by Zoe Blake
“P… P… Peter.”
“Peter what?”
Peter inhaled a shaky breath. “Peter Fischer.”
Gregor threw a hard glance over his shoulder at my kneeling form. I knew that look well. I had already gotten it a thousand times from my father for dating a non-Russian boy.
Gregor cocked his head to the side as he stroked the barrel of the gun. “So, Peter Fischer, you come into my family’s home and trespass on our hospitality by taking advantage of one of our guests?”
“Look, me and my girlfriend were just—”
“Don’t say that,” interrupted Gregor.
“What?”
“She’s not your girlfriend. She’s not your anything. Not anymore.”
My cheeks burned. The possessive undertone of Gregor’s words was unmistakable, yet still made little sense. Maybe he was angry because I was his sister’s friend and Peter had hurt me? Or, like he said, because I was a guest in his family’s home?
“Is that what this is about? Dude, you can have her! Good luck!” Peter nodded in my direction. “The bitch’s legs are locked at the knees.”
My mouth fell open as my cheeks burned.
Gregor walked over to Peter, placed the gun at his temple and without preamble pulled the trigger a third time.
The gun made a hollow click.
“Stop doing that!” Peter screamed as his face and neck became a mottled hue of red and purple.
Gregor sneered. “What? Does the little American boy not have the stones for a silly Russian game?”
He spun the gun chamber and raised the revolver to his own temple as he pulled back the hammer.
Horrified, I stretched out my arm. “No!”
Gregor pulled the trigger.
It clicked but did not fire.
All the air left my body.
Gregor spun the chamber again and raised his arm a second time.
I didn’t know what was happening, but I knew it was all fucking madness.
Crawling on my knees, I lunged for Gregor’s legs. “Stop! What are you doing? Don’t!”
I knew the laws of probability theory. You didn’t grow up in a Russian family and not learn the odds of Russian roulette. That was the fourth shot. This would be the fifth, which meant there was a fifty percent chance the gun would fire. Gregor knew that as well as I did.
I clawed at his suit pants. “Please, Gregor. Please, stop.”
He reached down and brushed my cheek with the back of his knuckles. I snatched at his hand and opened it, pressing my cheek against his palm. “Please,” I whispered against his warm skin.
“Would those pretty green eyes fill with tears for me if I died, malyshka?”
Malyshka.
Gregor Ivanov had just called me malyshka. Baby girl.
“Yes! Please, Gregor. Please, stop!” I begged, pressing my lips against his palm. I could smell the hint of tobacco and gun oil on his hand and felt the slightly calloused touch of his fingertips along my jaw.
“Why don’t I leave you two alone?” Peter snarled.
“Shut the fuck up,” Gregor snapped as he pointed the gun at Peter’s crotch and pulled the trigger.
The hammer clicked down. The gun didn’t fire.
Peter flew out of his seat. “You’re fucking insane! You know that?”
Afraid of getting trampled by the two angry men, I scrambled out of the way and back onto my feet.
Gregor grabbed Peter by the front of the shirt and swung him wide, slamming him against the wall before placing the gun under his chin. “Five empty shots in a six-cylinder gun. Do the math, boy.”
Peter’s toes barely touched the ground as his hands scraped for purchase along the wall. “I don’t know what you’re saying!”
Gregor cocked his head in my direction. “Samara?”
I licked my dry lips before responding. Nervously clutching the neckline of my torn dress together at the base of my throat, I croaked, “A hundred percent. There’s a hundred percent chance the gun will fire this time.”
Peter’s eyes widened in horror as he whimpered.
Gregor’s voice lowered to a dark rumble in his chest. “If you so much as look in Samara’s direction ever again, I will hunt you down and kill you like a rabid dog in the street. Do you understand me?”
Peter tried to nod his head, but the gun pressed under his jaw prevented him.
“If there is so much as a whisper about what happened here tonight at her school, I will rip away all that you hold dear. Have I made myself crystal clear… Peter Fischer?”
“Yes, sir! I promise!”
Gregor released him.
Peter crumbled to the floor as his knees gave out. He slithered a few feet back on his ass before scrambling to his feet and scurrying through the door without even giving me so much as a backward glance.
The room fell silent again.
My heart was beating so fast I was lightheaded and sick to my stomach. It was going to take me a week to process everything that had just happened.
Portland Cool Grey. The color of his eyes.
Indanthrene Blue. The color of his tie.
Transparent Earth Red. The color of blood.
Picturing the aluminum paint tubes and their tiny white labels inside my artist oil paint kit, I recited the colors in my head to calm myself, a strange coping mechanism I’d had since I was a little girl.
Twisting my fist into the collar of my dress, my curiosity overrode my fear of being alone with him. I had to know. “Would you have pulled the trigger?”
Gregor turned those inscrutable eyes on me.
For half a second, he didn’t move or respond.
I was about to turn and leave, assuming I, too, had worn out my welcome, when he moved so quickly the breath was knocked out of my body.
One moment I was standing in the middle of the room, the next, he pressed me against the wall, towering over me. His hips leaned into mine as his right arm rested high over my head, caging me in. His warm spicy scent enveloped me. The sensation was overwhelming… and terrifying.
Still, he didn’t speak.
I licked my lips and watched as his gaze zeroed in on my mouth.
“Answer me,” I demanded with more boldness than I felt.
“Would I have pulled the trigger?” he repeated.
I nodded.
He lowered his right arm. The cold barrel of the gun grazed my cheek. I sucked in a breath. He pointed the gun off to the side and cocked the hammer. I squeezed my eyes shut and braced for the gunshot, but only heard the same hollow metallic click. Opening my eyes, I watched as Gregor tossed the gun onto the bed.
“But… I don’t….”
Lifting his left arm, he held up a bullet between his thumb and forefinger. He had never truly loaded the gun. It had all been a twisted game from the start.
My brow furrowed. “Why would you do something like that? You scared him to death!”
“He deserved to be punished for touching you.”
He said it so matter of factly. As if we weren’t discussing terrorizing my now ex-boyfriend with a fucking gun!
I shoved at his chest. It was solid muscle, so of course he didn’t budge. I hated that I had to crane my head back to meet his gaze. It made me feel small and vulnerable. “No one asked you! I can take care of myself!”
“Malyshka, you can’t honestly think I was going to let him assault you like that and just walk away unscathed? He’s lucky it’s my little sister’s birthday, and the house is filled with witnesses, otherwise I would have beaten him within an inch of his worthless life.”
“I don’t understand. Why do you care?”
I hadn’t laid eyes on this man in over five years. I was just his little sister’s friend. I was nothing to him.
He reached down to pull back the fabric of my dress, exposing the top of my breast and shoulder. His fingertip traced my collarbone before slowly moving down to caress near the bruise marks. His brow creased, and a small tick appeared high on his ch
eekbone just below his eye. He breathed heavily through his nose as if he were trying to calm himself down. His anger was palatable.
“He hurt you,” he said matter-of-factly, his voice gruff and low. “When I entered from the patio, even before I saw your face, I could feel your fear. If I hadn’t come in when I did? That little bastard would have….”
It hadn’t occurred to me he might actually be shaken and upset at Peter’s treatment of me. Gregor almost appeared human in this moment. Vulnerable.
“Yeah, but he didn’t.”
He cupped my jaw and gazed down at me, his eyes as hard as flint. Gone was my brief glimpse of his unfamiliar human side. He was back to being the scary, inscrutable man I knew him to be. “It will never happen again. Do you understand me? I’m here now to make sure of it.”
What was that supposed to mean?
Alarm bells raged inside my head.
He ran his thumb over my bottom lip before continuing. “From this point forward, you are under my protection. I will expect you to behave accordingly and not put yourself in these types of dangerous positions again. I will be obeyed in this, malyshka.”
Under his protection?
Obey him?
Malyshka?
No.
Something was wrong here.
I couldn’t think straight. Too much had happened in the last hour.
My head was spinning.
Nothing he said or did was making any sense to me.
My eyes welled up as the trauma set in.
Frustrated, I swiped at a tear that fell down my cheek. “Stop calling me that!”
“What?”
“You know what.”
“Malyshka?”
“Yes, malyshka! I’m not you’re malyshka. I’m not your anything! You can’t just come in here and start dictating rules to me!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re mine now.”
Chapter 3
Gregor
She looked beautiful when she cried.
The tears brought out the gold in her deep emerald eyes and made them sparkle.
Beauty was not the problem where Samara was concerned.
I had been summoned back from Russia because our families decided we would wed as soon as she graduated, which was in only two weeks.
It was the same old story.
It all came down to money.
The Federovs were a venerable old-world family with ties back to the Czars. They had significant political and business connections both here in the States and in mother Russia. Their name carried a great deal of weight in the drawing rooms of Europe and in embassies around the world. Unfortunately, Samara’s father was an imbecile who pissed away most of the family fortune. He then panicked and got into bed with some dangerous people. So being the caring patriarch that he was, he’d put the only thing of value he had left on the auction block… his precious daughter.
He was willing to sell off her hand in marriage—and all the benefits of the family name that went with it—to the highest bidder, in exchange for a hefty dowry and protection from the rather nasty Nigerian criminals who’d ensnared him.
It was all very medieval.
Naturally, since our families had been linked both socially and through some minor side business dealings for generations, they decided we could not allow another family to outbid us for Samara’s hand. Plus, this connection would give our more, shall we say, shadowed business ventures the veneer of respectability, once our name was formally attached with the Federov one.
Parading her around at all the various society dinners and charity events would open new diplomatic doors, which was a polite way of saying backdoor entrances to corrupt leaders, military officials and politicians who controlled massive spending contracts.
Yes, it would be a lucrative deal for both families. In fact, since her father was in such dire straits, we had already transferred a considerable amount into his offshore accounts to ensure everyone’s complicity.
Of course, none of this had been told to Samara yet.
Until all matters had been decided, it was none of her concern. She would do as she was told.
As the eldest, the duty of marrying her ultimately fell on my shoulders… whether or not I liked it.
It didn’t help that my first glimpse of her in five years, I find her alone with some boy, pressed against the wall with her legs spread like some whore.
Her father had assured us that Samara was a good, obedient girl who had had a sheltered upbringing and was still a virgin. I assumed with her being a close friend of my little sister that it must be true.
Now, I was not so sure.
Her body trembled within my embrace. She was so small and delicate. As I trapped her against the wall with just the threat of my height alone, it was like cupping a baby bird in my palm. Watching the tiny bundle of feathers and thin bones twitch and shake with fear.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. Her eyes stared at the knot of my tie.
I placed a finger under her chin and forced her gaze up.
“You were a very bad girl to let that boy drag you into a room alone.”
She opened her mouth to speak.
I shifted my hand and placed a finger over her lips.
“Don’t. I’m already angry, and you’ve already earned yourself a severe punishment. Don’t make it worse.”
“Punishment?” Her green eyes widened at the word.
Running the back of my knuckles down her cheek in more of a threat than a caress, I said, “Yes, malyshka, punishment for being so foolish and reckless.”
The pulse at her throat jumped. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you punish me, Gregor.”
I pulled on one of her long dark curls. “It’s adorable that you think you have a choice in the matter.”
That was when my little bird started to fight.
Samara kicked and thrashed within my embrace, struggling to get to the door.
Grabbing her around the waist, I roared, “Enough!”
She instantly stilled.
Good girl.
Lifting her high, I crossed the room to the upholstered chairs in front of the unlit fireplace. I sat down in one and placed her on my lap. Compared to my considerable size, she really was a little thing. The thought of getting my thick cock inside what was sure to be her tight pussy had me reaching between us to adjust myself as my shaft thickened and lengthened.
Samara squirmed.
I groaned and grit out between clenched teeth, “Be still.”
For emphasis, I raised my hips up slightly so she could feel the hard ridge of my cock press against her bottom. Her eyes widened.
“Exactly,” I quipped.
I took a deep breath and reminded myself it was my little sister’s birthday party. If we weren’t missed already, we would be soon. They were probably getting ready to cut the cake. Now was not the time to sink my cock deep inside my soon-to-be wife. There would be plenty of time for that later.
I positioned the chair closer to the windows so I could see more of her in the moonlight. Her ivory skin seemed almost to glow. In the soft light, I couldn’t quite make out the pink shade of her lips, but the bottom one was slightly fuller than the top, which formed a cute little cupid’s bow. Like when she was young, she still wore her dark hair long and in curls down her back.
Looking down her slender neck, I observed the bruises on the top of her breast. I pulled the fabric of her neckline aside. Samara objected, grabbing my hand to stop me. One hard look and she relented.
Seeing the dark smudges on her perfect skin, I uttered a curse under my breath. “I’ll kill him for hurting you like this.”
“He… he didn’t mean it.”
“You’re defending him?”
“No. It’s just… it’s fine.”
I pulled the fabric down a little further and exposed the pink lace of her bra. Her breasts weren’t large, just enough to fill a man’s hands. Perfect.
W
ith a single fingertip, I traced the scalloped lace edge. “Samara, it’s not fine. He touched what’s mine. I can’t let him get away with that.”
Samara played with a button on her dress, avoiding making eye contact. “Why do you keep saying that?”
“Saying what?”
I knew what she was asking. I just wanted to hear the words on her lips.
“Why do you keep saying that… that I’m yours?” she whispered.
There it was. I was a little surprised how much I enjoyed hearing the words I’m yours coming from her. For me, this really was supposed to be just a business transaction with some fringe benefits. My plan had been to wed and bed her and then return to Russia and my life and other women there. Perhaps I would stay in the states a little longer after all.
For a slip of a girl there was something about her that intrigued me.
A spirit that sparked behind her eyes.
For whatever reason, I was definitely feeling possessive of her.
When I saw her in the arms of that fucking boy, I wanted to tear his throat out, especially after I saw the fear in her eyes.
She was mine and mine alone, bought and paid for, and no one but me had the right to touch her.
It was a heady emotion to realize I was going to be the only man in this special creature’s life.
Or at least I was supposed to be the only man, assuming she was untouched as her father claimed.
“Because you are, malyshka.”
I knew she didn’t understand. How could she? And I was a bastard because I had no intention of explaining it to her… not yet.
I cupped her jaw and pulled her head down. Using the tip of my tongue, I teased her bottom lip, then the top. I traced the seam. Her mouth opened just slightly with a gasp. Still using only the tip, I flicked along the edge of her teeth and coaxed her own tongue to spar with mine. Her mouth opened a little more.
I groaned against her lips. “That’s it, baby, open for me.”
My tongue swept in. She tasted of peppermint candy and champagne and innocence.
Shifting in the seat, I pressed my cock against her hip as I forced my tongue deeper into her mouth. She whimpered, and her small hands grasped at my chest. She was such an ingenue, so untried.