The Darkest Temptation

by Danielle Lori

  While Alexei was having his moment, Ivan leaned against the wall and stared daggers at me.

  “Long time no see,” I drawled easily in Russian, then frowned in thought. “Although there was that one day you visited my home and left naked to crawl back to your owner . . .” My eyes narrowed. “And we can’t forget that other time where you almost killed Mila with your failed attempt to off me. But other than that, I’d say it’s been a while.”

  His gaze hardened. “If you didn’t kidnap Mila, she would have never been in that position.”

  Frustratingly true. “Maybe not. But we all know the position you want her in. Too bad you’d rather fuck Alexei than his daughter. Not that you would have had a shot with her anyway.”

  I was sure I’d get a reaction from Alexei then, but the man was still immersed in awkward grieving.

  Ivan shot a cautious look at Alexei before saying, “I could have had multiple shots. I just wasn’t interested.”

  I laughed. He couldn’t have her, so now he wasn’t interested. “You know, you remind me of a two-faced bitch. I’m beginning to wonder if you even have a dick.”

  “Because I chose Alexei’s side? You call me a bitch, but you’re holding a grudge like one.”

  Unperturbed by the insult, my mind flickered to the past. “I always knew something was off about you—the awkward loner who sat next to the trash cans in prison. Charged with murdering your grandma. I mean, your fucking grandma. The news painted her as this sweet old lady, but you convinced everyone of how evil she was . . .” I leaned back in my chair. “She really was a sweet old lady, wasn’t she?”

  Murderous heat flared in his eyes.

  “What’d she do? Forget to cut the crusts off your peanut butter sandwich?”

  “Go to hell, D’yavol.”

  Kristian and Alexei were now silently watching us, but I continued because I had shit to say.

  “When I took you under my wing, you liked whatever I liked. I could say I liked a cucumber shoved up my ass, and you would say you liked it too. It was fucking annoying, but you were loyal to a fault. Only you weren’t, were you?”

  Red washed up Ivan’s neck. “I don’t regret fucking you over. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

  “I know. Because you’re a fucking snake that can reveal your true psychotic self under Alexei. He loves his men unhinged. I should know. I worked for him too.” I did multiple things on that man’s orders that I couldn’t even stomach thinking about today.

  My eyes slid to Alexei to see his on mine. I wondered if he was mentally killing me, or if he was reminiscing on the past as well. Or maybe he was thinking about Mila and how I was indefinitely submersed in her life now—whether she liked it or not.

  Kristian was content with his tumbler of vodka, though I could tell he was ready for things to turn south quick.

  Ivan let out a bitter breath of amusement. “You call me a snake. Yet you’re the one who kidnapped a fucking innocent woman.” His eyes narrowed. “There’s no chance she’ll stay with you,” he snarled. “She isn’t that stupid.”

  “So aggressive over a woman you supposably don’t even want,” I drawled. “Let me guess . . . Alexei promised you Mila when I first took her. And then he changed his mind, thinking Carter would be better after all. And you went along with it because you’re content kissing his ass.”

  The shady flash in Ivan’s eyes confirmed it.

  “I’m sure he gave you a consolation prize though—a trafficked girl to tide you over. Did you cut her up like you did your granny?”

  Ivan lunged for me but halted when Kristian pulled out his gun and aimed it at his head, tumbler still in hand.

  “Yeah. I wouldn’t if I were you.”

  Alexei got to his feet. Besides in the hospital, this was the first time I’d ever viewed him so passive and defeated. At this point, revenge was a non-issue. The man was slowly killing himself.

  He met my gaze with venom. “You’ve murdered my son.”

  I raised a brow. “You almost killed him when he strangled one of your expensive girls to death.” I shrugged an indifferent shoulder. “So I didn’t really think it would be an issue.”

  His eyes flashed. “You have my daughter in your hands now, so I have no choice but to end this now. I can’t afford to lose her on top of Dimitri with more war.”

  I didn’t exactly have his daughter . . . though he must assume she’d chosen my side by taking that bullet for me. The thought brought me back to the second I noticed what she’d done, and my chest tightened. If she would have died and taken all her sunshine with her . . . fuck. The idea made me sick and made me see red at the same time.

  “It’s a good excuse, Alexei, but we both know you’ve lost your touch. If Moscow wasn’t mine, it would have been another’s by now.”

  His jaw tightened as he held in a retort, and then he turned to the door. “Come, Ivan.”

  As Ivan picked up the severed head and followed his owner like a lapdog, I said with feigned concern, “And I might reconsider your hiring process.”

  “Go to hell, D’yavol,” Alexei snapped.

  “Can you guys mix it up a little?” I returned with annoyance. “Your insults are tired.”

  After they both left, Kristian drawled, “Well, that was unexpected.”

  Agreed. Not a single person died.

  I stood up and rounded the desk.

  “Where are you going?” Kristian asked.

  “To rehearse,” I announced and walked out.

  I realized Mila might need some space. I didn’t like the idea—in fact, every cell demanded I drag her back to my bed where she belonged just to know she was mine. But I had to work with kidnapping the girl, threatening to kill her papa, and a slew of other serious offenses.

  I could be patient when I really wanted something. But I didn’t want her; I needed her.

  If this was what they called “love,” then I’d own it.

  I never did anything half-ass.

  rubatosis

  (n.) the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

  I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to get rid of Ronan. He might not be in the hospital room with me physically, but his presence was everywhere.

  After the doctors examined me, I often thought they rushed out of the room, phones to their ears, to update him on my condition. Only D’yavol would receive that sort of hasty, nervous response.

  The first conscious day in the hospital, a boy delivered a mini fridge full of vegan meals, a bag of dog food, and a note.

  Eat.

  —Ronan

  I would have rolled my eyes at the demand a couple of weeks ago, but this time, it brought a smile to my lips and a throb to my heart.

  Ronan had pulled some strings threatened someone to allow Khaos to stay with me, and I knew it because a dog’s portrait in the universal red no-entry sign decorated the wall outside my room. The gesture filled me with relief, because I didn’t think I could handle being alone with my thoughts right now. Khaos was the only thing holding me together.

  Most of the staff steered far away from the surly tempered German shepherd, but a no-nonsense older nurse pushing into her sixties took the initiative to take him outside for bathroom breaks, even chiding him when he growled at her, which confused him enough to go along with it.

  The second day, the boy delivered a new laptop loaded with every season of Forensic Files and another note.

  If you want to know how to kill someone and get away with it, you only need to ask.

  —Ronan

  The third day, the boy delivered Pacifica shampoo and body wash, and, of course, a note.

  Stop arguing with the nurses.

  —Ronan

  This time, I did roll my eyes. Not only was Ronan being informed by my doctors, it seemed my nurses were tattling on me to him too. I’d refused to bathe after having one of the staff read me the ingredients on the back of their shampoo. The bottle was practically stuffed with a tiny murdered animal. When I
finally washed my hair with Pacifica, my heart trembled little beats of longing.

  The fourth day, the boy delivered two suitcases filled with clothes. Dresses, sweaters, underwear, shoes—it was practically an entire new wardrobe.

  There are three pairs of pants under all that yellow.

  Wear them.

  —Ronan

  He wished.

  Though I was more than relieved to get out of my hospital gown. My wound had healed enough I could wear loose-fitting clothes without worry of chafing. The doctors—and when I said “doctors,” I meant ten of them—were pleased with my condition enough they told me I could be discharged in a couple days. As much as I wanted out of the hospital, nerves turned my stomach about what I would do when I left.

  The fifth day, the boy delivered another package. Déjà vu raised goose bumps on my arms when I opened the box. It contained another lemon-yellow faux fur coat with “Kotyonok” stitched on the collar.

  Get it dirty.

  But NEVER again with blood.

  —Ronan

  I put it on and fell onto the bed like I had a month ago in an entirely different situation, my heart thumping hard. I pressed my nose in the fur, hoping—needing—it to smell like Ronan. It didn’t. And as the ache in my chest rose to burn my eyes, Khaos nudged me with his head. I cuddled up beside him and whispered to him and another who couldn’t hear, “Ya lyublyu tebya.” I love you.

  The sixth day, the boy delivered a new iPhone, my passport, ID, an obscene amount of cash, and a plane ticket to Miami that left the next day. My hands shook as I picked up the note and read it. A single tear fell, smearing the ink.

  This ISN’T proshchay.

  —Ronan

  The seventh day, I was being discharged. The nurses packed up my things while I sat on the bed, knees to my chest, waiting. Waiting for the boy to arrive and give me something else from Ronan. Anything.

  But he never came.

  Heart heavy, its beat rebelling in my chest, I gave one last look at my hospital room before walking out. A car picked me up and drove me to the airport while I moved on autopilot, unable to do anything as my body was pulled in two different directions.

  I boarded the plane to Miami and froze in the service door, my heart beating so hard it stopped me from taking another step.

  “Devushka, vy zaderzhivayete ochered’,” a flight attendant told me. When I blankly looked at her, she must have realized I didn’t know much Russian. Though not understanding her wasn’t why I was cemented in confliction. “You are holding up the line,” she repeated softly in English.

  Throat thick, I forced my feet down the aisle with Khaos following behind. He’d gotten his own seat. I wasn’t sure if that was allowed either, but rule-breaking seemed to be Ronan’s thing.

  I gave Khaos the window seat. It was his first plane ride after all. I rested my head against his soft fur and refused to cry, even as the raw ache in my chest grew heavier and heavier the farther we flew from Moscow.

  saudade

  (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near something or someone that is distant

  Four months later

  Warm, humid air breezed into the studio from the open terrace doors, rustling the sheer curtains. Below the veranda lay a white sandy beach, crystal-blue water, and palm trees swaying in the wind.

  Belize was gorgeous.

  A paradise on earth.

  Though even here, my thoughts wandered across the Atlantic Ocean. I wondered what Russia looked like in the summer. My imagination pictured the country covered in eternal ice and snow. Still, Moscow called to me while paradise’s breeze caressed my hair.

  “Chop, chop!” Flora clapped her hands in the air, her tribal-patterned poncho rising to show the leotard beneath. “Carlos is going to be here in ten minutes, and you know how much he hates to be kept waiting.”

  The stylist standing behind me rolled her eyes and spritzed my blown-out curls.

  When I arrived in Miami four months ago, I’d returned to my childhood home even though Ronan had given me enough money to purchase a small condo if I wanted to. But I was compelled to do something before I left The Moorings forever.

  Stepping through the front door, I found an empty house and lots of dust. Every piece of furniture sat in the same place, but the memories left behind were silent, like they’d left with Borya and the maids.

  I ran a line through the dust on the banister as Khaos and I ventured up the staircase. Reaching my room, I wound the ballerina in my music box, setting her on one last lonely pirouette. Then I dropped my papa’s birthday present from the balcony. The box cracked, the tune ended with a final sad note, and the dancer stopped spinning forever.

  She never wanted to be a ballerina anyway.

  I reached the door to leave but paused when I saw a small card lying in the dust-free square where the music box had sat. It was the business card the model agent slipped me on the street years ago. I’d hidden it after my papa refused to allow modeling of any kind and then forgot about it.

  I picked it up and put it in my pocket.

  Modeling was supposed to be a hard industry to get into. Although, I’d either gotten very narcissistic or divine intervention had stepped in. Because here I was now, modeling a campaign for a vegan product. I only went to go-sees and accepted contracts from humanitarian-conscious companies and designers—which my agent hated—but apparently, this new spark in my eyes worked out great for me.

  Months ago, I believed I would be engaged to Carter—or even married at this point existing as a jaded housewife. I wasn’t sure how Carter got the memo none of that would be happening, but when I ran into him last week picking up some takeout, he’d dropped his tacos as if the sight of me gave him a heart attack and immediately took off in the other direction.

  It wasn’t exactly the reaction I was expecting . . . but it would do.

  No Carter. No working in the sex industry. And no living on pennies. All of those fears had evaporated, but I was still consumed with doubt of another kind.

  I closed my eyes as one of the makeup artists applied mascara to my lashes.

  “Good god, no!” Flora exclaimed. “Were you not briefed today?”

  The artist frowned. “Yes. We’re going with clean looks.”

  Flora’s brow rose above her sixties-style round glasses. “What about black mascara on a blonde says ‘clean’ to you? It says ‘slutty club girl’ to me. She already has a slutty vibe. We don’t need to exaggerate it.”

  Slutty vibe?

  Flora waved a hand at my face. “Fix it. Just fix it before Carlos shows up.” Then she flounced off to harass someone else.

  Twenty minutes later, I wore an athletic one-piece swimsuit and stood on a terrace giving a perfect view of the ocean.

  Click . . . Click . . . Grumble.

  “We need sexy,” Carlos snapped. “Not ‘I’m saving myself for marriage.’”

  Okay . . . I was “slutty” a moment ago. Not to mention, it was hard to feel sexy with a milk mustache, holding a pint of almond milk.

  Click.

  “No, no, no.” Carlos rubbed his temples. “Please tell me you’ve had sex before.”

  Sometimes, I questioned this career, but overall, I loved promoting my vegan lifestyle and that the substantial income gave me the means to truly make a difference somewhere.

  “Yes, I’ve had sex.” A few times . . .

  “Good sex?”

  “Yes.” Heat rushed up to my neck because I knew where he was going with this, and I really didn’t want to go there. “But can I ask a question?”

  “No.”

  I asked anyway. “Why does an almond milk advertisement need to be sexy?”

  He sighed irritably. “Sex sells, darling.”

  “I’m just thinking of the kids here . . . Wouldn’t they want to send their parents off to buy this milk if I looked happy drinking it instead of, well . . . horny?”

  Carlos gave me a dry look. “You are lucky you have the perfect look for this
shoot. Or I’d toss you off this terrace so fast.”

  I sighed.

  “Now, think of the best sex you’ve ever had.”

  Ugh.

  Exhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and thought of inked hands next to mine on the shower wall. I thought of Ronan’s mouth on my neck and the fullness of him inside me. His hand collaring my throat. Vse moya. The way he held me. How he smelled and tasted. I remembered. And it hit me with a ball of fire that erupted inside me.

  I opened my eyes.

  Click.

  Silence settled on the terrace while longing tore through me. I hoped Carlos got the shot because I didn’t want to be here anymore.

  “Wow, girl . . .” Carlos murmured. “We definitely got it. But now we all want to hear the story.”

  Everyone stared at me while my heart slowly ripped in half. I dropped the pint of milk and walked offset. Grabbing my bag, I exited the studio and sucked in a shaky breath of fresh air, heading to the villa I shared with a couple of models during the two-day stay.

  I wished Khaos was with me, but some ridiculous pet quarantine laws had ended that idea, so he was staying with Emma, who still volunteered with me at the homeless shelter. And I really hoped Khaos hadn’t eaten one of her cats. I was about to call her when my phone buzzed in my purse. I dug it out.

  Papa: The Miami house is being put on the market. If there is anything you would like to keep, you should do so by next week.

  That was the first correspondence I had with my father since he’d walked out of the hospital. I meant it when I’d said we shouldn’t be in contact. The relationship always brought me down in a dark way rather than up, and these four months without his presence had lifted a massive weight off my shoulders. It was the right decision. Regardless of who my mother was as a person, I couldn’t look at my father again without seeing her lifeless body and the sibling inside of her I’d never meet.

  Me: OK.