by Amarie Avant
“I want to rip him in half with my bare hands,” I grit. Fuck, impossible.
“I like that.”
I glare him up and down as the lights from various windows begin to dash out. “I don’t need your support.”
“How will you rip him in half?” Again, as if he’s forgotten how much I hate him, Simeon frames my face with firm, supportive hands.
I push away from him, stumbling to remove myself from his clutches. “I’m not your apprentice, asshole.” In my haste to get away, I’m turned all the way around, glaring at the SUVs. A thought chimes in my psyche.
“You and you,” I growl to two byki. “Get rope. Tie him to a bumper and a grille. Someone, find me a seat.”
A dazed Oleg looks up from the ground. Dirt cakes his face as blood drips into his shocked eyes.
Darkness surrounds us, summoning me to be the cruel tormentor he was once. My voice softens, almost sensually like his hand, while playing in my hair. “What’s the matter, Oleg?”
Aware of my aim, he moans, letting his face fall prostrate into the dirt again.
“You made my guts curdle with your games. Now, I will play with your intestines.”
“Dah, and drive slow,” Simeon says. I do a one-two step farther away from him. His love and support no longer mean a thing to me.
Chapter 33
Anastasiya
Clutching the sheets around me, I scurry into a seated position. I’m up in seconds, having spent too much time awakening disoriented and in strange locations over the last few weeks. I trip and fall off a platform, grabbing something slick and glossy, then screech.
“What the—” I clamber to my feet, stumbling backward. My fingers latch onto soft material, I yank. Light blazes into the dark room. Silk-blackout-curtains heap around my legs and feet as I glare out onto a balcony.
“Mudak,” I murmur, eyeing Simeon. His lengthy legs are stretched out as he sleeps in a low-cushioned courtyard chair. I’d like to grab the blazer pillowing the side of his face and shove it down his crummy throat.
Memories of last night return, spotty and more vivid by the second. After Oleg’s guts splattered across the street, I’d checked into a hotel. Or we, rather. Though I called him paranoid, he purchased all the rooms on the same level. Other guests were relocated to different areas of the hotel. Of course, their stays were comped.
Simeon’s broad shoulders expand farther than the eye can imagine in his tailored linen shirt. A faint smile plays at the edges of his lips as he eyes me. With a yawn, he stands to his full height and heads toward the sliding glass. Voice muffled by the partition between us, he asks, “Will you open up, now?”
I shake my head, eyes flitting down to the ground. There’s no looking at him. Those lips were once my pleasure. Those rich, dark eyes once warmed over my skin. The bristles of his jaw tickled the inside of my thighs.
“I’ve been out here all night, Asya. Please let me in.” His hands plant against the glass.
Damn, now, he can see me. There’s no way out of here without him seeing. I stalk across the room to the door, rise on my tippy toes, and look out the peephole. Yup, last night he’d planted byki, “for my protection.”
I strut back toward the sliding glass door. A half-smile plays at his lips as he gestures toward the lock.
“This isn’t how people part ways,” I sneer.
His hand pops at the glass. “We aren’t other people, Anastasiya.”
“You’ve said as much time and again. I’m taking a quick bath. Then I’m leaving. If you follow me, it will be to the proper authorities.”
Laughter sparks across his skin, though he holds it in. “You want Zapekanka for breakfast? Or lunch?”
An obnoxious roar rips through my stomach. I can almost imagine the cheese breakfast cake sliding down my throat. “Nope,” I reply.
“Alright, you don’t eat. I don’t eat.” He settles onto the expensive outdoor seat, fluffing his blazer again.
After a quick washup with the complimentary toothpaste and facial products, I plop back onto the bed. He called my bluff. I’ll wait him out. I pick up the remote and experiment with turning on every gadget, including a lengthy fireplace.
I fling the remote away when the television doesn’t come on. I notice the balcony is all clear. I hasten over. Pressing my forehead against the cool glass, I search for the sneaky bastard.
My heart jumps. I mutter, “Motherfucker.”
Simeon climbs from the side balcony of his room back to my area. He holds up a book and shrugs. Oh, this is a test of wills? The mudak will be waiting outside forever!
I try to reconfigure my nights and days back to some semblance of normal. But the next day, I awaken toward nightfall. Soft snow is falling outside of the massive sliding glass doors. Simeon catches my eye. I shoo him away. He stands up, eyes alight at the sight of me.
My heart wrenches in my chest and flops. I fist my eye sockets, though I still saw the look he had for me. The look any woman would beg for when falling in love. When I open my eyes, I notice the ice crystals in his hair, creating a deceptive halo. Simeon Resnov is no angel.
He plants his masculine arms around his thick abdomen, pretending to shake. There’s a puppy dog frown on his face. Rolling my eyes, I strut toward the phone and dial the cops. The call goes something like, “I’m being held against my will.”
Then I wave at Simeon and pat my abdomen, pretending as if I’ve ordered room service.
He settles back into his seat with the book in his hand. A highlighter wanders across his tattooed knuckles.
Why does he seem more at peace today than he has in years?
Why can’t I take my eyes off him?
Why the fuck do I envision the addictive taste of his lips against mine?!
First kisses are a lovely marvel. First kisses can never occur again between the same two people. Though, every first kiss only leads to a day when there will be a last. One last kiss and a token full of memories. I’d dash it all to hell if I had the ability to.
Entranced at the sight of him, I fall into his gaze.
“Let me in, Anastasiya,” his muffled voice caresses my skin.
A cold, haunting loneliness buried deep down inside wraps around me. And still, I watch him seemingly in a tranquil peace. How? Why? I gape at him, a plethora of emotions cloak across my skin as my limbs lock. I could watch him for hours, days, centuries, standing here. No more arguing and anger, no more sustenance or water required, just stare. My hands plant on the glass where his are. His fingers and palms jut out much farther than mine do.
“Let me in,” Simeon tempts again.
At the sound of footsteps outside, I swallow the lump in my throat. Ignoring the tightness in my chest calling out to our past, I scamper across the room and peek out. The byki are trading shifts. I steel myself from another single glance and climb back into bed. This time a complimentary movie pops onto the enormous screen. Seething at the sight of a love story, I press every button conceivable to turn the channel. The image goes black, and the flat-screen ascends into the ceiling. Clean colors of the 1900 oil painting, The Swan Princess by Mikhail Vrubel pops into view.
Mikhail . . .
Our last encounter has my thumbs working in overdrive to remove the captivating image. I hadn’t thought of him since the long ride to the palace. Simeon has that effect on me. The fucking parasite consumes all my senses.
My one, true chance at a normal life returned to Los Angeles, I tell myself. Mikhail’s saving every life, and I hope to God he hasn’t thought about the one soul he was incapable of rescuing. After a few more anxious fiddles with the flat-screen, it zips back down but stays black. Good.
Ten minutes later, there’s a knock at the door, and a man with a deep voice speaks out. Again, I hurry over, this time, opening it.
The politsyia looks me over, chewing on a Zapekanka. “You’d have me believe you’re a prisoner.” He points the pastry at me. “Girl, what do you have to say for yourself?”
&n
bsp; Stuttering over my words, I revert to full-on Russian. “Look at them! Who goes on vacation at a hotel to stalk the hallways? Those are Resnov guards! I’m not at liberty to leave!”
The officer smiles, hand signaling across at two carts of food. One is being picked through by byki entering and exiting rooms. The other cart is left untouched with its silver domes and lush purple pedals across white linen.
“From my observation—a penthouse suite and food for days? But at your request, Tsarina, I’ll humor you.” He grabs the solitary cart with all its romantic accessories, slides it past me, and then steps into the hallway. “If you weren’t a Resnov, I’d haul you in.”
I slam the door in his face and hasten into the bathroom. “I’m taking a luxurious bath, using every last one of these soaps, then I’m out of here! No more games,” I growl to myself, yanking at the handle. The brute force sends the knob falling into the tub. “What the!”
More barbaric grunts are emitted as I try to readjust the knob. I hurl the damn thing across the room. Stripping from my clothes, I gather all the five-star luxury soaps and shampoos. I pitch them into the shower large enough to house a football team.
Powerless to control my own reality, I climb onto the warmed stone. “Hotter,” I whisper to the automated commands. “Hotter,” I shout.
A plume of steam hedges around me, licking at my skin. Searing hot water drenches down on my frame. Lips trembling, I wrap my arms around my abdomen. I can almost hear Luka in my ears while laughing, “Who’s the Prima Donna, now?”
Chapter 34
Simeon
My fingertips tap against the side of the slacks I’ve worn for two days straight. Chewing my bottom lip, I peer into the window at my past, present, and future I won’t surrender. She hasn’t eaten. I haven’t either. She slept restlessly. I only used the blanket to shield myself from the next snowfall while waiting for her to let me in.
Seconds ago, I heard a faint scream. I clutch my ear to my phone, awaiting an answer from the byki on patrol. The guards have sent me text messages, alternating on four-hour rotations.
“What was that?”
“I’m not certain, Tsar. Sounded like she was tossing things around in there.”
I huff.
She. They aren’t sure of how to address Anastasiya now. Tsarina. Prisoner. Their Tsar’s forever obsession. She.
“Women,” he chuckles tersely.
“You standing in front of the door?”
“Dah. Nobody has slept or took so much as a fucking leak, without being relieved first. You have my word.”
I hang up the phone. Unless a dead mudak transitioned into a ghost and entered through a vent, she’s safe. Planting my hands against the glass again, I sigh heavily.
“Let me in, Anastasiya, please,” I mutter, my breath fogging against the glass. My pleas fade in seconds. Shit, I never did enough apologizing to her. Across the way, dense heat comes from the bathroom door. I settle back in my seat, pick up the book that I still haven’t read a single page of. When Anastasiya was younger, I could dig underneath her gorgeous skin, ignoring her with a book. Yet, now, words topple from the pages, leaving each sheet as a tabula rasa. I jettison the book across the way, sitting wide-legged, waiting for Anastasiya to exit the bathroom.
My pride has been shot to fucking hell. Eyelids burdened by lack of sleep, I watch the bathroom. Steam continues to ribbon out of the parted door. When I rub my palms together, I feel the softness of her skin, the gentleness of her love. After too much time has passed, I start out of the chair again.
“She’s supposed to let you in, not you take the lead right now,” I warn myself, stalking to the sliding glass door. Smoke continues to float out, summoning my entry.
“Anastasiya!” I call out. What the fuck is she doing? I slide my phone out to glance at the time of my last call to the byki. It’s just shy of three hours ago.
Ice prickling against my skin, I remove my blazer. I grip the material at the sleeve, wrap it around my hand, then punch at the window. Glass falls like hail. My shoes crunch through it. I’ve offered her another reason to hate me, but she should’ve heard this. I start slowly across the room, counting a few beats. Then I enter the bathroom, my eyes narrow at the sight of so much steam.
“Anastasiya?” I growl her name again, thoughts running rampant. Where is she?
Soaps and lotions are scattered across the vast marble counters and floors. I could swear I noticed a knob from the clawfoot tub in the center of the room within the fray.
At the farthest part of the room, a shower spans the entire area. My gaze trails across it, back and forth. With gritted teeth, I’m already calculating which byki will die if she’s gotten out. Then my dark gaze stops on a form toward the edge of the shower. Before I can breathe easily, I’m opening the door. I look her over. Nyet blood. Nyet attempts like my mother would.
Anastasiya is sitting in a spot where none of the spouts are hitting her with water. Her lips tremble while her eyes are unwavering.
I search the perimeter of the shower. There are no knobs here. I grit out, “Off.”
The water stops. I walk inside and pluck her wet curvy body off the floor, holding her against me. Anastasiya startles, her limbs jumping.
“Let me go,” she begs in a hoarse voice.
“Where were you, just now?” I ask. What the fuck were you thinking about? Oleg or the mudak, Chutin?! Her plans for Oleg made my chest swell with pride. Still, there’s no resurrecting him to die another death by my hands.
When she starts wrestling with me, I pull her into a bear hug, grabbing a towel from the rack and wrapping it around her. Inside the hotel room, icy wind washes across the space from the broken sliding glass door. Anastasiya ceases fighting. Her body trembles against me. I wedge the towel around her breast and against me, ensuring she’s decent before opening the door to her room.
“Get my fucking door,” I growl to the byki, sitting on a chair in the hallway.
He grabs a keycard with all access and opens it. By now, Anastasiya is clinging to me, her warm breath tickling at my neck. I hug her tighter to my chest, entering the room and nudging the door closed with my shoe. The second I place her straight onto the bed, she darts beneath the sheets. I use the towel to wrap around her hair, recalling how she never lets it dry on its own.
Anastasiya snatches the towel. Silence envelopes us as my eyes roam over her crinkly hair. She covers it with the towel and begins to blot. My eyes fall to her blistering, honey eyes, her nose, her mouth, the curve of her collarbone. The sheet she has covered herself with begins to fall. Linen grazes over her hardened nipples. Lust pools in my mouth.
Seizing the sheet to pull it back up, Anastasiya snaps, “You can go now.”
“Nyet. Talk to me. Why are you—”
“I tried talking to you!”
Folding my arms across my chest, I peer down at her and snort. “That’s the lie of the fucking century. You never said Oleg’s name. You never mentioned—”
“How your mom is a suka? Huh? The night after that silly coronation.” She glares up at me. Warmth creeps up her cheeks and spreads across her shoulders. “I’d have told you then, but Sofiya played her pity party with you and used me. In the beginning, Mother Sofiya wanted me to fuck you.”
I cock a brow. “Yet you call her Mother?”
The hurled insult lights fire across her skin.
“I’m done arguing with you, Anastasiya,” I reply. My voice lowers, sincere, without a tinge of cruelty like it had when she first mentioned my mother.
Anastasiya climbs onto her knees. “Remember the one time where I came into your room after your parents fucked?”
I did. I’d been furious. She had come to me like prey on a platter. Had she not hesitated, I’d have torn through her little slit and licked the pain back up with my tongue.
“You wanted to break me with your cock, didn’t you?” A silly smile brightens her face further. God, Anastasiya is as gorgeous as a sunrise. She crawls ove
r to me on her knees, coming up to my chest. She grips at the collar of my linen shirt. “Mother Sofiya wanted to teach me how she manipulated your father.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I grit.
“Years later, and it’s finally dawned on me, Sim.” Anastasiya works the buttons of my shirt. Her tongue trails over tattoos seared across my chest. “The Tsarina behind the Tsar.”
I look down into her sparkling eyes. My Tsarina . . .
The little inferno of hate summons me into the bed. Though my instincts are blaring, I climb in, folding her into me. My mouth encompasses hers. I know every inch of her, though it feels like I’m tasting her for the first time. My palms brush across her curves and the soft slopes of her hips. My touch becomes a rough caress at the globes of her ass. Eyes tight with emotion, I press a hand to her face. “I fucking miss you, Anastasiya.”
“I bet you do, Sim.” She grips my jaw with one hand, letting the other roam across my chest. Her leg kicks up over my waist, flipping me onto my back. I laugh deep in my chest as she straddles me. Then I gaze up at her in wonder.
Anastasiya’s heated core whirls along my lower abdomen while she deepens the kiss. I start to unbuckle my pants between us, lifting up to grab my gun.
Eyes on me, Anastasiya removes my weapon. My mouth laps over her fallen breast as she leans over to place it on the nightstand.
“Allow me,” she breathlessly commands, arising from the bed. Eyeing her like a hawk, I zero in on the swell of her glistening petal-soft pussy lips as she takes on a wide-legged stance. My dick increases to a painful degree, ready to tear past her sweet arousal. In a trance at the thought of pounding her there, I nod. At the edge of the bed, she uses all her strength to get me out of my slacks and underwear. My erection springs free, and she clasps her fingers around it, causing me to hiss.
“Nyet, hands. Get your ass back up here, Anastasiya.”
“Who said you were in charge, Sim?” She takes a lazy lick at a bead of precum.