He had been an Interpol agent and had much more easily transferred his life to the States--to Sea Haven more precisely, and it would stand to reason that she would know him since the village was quite small. Maybe that would keep her alive. She couldn't help but know of the man married to such a famous singer as Joley Drake. Everyone knew of Ilya Prakenskii.
Maxim looked across the helicopter at Cyreck, and the Greek shrugged his shoulders the moment those icy blue eyes stared a hole through him. Maxim wasn't the friendly type, that much was made clear.
Once again, Maxim took her arm, the pads of his fingers moving over her bruised skin. Each stroke seemed to ease the pain, but her heart only pounded harder. She should never have tipped him off that she knew his identity. Of course he would kill her. How could he not? So far she hadn't seen a single real expression cross his face. Had she not caught that brief glimpse of his temper, she would never know he could be human. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears all over again.
Her gaze was drawn to his fingers against her skin. His hand was large enough to wrap around her arm and then some, yet he didn't seem disproportionately large. She guessed it was the way he moved that made him seem leaner. He looked rough, scary even, although she suspected much of that was because she was terrified. She had made a terrible mistake blurting out that he had to be a Prakenskii.
"Please, please believe me, I don't have a father. I've never met anyone, spoken to or received even a single piece of mail from someone claiming to be my father," she whispered, remembering at the last moment to keep the thread of sound between them.
"Your mother--her birth name is Marinochka Venediktov--was a student at the Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology when she encountered Theodotus Solovyov. He had gone there to consult with a distinguished professor and friend who happened to have Marina in his classroom."
"My last name is Ridell. I don't know any Theodotus Solovyov, or for that matter Marinochka Venediktov. You have the wrong person."
Her arm had gone from a throbbing pain deep in her bone to a dull ache, like a nagging, sore tooth. When he released her, he took the warmth of his touch with him. Who would have suspected that a man so cold could radiate so much heat?
"He said, if you were truly his daughter you would deny it without proof. I saw his proof, and he's waiting to show it to you. There's a Greek ship out at sea and the helicopter is heading for that. The Gratsos family owns that particular line of cargo ships. I'll keep you close to me. Don't make a run for it. Don't draw undo attention to yourself. Just stay quiet and let me handle things."
So far, no one else had come near her, and he wasn't asking her questions she couldn't answer. He wasn't asking her any questions at all. Maybe they really did have the wrong person. It was possible the woman Marinochka he was talking about wasn't her mother and someone had simply mixed things up.
She nodded her head that she understood as he carefully eased her sweater--Lexi's sweater--back over her arm. The thick, familiar sweater gave her comfort and she pulled it closer around her. She put her nose against the threads and inhaled Lexi's scent to drive away Maxim's.
"Solovyov was married to a very wealthy woman with friends in high places. She enjoyed being the wife of the most intelligent physicist in Russia. She wasn't a particularly nice woman and he was gone a lot working, which was just fine by her. She liked drinking and parties and men. Mostly she liked her status, and nothing was going to change that. Certainly not a young college student, no matter how bright and promising she was."
Airiana felt eyes on her and she glanced up to see Cyreck staring at them. Something in the way he looked at her sickened her. This was not a man who would treat an injury gently on any woman, let alone one he'd kidnapped. She drew closer to Maxim without realizing she did, sliding her much smaller body nearly behind his in an effort to get away from Cyreck's leering gaze.
Maxim flicked Cyreck a singular look from his glacier-cold eyes. "Is there something you want?"
There wasn't an ounce of friendship in his authoritative voice. More like a challenge, daring the other man to cross him, even hoping he might.
"Just hoping you're going to share the goods," Cyreck said. "Mr. Shackler-Gratsos said he didn't care what shape she was in as long as she was alive." He stroked his crotch suggestively. "I want her after you."
"I don't share," Maxim replied in a low, slashing voice. "I will cut you into little pieces and throw you to the sharks if you attempt to lay one finger on anything that belongs to me. I brought her out. She's mine. When I'm finished with her, I'll take her to Mr. Shackler-Gratsos myself. That was the deal I made with him."
Cyreck swore in Greek, and turned away. Again none of the other men looked up, unwilling to go against Maxim.
Airiana let out her breath slowly. Maxim sounded like he was standing up for her, but he certainly had made some kind of deal with Mr. Shackler-Gratsos. She recognized the name. How could she not? Stavros Gratsos had drowned off the coast of Sea Haven the very day that Rikki had pulled Lev Prakenskii out of the sea and saved his life.
Gratsos had been a billionaire, a shipping magnate, and he had a brother. She didn't recall the brother's name, he was far less well known, but he had to have inherited everything. This helicopter and the ship they were taking her to were owned by the Gratsos shipping company.
What had been far less known about the playboy shipping magnate was that he operated a human trafficking ring as well as running arms to terrorists and anyone else who could afford his prices. Her heart began to pound as she tried to recall the facts she knew about the Greek brothers. It wasn't much, but she knew Elle Drake had suffered terribly at their hands.
Maxim put a hand on her thigh and she nearly jumped out of her skin. His touch was completely nonsexual, but it didn't matter, not with the memories of what Elle had suffered uppermost in her mind.
"Evan Shackler-Gratsos will not get his hands on you," he said. "I'm taking you to your father."
She didn't look at him. That implacable, merciless face. Those ice-cold eyes. It didn't matter that his voice was low and persuasive. Or that his touch could be gentle. She didn't trust him. She knew that as a Prakenskii, he'd been trained in the art of seduction as well as killing. He probably knew how to charm the birds out of the trees and a dozen different ways to kill each of them as they flew to him.
She kept her head down, refusing to acknowledge him anymore. The only thing left to her was to wait until she boarded the ship and hope there was a chance to find a way to escape. She should have paid more attention when Rikki talked about her boat. There had to be lifeboats. Her mind began to try to formulate a plan.
"Airiana, look at me."
Maxim's voice was so compelling her gaze jumped to his. It was a mistake. She found herself drowning in his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and something deep inside h
er, something feminine and rebellious, connected with his penetrating stare.
"I will take care of you."
"I don't trust you."
He nodded his head slowly. "I don't blame you. How could you? I'm the man who put you on this helicopter and took you from your home. But you weren't safe there and there was no other way to get to you. You have to trust me. You don't have anyone else."
4
AIRIANA kept her head down and her body close to Maxim Prakenskii as they walked past the leering men on the cargo ship. Maxim had a firm grip on her arm, so tight she knew she would bear the mark of his fingers for several days or weeks to come. He gave her no chance at all to leap overboard or beckon the wind.
She felt the contempt and apathy of the sailors as they walked past. No one tried to stop Maxim or ask him questions, and part of her was very grateful for the fact that he appeared so scary. She wasn't the only one who didn't want to have anything to do with the man. Still, in spite of everything, he made her feel safe in an unsafe situation.
The ship creaked and swayed in the swells of the ocean, and she knew it was only Maxim's tight hold on her that kept her from falling on her face in front of everyone. The men working aboard the ship seemed suspiciously used to prisoners being brought aboard. She couldn't help but think about Elle Drake and how scared she must have been.
Maxim took her right past the crew and down to a second level into a narrow hallway. They'd gone only a couple of steps when a man wrapped in a velvet robe blocked their way. Maxim pulled her up short. Her breath caught in her throat, in her lungs, until she wanted to scream in fear.
"Maxim. What delicious little morsel have you brought to me?"
Her heart sank. The man looked to be easily fifty, perhaps sixty, and was certainly of Middle Eastern origin. He reeked of money, a man used to getting exactly what he wanted at all times.
"Prince Saeed, I had no idea you were aboard."
The prince looked her over, his gaze greedy, bright, like a child staring at a new toy. Airiana knew she looked far younger than she actually was, and this man was looking for young.
"Is she still a virgin?" The prince licked his lips. "I prefer virgins."