Dark Desire

by Lauren Smith

  Dark Desire

  Surrender Series - Book 5

  Lauren Smith

  Contents

  Important Author’s Note

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  The Gilded Cuff

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Other Titles By Lauren Smith

  About the Author

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Lauren Smith

  Cover design by Cover Couture

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  ISBN: 978-1-952063-64-0 (e-book edition)

  ISBN: 978-1-952063-64-0 (trade paperback edition)

  Important Author’s Note

  Dear Readers,

  Within these pages, there are topics that can be hard to read about. Elena, the heroine, is a survivor of two months of sexual assault and captivity. Those events are not part of this story. (They are only referenced in inner thought or dialogue.) Elena suffers from nightmares and trauma stemming from that past. If you do not want to read about a heroine who overcomes these traumas, then do not read on. If you wish to see how she conquers her fears and finds love again, then keep reading.

  Why did I choose to write this? Because I am a survivor, like Elena. My situation was nothing compared to hers, but it is a part of my history, and I know many women out there have experienced similar situations of harassment or worse. I believe women can overcome these traumas, but I am by no means saying it is easy. However, I believe the power of fiction gives writers and readers the chance to explore topics that can be uncomfortable but important. I assure you, this book has a happily ever after for Elena and her hero, Dimitri.

  What you should know about this book: Elena, the heroine, had a previous interest in BDSM before she was sexually assaulted. Dimitri is a dominant alpha male, but he fully respects her decisions and her choices. In no way is this book intended to suggest that sexual assault victims will be drawn to BDSM, nor does it suggest that the only way to overcome the trauma of sexual assault is by having a romantic relationship.

  Please remember, this is a fictional romance novel, and everyone’s ways of overcoming trauma are different. Elena’s choices work for her character. She is in charge of her timeline of recovery, and Dimitri fully respects that she is the one who decides if and when she is ready to have intimacy with a man again. I do not intend to make light of sexual assault trauma or to romanticize it. Dimitri does not use violence against Elena, nor does he try to push her boundaries for his own desires.

  Writing a book like this has been on my mind for many years. I met Elizabeth Smart a few years ago when she visited my hometown to give a speech. I had the greatest honor and humbling experience of meeting with her privately after her speech, and I had a chance to speak with her and also hug her. She exuded warmth and love, and I began to cry upon embracing her. She was strength and life, beauty and courage all at once.

  The lesson I learned from her that day has stuck with me: assault survivors don’t have to remain victims the rest of their lives, and they don’t have to be defined by their trauma. This doesn’t mean that the trauma wasn’t horrific or that it ceases to matter after you overcome it. But it does mean that you aren’t inevitably trapped within it, and you can regain your courage to live the life you deserve to live.

  As a writer, my gift is being able to reach people through the power of my stories. I hope Elena’s story touches you. I also hope you enjoy Elena and Dimitri’s romance, the story of two souls who feel lost and find each other. They say time heals all wounds, but I believe that love is the greater healing force, especially love for oneself. So as you read each chapter, take a moment and remind yourself how wonderful you are, how amazing you are, and that each day you are alive on this earth, you are a gift to someone, including yourself.

  With all my love to you, dear reader,

  Lauren Smith

  April 2021

  Prologue

  Maine - Twenty Years Ago

  Clutching her pregnant belly, soaked in blood, a young woman stumbled into the emergency room as night fell outside the rural hospital. She could barely breathe as rolling waves of labor pains threw her body into spasms. It felt as though two giant hands were trying to rip her body apart. Everything felt heavy, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t even walk another step.

  “Help! Please—help me . . .” She collapsed, her hands braced against the wall as two men in scrubs rushed toward her. Nurses? They had that efficient, pragmatic air about them. Sweat poured off her skin, dampening her bloodstained maternity dress. The instinctive need to push was so overpowering that she whimpered and dug her nails into the arm of the nearest man as he helped her stand.

  “Save my baby,” the woman pleaded. “Please . . . don’t let anyone find me . . .” She relaxed in the hold of the strong nurse who was holding her upright. This place was safe—these people would help her.

  If she could just hold on, stay alive a little longer, then it wouldn’t matter that she’d hurt two men who’d tried to kill her. For a brief moment, she was safe, safe enough to do what she needed to.

  She doubled over, the strength leaving her legs, and she again sagged against the nurse who was supporting her. The man shifted his arm to lift her onto the approaching gurney. Her fingers tangled in the soft blue of his scrubs as he deposited her onto the gurney, and she noticed the blue was now streaked with red from her clothing. He wheeled her out of the lobby and back toward the examination area.

  “Ma’am, is this your blood?” one nurse asked as he cut the soaked dress off her body and began to examine her.

  She squirmed on the gurney as another contraction hit her. “No. Not mine.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tatiana . . . Anderson.” She collapsed back, momentarily unable to breathe. Only then did she realize her mistake. She never should have said her name, but everything was happening so fast, so painfully, that she couldn’t think straight.

  One of the nurses began to push the gurney back out of the exam room, telling her they were taking her to a delivery room.

  “What happened, Tatiana?” someone asked her as she closed her eyes.

  “They tried to kill me . . . I got away.” How those men had found her, she would never know. She was supposed to be safe, supposed to be protected. This wasn’t Russia—this was the United States. The Red Army shouldn’t be able to touch her here, but somehow they had.

  “Who tried to kill you?”

  “Can’t say . . . Not safe . . .” She’d already said too much. Her
brain wasn’t functioning right. She was tired, frightened, and desperate.

  “All right, we’re going to help you deliver the baby,” a woman explained as a doctor came into the room and scrubbed up at a sink.

  “Mrs. Anderson?” the doctor asked.

  Tatiana nodded. She was so tired. She’d been on the run for weeks, and now the baby was coming. She couldn’t keep running, not from this, and not from the men who wanted her and her child dead. She grabbed the doctor’s sleeve.

  “If they come for her, don’t let them take her.”

  His brows rose in concern at her white-knuckled grip on his arm. “Who?”

  But she couldn’t answer him. She could only scream as another wave of pain hit her. Her child was here.

  What felt like an eternity later, Tatiana fell back on the bed and listened with exhausted joy to the cries of her new baby.

  “Mrs. Anderson, congratulations. You have a healthy baby girl.” The doctor placed a tiny bundle in her arms.

  Tatiana curled her fingers into the blanket under the baby’s chin, pulling the cloth down to better see her child’s face. She was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Looking upon her, so new and innocent to this world, it shattered Tatiana’s heart.

  “Doctor,” she breathed, “you must take her away. She must be given up for adoption immediately.”

  “What? Why?” The doctor and the nurses simply stared at her.

  “Please, it isn’t safe. She must be as far away from me as she can be. Take her now. Do not put my name on her wrist. Do you understand?”

  “Look, Mrs. Anderson, you really should speak to a counselor first before you make that kind of decision . . .”

  “If you do not do it, she will be dead within a week. Do it!” Tatiana declared so forcefully that one of the nurses rushed to take the baby from her.

  The child was carried away, and Tatiana let out a bone-weary sigh. That was when her body gave out and the bleeding started. She drifted away, her last thoughts on the future of her child, a child who held one of the world’s greatest secrets within her DNA.

  Two miles south of Lake Kardyvach, Russia

  Sergei Razin watched his son with pride. The boy held a fencing sword at the ready. At only eight years old, he was already proficient in a dozen weapons, three years ahead in his schooling, and only two years away from entering the ranks of the White Army. With his dark hair and pale, clear blue eyes, the boy looked so much like his beloved mother that it made Sergei’s heart swell with even more love than before.

  “Attack!” the fencing master bellowed.

  Sergei’s son lunged forward and in a few moves disarmed the fencing master. The adult man’s fencing foil clattered to the ground.

  Sergei clapped his hands together and beamed at his son. The fencing instructor turned Sergei’s way.

  “He bests me every time, Sergei. I cannot teach him anything new. He passes his fencing course.” The teacher collected his foil, and with an elegant flick of his blade, he saluted Sergei’s son. The boy smiled, but his cheeks were stained with a blush at the praise. He was a good boy, a humble child, but smart and talented, the best son a man could ask for.

  “Dimitri, come with me.” Sergei motioned for his boy to follow him. Dimitri set his foil on a stand by the wall of the training room and rushed after his father.

  The palace was quiet that afternoon. Most of the servants were busy at their tasks, and the few other people who lived in the palace permanently were currently away on missions. The remote location of the palace meant that they could largely live their lives away from the prying eyes of the Kremlin. That was key. If they were to ever defeat the corrupt men who sat in power in Red Square, the White Army would need to have the best men and women ready.

  The Kremlin’s forces focused on breaking down people, especially women, turning them into creatures so damaged that they were empty-shelled puppets that danced to the tune of political leaders in their spy games.

  The men and women of the White Army were the opposite. Individual skills were praised and cultivated. Everyone was valued, and everyone had a place. They fought for a Russia that had been murdered long ago in a basement, but they also believed in change for the better and not remaining stagnant in the past. The day the last of the Romanovs had been slain was the day the White Army had gone underground, to wait, to hope, to plan for a truly free Russia.

  “Am I doing well, Father?” Dimitri asked.

  “Very well. It’s time you meet the other boys. They will be like brothers to you.”

  “How many will there be?”

  “Three others. Four, including you.”

  Dimitri kept pace with Sergei as they entered a long portrait gallery. “Why so few?”

  “All of us in the White Army must keep one another safe. These other boys will be your world. The four of you will trust in each other. Do you understand?”

  “I think so,” Dimitri replied.

  Someday Dimitri would know how dangerous this life could be, but not today. He was still young and innocent. Today it was still a game to him.

  Sergei pulled the frame on one of the paintings to reveal a secret passageway. He’d spoken to the parents of the other three boys and sent for them this morning so that they could all meet each other. Sergei and his son walked through the darkness together until they reached another door.

  Sergei opened the door, and he and Dimitri stepped into a sunny atrium. It was a sacred room in the palace, and the skylights far above let golden sunlight streak down through the room, illuminating the white marble floor and making the blue-and-red painted walls shimmer. It was a room full of books and cozy armchairs and a table. There were drinks and a few light foods prepared by the palace cook.

  Three other boys were there, each around eight years of age, standing by the table, waiting respectfully for Sergei to address them.

  “Dimitri, these are the sons of my closest and most trusted friends. Now they will be your friends, your confidants, your brothers in all but blood. This is Leo.” He pointed at a blond-haired boy with light-brown eyes who watched Dimitri with open curiosity. “And this is Maxim.” An intense black-haired, brown-eyed boy nodded in silent greeting. “And this is Nicholas.” The last boy, with dove-gray eyes and light-brown hair, grinned and waved at Dimitri. Nicholas was much like his mother, a charmer who befriended and enchanted all who knew her.

  “This is my son, Dimitri,” Sergei said and then stepped back.

  It was time to let his son forge his own fate with these boys. They were the future of the White Army. They would rise from the ashes and save Russia one day. They would protect the past and fight for a better world, and Sergei would make sure each boy had the training to survive and thrive.

  Dimitri left his father’s side and moved into the room, a little shy at first, but then within moments he and the others were talking excitedly. The bond between the four boys was almost instantaneous, as it was supposed to be.

  Sergei held back a smile. He wanted to laugh with joy at the sight, but this was a serious moment, and he did not want Dimitri to mistake his joy for something else. So he kept quiet and watched as the future unfolded.

  1

  Can’t breathe . . . can’t . . . need air . . .

  Elena Allen bolted upright in the uncomfortable seat in the gate area of the Moscow airport. One hand clutched her chest. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt like someone was beating her ribs from the inside. The fragments of the nightmare were still scattered in her thoughts as she fought to remember where she was. She was in an airport. She wasn’t chained up. She wasn’t in the dark. She caught her breath and glanced around her, instinctively searching for any threat before she finally calmed.

  Several passengers nearby watched her with open concern. She managed a shaky smile before she glanced down at her lap where her cell phone rested. She had ten minutes before boarding her flight back to the United States. Then she could start to feel a bone-deep sense of relief at the
thought of getting out of Moscow.

  Flashes of the dream that had woken her still lurked in her mind. The nightmare of what she had recently endured for two months had burned her so deeply that the scars ran straight through her soul. If she had never gone to that club that night, then she never would have been kidnapped, raped, tortured, and starved by that sadistic rich Russian mobster, Vadym. She never would have endured the dark, evil things that had nearly killed her.

  A cold numbness settled over her each time she was swamped by memories of what Vadym had done.

  A gate attendant began to speak in Russian, and Elena collected her bag when she realized it was the call for boarding.

  As she queued up with the other passengers, she felt a prickling on her scalp. Someone was watching her. She turned her head just enough to glance to her right and then her left, her movements economical, so slight that the people around her wouldn’t notice the fear she felt. She’d had this funny feeling on and off since she’d arrived at the airport, but whenever she looked, she could see no one showing any particular interest in the twenty-year-old American college student at the gate for the Los Angeles flight.

  But that didn’t mean someone wasn’t watching her, and the thought of a hidden voyeur edged her toward panic. Maybe Vadym was holding to that promise he’d made, that he would kill her, and he was finally coming after her. She wasn’t the first woman he had captured, and she wouldn’t be the last, but according to him she had survived the longest. He hadn’t lost interest in her because of the fire in her eyes.