You see, he gave me something. He gave me someone. I’ll never again be nothing, not as long as Sasha’s out there somewhere. He thought that he was further tethering me to him, but in reality, he gave me the motivation I needed to break those chains.
“I, uh... I brought you something to eat,” Alexis says quietly, offering me a small smile along with a brown paper bag. “You must be hungry.”
I stare at her for a minute before my eyes flicker past her. The basement door stands wide open at the top of the stairs. I can hear voices, thick Russian accents spewing foreign words up in the office of Limerence. For a fleeting moment, I imagine making a break for it, wondering how many people I’d need to overpower, but as soon as I take a step, the chain jingles, grounding me back in reality.
Right. Kassian has the key to the lock hanging around my neck.
“Does he know you’re feeding me?” I ask—a stupid question, frankly, because she wouldn’t be down here without his permission.
“He wants you to keep your strength up,” she says.
“Of course he does,” I mutter, taking the bag from her before plopping down in the metal chair, surprised he left it in here where I could sit on it... or smack him over the head with it. “Doesn’t want to fuck a corpse, right?”
“Right,” she whispers, her smile falling as she glances up the stairs before turning back to me. “It wasn’t me, Morgan. I swear. I would’ve never told—”
“I know,” I say, dropping the bagged lunch on the floor, discarding it by the leg of the chair. “Kassian said it was Lorenzo.”
She blanches. “What?”
“He said Lorenzo sent him his address.”
“But why would—?”
Before she can finish, heavy footsteps come down the stairs. I look that way when Kassian appears.
“Stupid girl,” he says, grabbing ahold of Alexis and pointing her toward the stairs. “Which part of ‘give her food’ did you think meant gossip?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Aristov,” Alexis whispers, rushing out of the basement.
He shakes his head, shouting, “Shut the door behind you!”
Alexis listens, the door closing, muffling the voices upstairs. Kassian turns to me once we’re alone, curving an eyebrow as he strolls closer to where I’m sitting. He watches me carefully, eyes scanning my face. I don’t move, don’t speak, forcing myself to not react to his presence, as hard as that is. I try to look unruffled, as calm and collect as he seems to be, but my hands are sweaty and my heart is racing so hard I’d be surprised if he couldn’t hear it.
As soon as he’s within reach, he grabs the chain, no hesitation as he yanks on it hard, wrenching me right out of the chair. I stumble, tripping, trying to catch myself, to soften the blow, but I hit the concrete on my hands and knees, stinging tearing through my already scuffed palms, my kneecaps painfully screaming.
Wincing, I squeeze my eyes shut, taking a few deep breaths as I roll over, plopping down on my ass. A trickle of blood runs down my right shin, the skin around the knee sliced open.
The metal shifts as Kassian drops down into the chair, his voice firm as he says, “This is my seat. I did not tell you to help yourself to it.”
“You didn’t—” I cut off abruptly when he raises his eyebrows, like he can’t believe I have the nerve to talk. You didn’t tell me not to, either. Those words were about to come out, but I know if I don’t watch my mouth, he might rip out my tongue, so I just leave it at that. “You didn’t.”
Reaching down, he picks up the brown bag lunch. “You are not eating, suka.”
“I’m not hungry,” I lie.
He sighs dramatically as he opens the bag and pulls out a sandwich covered in plastic. He unwraps it, tearing it sloppily down the middle, holding half out to me. Peanut butter and grape jelly. I stare at it with surprise, not moving, until he says, “Take it.”
I take it, eyeing it warily. My stomach is churning, a battle brewing between my hunger and my anger, torn between eating it and wanting to shove it back in his fucking face.
“Not what you expected?” he asks, taking a bite of the other half of the sandwich, making a face as he chews. He has probably never had PB&J before, but he’s trying to prove to me that it’s safe to eat.
“No,” I admit. “Expected some Doktorskaya bologna or smoked mackerel.”
He grimaces, swallowing. “Either of those would be a much better choice, but kitten, she does not like my food, so sometimes, there is peanut butter to make her happy.”
I stare at him after he says that.
“What is that look for?” he asks, tossing his half of the sandwich back in the bag, his point made. He’s not trying to poison me. At least, not right now.
I take a small bite before mumbling, “I’m just wondering when you ever cared about somebody else’s happiness.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud.
I can see the amusement draining from his eyes.
He says nothing in response, though, watching me as I eat the half of the sandwich he offered, waiting until it’s all gone before he says, “Come here.”
I’m only like a foot away from him.
How much closer does he need me?
Swallowing thickly, I scoot closer, and closer, and closer, as Kassian leans down in the chair, closing the rest of the distance between us. Reaching into the neckline of his shirt, he pulls out the long silver chain he always wears, a set of small keys dangling from it.
My heart races, breath hitching.
His face is right up against mine, holding my gaze, as he grasps the heavy lock.
“Are you going to be a good girl?” he asks.
Carefully, I nod.
Not a chance in hell.
He sticks the key in, unlocking it, pulling the padlock off before unwinding the thick chain from around my neck. I take a deep breath, relieved at being free—at least temporarily.
The chain clatters when he drops it to the concrete beside me. Standing up, he slips the padlock into his pocket before grabbing my arm, yanking me to my feet.
The second he loosens his hold, letting go, instinct kicks in. There’s nothing tethering me here.
Fuck this.
I run.
I dart for the exit, reaching the stairs in seconds, running up them as fast as my legs will carry me. As I near the door, my head grows fuzzy, the voices on the other side of it loud. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Grabbing the knob, I start to turn it when I’m ripped away, arms winding around me.
“No... no... no... no... no!”
Kassian’ voice is laced with anger, a venomous growl right in my ear. He drags me back down into the basement, not wavering at all, even as I struggle. My breaths are sharp and quick, panic assaulting me. I lash out, trying to hit him, jabbing elbows into his chest, thrusting my feet back, kicking his legs, but his grip only grows tighter.
He pulls me across the room, to the area that used to be a bathroom, shoving me hard onto the drainage grate on the floor. I grimace, catching myself with my hands again, the metal clanging.
“Stay!” he yells.
Kassian uses another set of keys to unlock a nearby cabinet. I peek past him, inside of it, my heart hammering hard, watching as he shifts through supplies... none of which I could do any serious damage with if I stole it.
He pulls out a small hose, a bar of soap, and a threadbare towel.
“If you are looking for weapons, you should know better,” he says, locking the cabinet before turning back to me. “Taking me out will never be that easy.”
He hooks up the hose to the faucet on the wall before draping the towel over the back of his chair.
“Stand up,” he says.
I don’t stand up.
He grabs my arm again, yanking me to my feet as he yells right in my face, “I said stand up!”
I glare at him, staring into his stormy gray eyes. Rage simmers just below the surface, hints of it seeping out, buzzing like electricity between us. It’s like a shock
of static. My hair stands on end, the sensation crawling across my skin.
“Hands up,” he orders, his voice low, firm.
I’d rather do anything but give in to his demands, but I think if I push him anymore right now, he might kill me.
For real this time.
I raise my arms as he grabs the bottom of my filthy white shirt, slowly pulling it up over my head before tossing it aside on the concrete.
“Do not move,” he warns, “I mean it.”
I drape my forearms on top of my head, tilting my head up, eyes moving to the ceiling right above me, fixed there as he kneels in front of me. I shudder, feeling his calloused fingers grazing against my skin. He runs his hands gently up my thighs before tugging on my underwear. I wait until he reaches my ankles before ever-so-slightly raising my feet, letting him take them off.
He tosses them aside with my shirt.
His hands settle on my hips as he pulls himself back up, standing, his clothed body flush against mine. He brings his mouth to my ear, my breath hitching as he whispers, “I can smell him on you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, still not moving, as Kassian turns on the hose. A cry escapes me the second the water pelts my chest, so icy cold that it stings, like needles piercing my skin. I breathe deeply, chanting silently to myself, trying to block it all out, trying to numb myself to it.
You can do this.
It’ll be over before you know it.
Go to your happy place.
My happy place, in the little white house with the bright red door, blasting cheesy pop music and dancing around the kitchen with my little girl. Singing along at the top of our lungs, only knowing half the words, but it didn’t matter how terrible we sounded because we had fun. Laughing until we cried, watching cartoons and baking cookies, as Buster stood guard, protecting us from monsters. My happy place, full of love... so much love. I’d do anything to have it back.
Anything to see her smile.
Anything to hear her sweet laughter.
Kassian’s hands are as brutal as the frigid water, scrubbing me raw from head-to-toe, using the entire bar of soap.
“Did you let him come in you, suka?” he asks, his voice low, hands places his hands don’t deserve to go. “Did you let him fuck you like only I am allowed? Do I need to rip out more of your insides to get rid of every trace of him?”
I don’t answer.
Whatever I say won’t make a difference.
My teeth viciously chatter to the point that my jaw hurts, my body shaking, shivering, parts of me going numb. I know I’m crying, but he can’t see my tears, the water running down my face wiping away any evidence that he’s getting through my defenses.
He drops the hose once he’s satisfied and turns the water off. The floor beneath my feet is completely soaked, slow to drain. I lower my head, my eyes meeting Kassian’s as he picks up the towel. He steps right up to me, so close we touch, not seeming to care that his suit gets wet.
In fact, looking at him, I can tell every ounce of care he might’ve had about anything is no longer there.
I might be freezing, but this man is ice cold.
“I can tell,” he says.
I don’t want to say anything. I want to stay silent.
My words won’t change anything and he doesn’t deserve to hear them.
But almost by instinct, my voice quietly responds, “You can tell what, Kassian?”
“That you have forgotten everything.”
He’s trying to goad me, to get a reaction, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. I know where this is leading. No matter how I respond, he’s going to do what he wants.
“Beg me,” he says, grasping my chin as I continue to shake, completely drenched. He’s holding the towel hostage, refusing to wrap it around me. “Beg me to bring you that mattress and I will, pretty girl.”
I continue to stare at him, his grip tight as he holds my face, waiting for those magic words.
He’s not getting them.
I begged him that night. The night he broke into my house. The night he stole my life. I begged him not to do it, to leave us in peace, but none of it mattered, so it’ll take one hell of a miracle to get me to ever beg him again.
The smirk that touches the corners of Kassian’s mouth tells me that’s exactly what he was expecting... exactly what he wanted. He drags my face closer to his, fingers digging into my skin, squeezing my cheeks, his lips just a breath from my own as he says, “Concrete it is...”
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t know that I’ve ever encountered a problem that a grenade couldn’t solve. Just pull the pin, toss, BOOM. Problem gone. I’ve gotten rid of a few issues that way, wiped right off the map, bye-bye. It’s easy to forget about something once it no longer exists, when you never have to see it again.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Maybe that makes me an even bigger asshole than you thought, the fact that I’d rather erase something from my life than actually deal with any sort of fallout. Because fallout? It’s messy... messier than the destruction a grenade can cause.
My brother says it’s because I’m allergic to feelings.
I just think most people aren’t worth the trouble.
A V40 minifrag, grenade the size of a golf ball. Weighs maybe five ounces or so. If you’re within sixteen feet of the thing when it goes off, you’re fucked. Up to a couple hundred feet, and it’s probably going to hurt. A lot. Dangerous little fuckers, which is why they’re out of service. Not hard to carry a few of them around in your pocket, if you’re willing to risk blowing your dick off by accident.
I’ve tossed a few in my life, most just for the fun of it. They send one hell of a message. They get people’s attention.
“You’re making me nervous, boss.”
Turning my head, looking away from the high-class whorehouse Aristov runs, I glance at the driver’s seat beside me, where Seven sits. Yeah, he looks nervous. He’s sweating fucking bullets.
“I’m not going to blow us up,” I say, glancing at the little grenade in the palm of my hand. I’ve been running my fingers along the cold steel the entire thirty minutes we’ve been sitting here.
Debating.
Contemplating.
I really want to pull the pin and toss this bitch right inside Limerence. Bye-bye, whorehouse. Bye-bye, Russian assholes. But every time I get the itching to do it, to watch it all go BOOM, something stops me.
That something being more of a someone.
Scarlet.
You see, she might be inside, and that’s a bit of a problem.
The kind of problem, I’m discovering, a grenade just isn’t solving.
“Five more minutes,” I say. “If something doesn’t happen within the next five minutes, I’m shoving this grenade down his fucking throat.”
Tick, tick, tick...
Four minutes and fifty-seven seconds.
I swear to fuck, that’s how much time passes until Three appears. He jogs right over to the car, dressed in all black, blending into the darkness since night long ago fell. An entire day wasted where not a goddamn thing got accomplished.
Aristov is still happily breathing.
Scarlet is still, unfortunately, missing.
Three slides into the backseat, right behind me, slamming the door a bit harder than necessary.
“Three,” I say, “you were three seconds away from getting your bowels blown out today.”
He starts to talk but immediately pauses, brow furrowing as he scoots to the middle of the backseat, looking up at me. “I think Lexie’s done that to me before.”
I look at him. “What?”
“Yeah, isn’t that where they stick their tongue—?”
Seven groans, covering his face as he leans forward against the steering wheel.
“Just tell me what you found out,” I say, cutting him off before he goes into detail about the kinky shit they’ve done. “And it better be something, because if I sat out here waiting while you
got your dick sucked...”
“Of course not, boss,” he says. “Kept it in my pants the whole time. We were just talking.”
“Well, don’t keep me in suspense here. Tell me what your little Daisy Chain had to say.”
He starts spilling. I’ll spare you the word-for-word and summarize, since Three seems to like to hear himself talk and he just keeps going on and on and on.
Scarlet’s most definitely inside. Aristov has her locked in the basement, only one set of keys to get down there, which are usually in Aristov’s possession. Security is tightened at the moment, which is what took Three so long. Wasn’t easy navigating past all the armed guards.
“Thursday,” Three says after a moment. “I know it’s a few days away, but Lexie thinks that’s our best chance to get her out safely. Aristov has the party happening at his house, so we know he’ll be gone, and by then he’ll relax security again, figuring he’s in the clear, you know? Lexie can keep an eye out for the kid at the house while we go after Scarlet, maybe hit them back-to-back.”
“Maybe,” I agree, although it sounds a lot like bullshit. Who’s to say Aristov won’t kill them both before then? Hell, maybe they’re already dead because I took too long coming up with a plan.
Patience has never been my strong suit.
I’m not exactly keen on waiting for anything.
Nor am I good at planning, for that matter.
I’m the shoot first, ask questions never type... you know, the kind to toss a grenade in a packed room to solve a personal problem?
“Or,” I say, stressing the word, “I can just walk in right now and make it all go BOOM.”
Three laughs as he settles into the backseat, while Seven starts the car, like he thinks we’re about to leave. I don’t like it, though. I just can’t walk away. It feels wrong, her being right there and me not doing a goddamn thing about it.
That’s not me.
“Wait here,” I order, opening my door and climbing out of the car.
I carry the grenade with me.
I know the guys notice, because they sure as fuck shout loud enough, yelling for me not to do anything stupid. But stupid is sort of a relative term, isn’t it? Stupid, to me, would be coming the whole way here and not even dropping in to say hello to the Russian bastard. After all, when I called, I told him to expect to see a lot of me until this was settled.