Viktor shakes his head. “But they are so much fun to play.”
“You are one sick fuck.” I take aim at his head.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“You’re not me.” I fire the gun, but he shoves Everly backwards at the same time. I move to catch her, turning the chair to one side as I trip Viktor. He falls on his face, hitting the floor with a groan and a thud.
Pulling out my knife, I cut through her bonds and help her up, then slip the blade back into my pocket. Finally, she looks up at me and I want to tear him apart with my bare hands. “You put your hands on her, you bastard.” Her lip is split and there is a dark bruise on her cheek. Another cut above her eye and a gash on her forehead. “For that you will pay.” Everly is half dazed as she gazes at me. “Stay here, solnyshko.”
“It is you,” she says.
Tenderly, I kiss the top of her head. “Of course it is.” Then I stride to Viktor and kick him, sending his body rolling. I wait until he attempts to get up before kicking him again, this time in the face.
He coughs and grunts, blood dribbling down the side of his mouth.
“I am unarmed,” he says and then spits.
“So is she,” I say.
He holds up one hand. “This was for your own good. She was becoming a distraction. You stopped taking jobs because of her.”
I punch him in the mouth, knocking loose a few teeth and giving him a busted lip identical to Everly’s. Pulling out my knife again, I open it with a flick of my wrist, just the way he taught me.
No doubt he thinks he will win tonight.
Blood running down his neck, he gazes up at me. “No piece of ass is worth—”
I slice his skin open, above his left eye. He grunts in pain. “Your anger is driving you. You will lose, Kolya. You have no idea who set this in motion. No one can be trusted, not even Benjamin.”
Grabbing his arm, I hoist him to his feet and twist his elbow sharply to the right. He growls, breathing hard through the pain he must feel.
“I will win,” I snap. Lifting the knife for him to see, I thrust the blade into his gut, twisting it.
He threads his fingers into my hair, yanking until my eyes water. “Wrong spot,” he pants. “I taught you better than that.”
I press my gun against his throat. “Is this the right spot?” Dragging it up his neck, I shove the gun in his mouth. “Or is this better?”
His black eyes widen, even as more blood drips down his forehead.
“An easy death is too good for you.” Quickly, I shoot him in each knee, and then the lower abdomen, right beside where my knife is sticking out, hilt first. He falls to the floor howling in pain and cursing me, much like Petrov had done.
Benjamin skids into the room. “We have to go.” He nods in Everly’s direction and I turn. She’s like a statue from my worst nightmare, pale, bloody, and unmoving, but for her eyes. They are wide with terror. She has seen everything. She has watched me take a man’s life right in front of her.
I start in her direction and she jumps, cowering into the corner. The pitiful sight nearly sends me to my knees.
After shoving my gun into my holster, I hold up my hands. “It’s over, love. No one will hurt you now.”
“You’re alive,” she whispers, after what seems like an eternity.
“Everly,” I rasp, reaching for her. “My solnyshko.”
A hard slap to my cheek sends my head snapping to the right. “How dare you.” She punches me in the stomach, surprisingly strong for a woman in her condition, and I let out a small oof. “Why did you lie to me? Why did you bring me here and let me think...” Balling her fist, she pulls back and lets it fly, but I capture it before she can make contact.
Her eyes flash like emeralds in the sun, bright hair like fire in an otherwise drab room. “Let go of me.”
“Like this.” I reposition her thumb. “Otherwise, you’ll hurt yourself.”
Another slap, but I’m too numb to feel a damn thing. “I already hurt,” she shouts. “He hurt me, but you hurt me worse.”
I make no move to defend myself. I allow her to pummel me, forcing my gaze on her face. Tears fall on her cheeks, get caught in her lashes and run out of the corners of her eyes. “Damn you, Roman. Nikolai. Damn you.”
She splays her hands on my chest, her head falling against me as her fingers tighten and grab the material of my coat.
Carefully, I put my arms around her, whispering nonsense words in Russian, until she stops crying. “We need to go, but you have to close your eyes.”
“Why?” she sniffs.
“Trust me... you don’t want to know.”
She hesitates. I know she will never trust me again, but she’s obviously needs me to escape this hellhole. Finally, her eyes flutter close. “What happens now?”
“We leave this place.” This time we’re going to the house I keep on the outskirts of the city, and not back to Ben’s apartment.
Ben catches my eye and he tips his chin up at me. “Later, cuz.”
A small nod is my only reply, before I turn my attention to the trembling woman in my arms. “Let’s go.
CHAPTER THREE
THE CONFESSION
The silence is nearly overpowering as Everly and I travel to the house I own on the outskirts of Berlin. The heavy weight that should have lifted once she was out of immediate danger has only grown more oppressive, like being slowly smothered with a wet blanket.
I reach for her hand, but she jerks it away and leans closer to the car door. My hand remains in the air for far longer than I want to acknowledge before grabbing the wheel of the car again.
“Do you want to talk?” I ask.
“No.”
“Are you hungry, thirsty... did he let you sleep?”
“The first day he did.”
“Did he...” I can’t make myself say the words.
She turns to me as we slow down at the modern gates guarding the centuries old mansion “Other than to hit me, neither he nor the men with him touched me, if that’s what you want to know.”
A bit of relief takes some of the edge off. I make a quick call to have the gates opened.
“Does that make you feel better? To know I’m not damaged goods?”
“Hell yes, it makes me feel better, but only because I know that’s one less thing you have to come back from.” I pull the car forward, and the gates close behind us. “Do not make the mistake of trivializing my concern for you.”
“Must be nice,” she says and my knuckles turn white. I have the steering wheel in a death grip. Never before have I been so enraged, never before have I lost so much.
“Must be nice?” I growl, parking the car. “Must be nice?” I turn to face her, my jaw clenching. “There are a multitude of emotions running through me at this moment, but nice is not one of them.”
She shrinks away from me, and I take a deep breath before getting out of the car. I briskly walk to her side and open the door as one of my staff greets us.
It is Gustav, a man who has worked for me for years. He doesn’t blink at the sight of blood, or the fact that Everly looks as though she’s gone a couple of rounds in the ring.
“Your rooms are ready. Should you require anything further, we are at your disposal, sir.”
“Thank you, Gustav,” I say and follow him into the house.
For some reason, Everly allows me to touch her, when I expected her to fight me. I take her upstairs, dismissing Gustav with a slight nod. “Shall we get you cleaned up?”
Everly makes a noise, one that I assume is consent when she allows me to guide her inside my bedroom. As soon as we walk inside the bathroom, I release her to fetch my supplies from beneath a marble-topped cabinet.
“You might need stitches for the gash in your forehead.”
She says nothing at first, just looks at me, the room, and then in the mirror. “Okay.”
Running warm water in the sink, I add a bit of soap and toss in a soft cloth to soak in it. “You need to get o
ut of your clothes, love.”
She hesitates, and then unsteady hands go to the tattered sweater’s hem. Gently, I push them away and undress her myself. In a matter of seconds she’s standing in nothing, but her bra and panties. The vivid bruises on her pale skin are obscene in the bright lights.
“Good God, sweetheart.” I close my eyes. “What you have endured.”
“The water is about to overflow,” she says and I spin around, opening my eyes.
Turning off the water, I ring out the washcloth. “Come here, please.”
Stiffly, she crosses the small space between us, wincing as I begin to wipe the dried blood from her wounds. When I dip the cloth in rubbing alcohol and make another pass, her eyes fill with water. And other than the initial hiss of pain, she doesn’t react at all. This is not good. Not good in the least.
“No stitches,” I say, relieved. “But if you did need them, I can do it.”
“Of course you can,” she says.
Ignoring that little dig, I examine the rest of her face. “Your lip is more crusted with blood than anything else, and the scrape above your eye will heal fairly quickly.” Lightly running two fingers over the bruise along her cheek, I say, “This will take a while. I’m sorry.”
She grabs my hand and flings it away. “Stop.”
“I won’t touch you there again. Give me your wrists.”
“No.” Taking a step back, she grabs a towel and wraps it around her.
“You need medical attention, love. Your wrists are practically shredded. Let me help you,” I say as gently as possible. “I promise to be very careful with your wounds.” I can’t promise it to be pain free, because the skin on her wrists is raw.
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t touch me anywhere again.”
“What did Viktor tell you?”
Her gaze skitters away. “It’s not just what he told me.”
Unease grabs hold of me. “Then what is it?”
“Pictures,” she rasps, fat tears rolling down her cheek. “He made me look at picture after picture of the people you killed. There was a woman—she looked like she was sleeping, except her head was at the wrong angle.”
“Jesus.” I move toward her and she backs up, her hands coming between us, as if to protect herself from me. I freeze, letting my arms hang loosely at my sides.
“He said those people had done nothing wrong. That you killed them for money.”
“Every single one of them deserved to die,” I say softly, lifting my chin. Shame washes over me. I flex my fingers. “However, it is true I was paid to end their lives.”
Her gaze returns to mine. “How could you? Why wouldn’t you just turn them over to the authorities, if they deserved to die?”
“The authorities?” Shaking my head, I let out a harsh laugh. “Love, some of those people were the authorities.” I hold up my hands, palms facing out. “I am what I am, Everly, but I do not murder the innocent.”
She locks in on my hands. “Your tattoos—are those for all the people you,” she swallows, “killed?”
Wordlessly, I nod. Then... “It lets others know what I’ve done, and to stay away.”
“Except me,” she says. “Except stupid, gullible me who thought your tattoos were hot.”
I open my mouth to speak, but she forestalls me with a look.
“Please leave me alone. I need time to process everything and figure out the truth.”
“Fine. If you want the truth, simply ask, and I will give it to you. But, in the meantime, I’m here if you need me.”
Her chin tilts up. “I won’t need you.”
“As you wish.” I stride out of the bathroom, intent upon drinking myself into a stupor, but the sound of her crying reaches me before I get to the bedroom door.
I can’t just leave her, not like this. Sinking to the floor, I put my head between my knees and listen to her sob. Watch and wait, until I hear water running and nothing else.
But I don’t leave until I hear her rummaging around the bathroom, and even then I lean against the outer wall. When all is quiet, I slip into the room and find her in bed, asleep. A single lamp is on, whether on purpose or by accident, I do not know.
There is a light knock on the door and I turn to see Gustav standing there. “Shall I be of further assistance?” he asks. “I’ve already prepared tray of food for you and your guest.”
“Thank you.” Striding out of the room, I close the door behind me. “Please leave the tray in the blue room. I’ll be eating alone.”
“Consider it done.” Gustav bows his head slightly. “I bid you good night.”
“Good night, Gustav,” I say, watching as he hurries down the ornate hallway. It is lined with paintings from the last century. The former owners of the house and their children, I suppose. I’ve never bothered to check.
I start in the opposite direction of my room. Everly isn’t the only one in need of a shower or rest. Or time to sort things out.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE CONFESSION
Twelve hours later, Gustav shows Everly into the study. I don’t bother to stand, mostly because my pride is damaged.
As she walks to me, I study her intently, taking in every nuance—from the hitch in her gait to the gauze wrapped around each wrist. My gaze lingers on the bruise marring her smooth cheek. A part of me wants to go to her and examine her wounds again. But I know that would be a waste of time.
She’s wearing my robe, the sleeves turned up several times. Her bare feet peek from bottom hem as she walks. In any other situation, I would find her charmingly seductive.
“Did you not see the clothes I had brought up for you?” I ask.
“Sorry, I took over your bedroom,” she says, her eyes dull as she avoids answering my initial question. “I didn’t know.”
“No worries. I slept elsewhere,” I say from my spot in the club chair by the massive window. I glance at the garden, at the maze I have never walked, and take another shot of vodka. “Shall I pour one for you?”
“Pass the bottle,” she orders, and I hold it out to her.
Our fingers touch, sparks igniting at contact. I want her. I fucking need her, but I know, without a doubt, I can’t have her.
She takes a long drink, coughs, and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. I hold out my glass and she refills it, then takes the seat across from me.
The robe parts as she crosses her legs, baring soft, slender thighs. I’m grateful there are no bruises there, unlike on her upper arms and along her cheek. Damn you to hell, Viktor.
I clench my glass and hear a crack.
“I swear to God, Roman, if you break that thing and start bleeding, I will hit you with this bottle. I am done with blood. Done.”
My gaze jerks to her face—there’s no give, no equivocation in her eyes. Her cheeks are rosy, from anger and good vodka. But she is still far too pale. Forcing myself to ease up on the glass, I gesture to the plates of food on the table beside me. It’s close enough for her to reach.
“I thought you might be hungry.”
“Did you make all this yourself?” she asks, picking up a small sandwich.
“No.” I set the glass down. “My staff did.”
She takes a bite and closes her eyes. “Too bad you couldn’t have been this honest with me before we got on a plane.”
“My deception was necessary to keep you alive.”
Her eyes open. “While I don’t like it, I get that you had to lie to me to protect your identity. But what I don’t understand is why you lied to me about how you felt.”
I dig my fingers into the leather arms of my chair. “What happened between us was real.” But it can never happen again. I must distance myself as much as possible, until everything has played out and I can return her to the States.
“So you say.” She takes another drink, her throat working as she swallows.
My jaw clenches. “It’s the truth.”
“So you say,” she repeats.
&
nbsp; I try a different tactic. “Is there anything you would like to know about me?”
She lets out a little hmpf. “The first thing that comes to mind is how many other women have you done this to.”
“You’re the first.”
Her eyes widen fractionally, and then narrow to green slits. “So you—”
“I swear to God, Everly, if you say that one more time, I’m going to bend you over my knee and spank you. I’m done with your anger, however, righteous.” I lean forward, but to her credit, she doesn’t shrink from me. Not at all. A bit of pride swells inside my chest. Viktor has not permanently damaged her spirit. Lowering my voice, I say, “I want you to understand. I want you to know the truth. But it’s hard, damn it.”
“How so?” she asks, her face expectant and skeptical.
Standing, I walk to the fireplace and begin to pace, my hands laced behind my back. “The only time I’m allowed to be completely honest, to completely be myself is in my head. That’s it. Every honest thought, every bloody word is censored before I speak.”
I pause and look at her. “Until you, that is. You came into my shop with your smiles and laughter... and hope for someone I could never fully have.” I slam my hand down on the mantle of the fireplace. “Bloody hell, woman. You fucking ruined me.”
Everly stands up and for a split second, I think she’s leaving the room. Instead, she walks to me, her steps unhurried. She touches my arm and the muscles bunch up. “You weren’t the only one who was ruined. You weren’t the only one who was given hope.”
Turning, I cup her face in my hands, willing her to understand. “I never meant for this to happen, and not because there’s something wrong with you. But because I’m not the kind of man you deserve.” Though I’d break every single bone in the body of the next man she welcomes into her bed. I know what’s good for her, but I’m a selfish bastard. Actually, I’m just a bastard raised by an entire band of bastards.
She licks her lips, and I inch closer, dipping my head. “Roman—Nikolai, I—”
“The name you feel most comfortable saying is the one I will always answer to,” I say against her skin.
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