She laughed, bitterly. "This isn't me coming to you, Sitnikov. This is me getting shot, twice, and your finding me in an alley before I could bleed out. Then manipulating and threatening my poor doctor until he had no choice but to release me into your care."
He shrugged, the movement jostling her slightly. "Whatever the reason, you will now reside with me. I have only your comfort in mind. For now."
"That’s very kind of you," Jane said sarcastically. “I would be more comfortable in my own apartment.”
He growled and said, “I doubt you could fight off the cockroaches in your condition. Now shut up and close your eyes, Jane, before I do something regrettable that may set back your recovery.”
When they arrived at the mansion, Boris opened the door and Sitnikov swept her up into his arms before she could protest. With an annoyed sigh she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly as he carried her inside, up the sweeping staircase and into master suite. The massive bed, surrounded by dark, Russian inspired furniture could belong to no one else besides the master of the property.
The moment he placed Jane on her feet she backed slowly away from Vlad, where he stood blocking the doorway. She looked around the room in apprehension. He absorbed the dawning realization that she stood in his bedroom and satisfaction surged through him. He was finally getting what he wanted. After all these months apart she would finally belong to him.
"You think you've won," she snapped, her eyes flaring with resentment. Though she was weak in body she was willing to fight him to the death if she had to.
Vlad shook his head, her stubborn defiance annoying him. "You don't get it Jane. This was never a game to be 'won'. Our association has led to this inevitability. You were never simply going to walk away from me."
"You wouldn't have allowed it,” she said bitterly.
"You understand me," he said stepping up to her. She flinched away from him, but he continued stepping into her space until she was backed up against the edge of his high king-sized bed. He ran his crooked finger down her cheek, savouring the silky softness of her skin.
She closed her eyes, long dark lashes fanning across the tops of her cheeks. Vlad curled his hand into a fist and savagely held himself back from grabbing her. He could too easily hurt her while she was in this condition. ”What if I don't want this?" she asked softly, opening her eyes.
His face was several inches from hers. His tall, lean body was bent over her much shorter one as though he would swoop down and capture her. He longed to touch her and kiss her, but knew he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. Taking in her painfully exhausted state, he took pity on her.
"You want me, Jane. Our courtship has proved this," his voice was low and soothing, though the words he spoke next were anything but. "The time for denial has passed, if it ever existed. You are with me now, and with me you will remain."
She laughed bitterly, holding a hand over her aching abdomen wound. "You have a twisted idea of courtship, Sitnikov."
He reached for her, taking her chin in a biting grip and forcing her face up toward his. Though he didn't touch any other part of her. "You are under my roof now, wholly within my power. It is time for you to obey me, woman. Say my given name, the way you did in that alley.”
She tensed, her dark straight hair swishing back as he refused to release her face. She reached up and gripped his wrist, her small fingers helpless against his steely hold. She glared angrily up at him, her eyes stormy, clouded with pain. She ignored his demand, and instead asked him, "How long do you intend to keep me here?"
He sighed deeply and, nudging her to the side, reached past her and swept the blankets on the bed back. He turned to her and with a firm grip on her shoulder pushed her back until she was sitting. The lower wound must have puckered as she sat and a hiss of breath escaped her. He frowned and quickly, but gently, pushed her back onto the bed and swung her legs up. He adjusted her until she was laying comfortably and the pain of movement receded.
Jane inhaled involuntarily as he leaned across her to pull the duvet up her prone body. Her eyes drifted shut. “You always smell a little like cigar smoke and soap,” she murmured, her body relaxing into the bed.
She reached up and grasped a handful of his shirt before he could move away from her. She opened her eyes to gaze up at him sleepily. He hovered over her, his fists planted on the bed on either side of her body. It was amazing to him that this one small woman who could fight him every step of the way also seemed to feel safe in his presence while she was hurt. There was something about her innocent trust that appealed to him.
“Thank you… Vladimir,” she said, finally giving him what he had wanted to hear for so long. “For everything. I would have died in that alley if you hadn’t come for me.”
His dark eyes flared with raw possession. “I will always come for you, Jane,” he said with such intensity that she had no choice but to believe him. He wanted her to understand his visceral statement. He would always come for her, whether she wanted him to or not.
Her lips parted and she sighed, nodding. “I believe you.”
His eyes followed every micro expression like a bird of prey waiting for the exact right moment to swoop. He lowered his face a few more inches until his lips nearly touched hers. “Ah, Jane, malysh. You have never been so appealing to me as you are now. If you were not in such a condition I would show why we will be good together. But for now, you must rest and I must leave you.”
She held her breath as he closed the distance and placed a chaste ki7ss on her lips. Her hand, which was still fisted in his shirt, pressed against his chest over his heart. As he stood, he captured her hand in one of his and brought it up to his lips. He kissed the sensitive skin of her wrist and then gently laid her hand on the bed beside her body. Tingling warmth radiated from the two places where his lips had touched as her eyes drifted shut. Unable to fight her body’s desperate need for healing sleep, she drifted off with his sharp eyes tracing her features.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It had been two weeks since Vlad had brought Jane to his mansion. She was now well into her recovery except for some residual stiffness and becoming easily exhausted. Jane was beginning to find the pampered life to which Vlad subjected her entirely too stifling. She was used to hunting down leads, and if she was lucky, bad guys. She didn’t particularly enjoy lazing around in bed with unlimited magazines and books at her disposal. She had memorized every inch of his backyard, including the guard’s rotation (if Vlad were nice to her she would mention the alarming predictability of his security team). She’d reorganized every single article of his clothing, more for her amusement than his convenience. And catalogued the contents of the bathroom. Twice.
She was over being an invalid. And when Jane was over something, she became cranky, unpredictable and possibly a little stabby.
Vladimir entered his bedroom without knocking. Though she was getting used to his casual invasion of her privacy, it still annoyed Jane. To be fair, when it came to him, there wasn’t much that didn’t annoy her.
She was in the process of picking up her discarded clothes that littered the floor of his room, a task that was made more difficult by the healing hole in her middle. Jane considered it good exercise to carefully crouch down over each item and then push herself gently back to her feet. The prize for her effort was another item of clothing that she folded over the back of an ornate armchair.
She was beginning to lament her slobbishness as she was on her fifth item when Vladimir barged in. She glared up at him, annoyed he was seeing her at a disadvantage. She tried to stand too quickly and gasped in pain when the puckered wound pulled slightly.
“Careful,” he snapped, reaching for her arm.
She rolled her eyes and breathed out in annoyance. “Because I’m definitely being careless on purpose. I would just love to rip open these wounds and bleed all over your priceless Russian artifacts, just so I can stay cooped up in this mausoleum a little longer. That definitely sounds
like a plan to me.”
He arched a thick eyebrow and gave her his best Russian mob boss stare. He didn’t deign to answer her sarcastic outburst.
“I’m out of here the moment I can manage it on my own,” Jane said, frustration edging her tones. She was so over him and his implacable attitude toward her.
His stare turned rather deadly. “I think not Jane. You know well that you’ll be staying here, so cease speaking nonsense.” He jerked his arm around in annoyance, indicating the expanse of the room. “You will leave the cleaning chores for the staff to take care of.”
“I can take care of my own dirty underwear, thank you very much!” If he only knew how well her upbringing had driven home the lesson of menial chores, he would probably hire her to do his laundry.
He rubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired. She had the urge to ask him what was troubling him, but remained silent. If she could help it, she wasn’t going to be on conversational terms with the criminal mastermind that was holding her in his home. His next words destroyed any sympathy she may have felt for him anyway.
He dropped his hand, straightened his shoulders and stabbed her with a piercing look. “I have given you a two week reprieve from my questions. Now that you are once more on your feet,” he looked her up and down disapprovingly, “I must once more insist you tell me who shot you.”
Jane was so surprised by the sudden turn the conversation took that she didn’t mask her features well enough. Vlad hadn’t touched on the subject again during her stay, despite the hours he spent at her side poring over work papers and discussing light topics with her like their shared interest in books. She honestly hadn’t expected him to bring up the subject of her shooter again, since he hadn’t said a word about it in twelve days. She thought maybe he was willing to let it go.
She dropped her eyes and said quickly, “There’s nothing to tell, Vladimir.”
He sighed heavily and flexed his stiff shoulders, rolling them beneath the expensive button-up shirt and took a step closer to her. Though she tried not to back away from him, she was nervous. “You play games with me, Jane. This is not a path you want to explore. Give me the name so I can end this for both of us. The man that nearly took your life cannot be allowed to enjoy breathing for one night more.”
"I don't know who shot me, Vlad!" Jane shouted at the man towering over her.
She was too angry now to be intimidated. She detested being questioned when she had already given an answer, perhaps a remnant from her police days. Though she wore little more than an over-sized shirt to cover her nakedness, she went toe to toe with her terrifying host. She was almost completely healed, but any pressure on the wound low on her belly caused slivers of pain to radiate through her abdomen and legs.
"Try again, Jane," he growled, stalking closer, crowding her against the edge of the king-sized bed. "I allowed you a reprieve while you healed, but no more. You lied to me once, don't do it again."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
His hand shot out and gripped her neck. Her hands automatically went up to snatch at his wrist, tugging uselessly against his hold. He didn't hurt her, but the implied strength in his fingers suggested that he easily could. She stood quietly, glaring up into his cold face. The only emotion he gave away was through the ripple of an involuntary muscle in his jaw that made his scar twitch. He brushed a finger across her forehead, sweeping aside her dark bangs so he could see her eyes properly. The gentleness of the action was strangely terrifying when compared to his grip on her throat.
"Tell me who shot you Jane, or I will make you tell me," he said menacingly.
Her chin went up and she glared furiously at him. She kept one hand locked on his wrist and used her other to push against his chest. Her fingers grazed the hard muscle under his buttoned shirt. The tattoos that flowed up his neck were a stark reminder of his connections. She knew that withholding the information he wanted was probably incredibly stupid. She decided to distract him instead by going on the attack.
"For all I know, it was you that shot me!" she snapped furiously, trying to suppress a quaver that threatened to ruin her plan. "You've been threatening me for months, trying to push me away from the truth. You had me kicked out of the police force so you could get me in your bed. I bet it was you lurking in the shadows, just waiting for your chance to shoot me. You said yourself all those months ago you’d take sick pleasure in hurting me and now you’ve brought me here so you can keep me under your thumb. You're just sick enough to do it, Sitnikov!”
Stupid Jane, she thought, accusing the kind mob boss who’s hosting me in his home of nearly killing me.
The only indication he gave that her words scored blood was through the stiffening of his fingers. They flexed against her throat. Not tightening, but definitely threatening her wellbeing in an elemental way. He stepped closer into her space until his body was flush against hers. She didn't know how it was possible, but her body – the part that craved his – sat up and took notice. He dropped his head until his lips nearly brushed her forehead. She inhaled deeply, taking in his scent of cigar and vodka.
"Is this really what you believe?" he asked chillingly. "That I would hurt you in such a cowardly fashion?"
She had to fight not to cower from the icily menacing look he gave her. She imagined the men that had crossed Vladimir Sitnikov being treated to the coldness in his voice right before they died horribly.
She licked her lips and stood her ground. "Isn't that how Dennis Yankovich died – a man who from all accounts was supposed to have been your friend for years? If that’s how you treat a friend, I can easily imagine you shooting the policewoman who pursued you with relentless determination. You ended my career with barely a thought, why wouldn’t you put a few bullets in me too?"
His body tensed from head to toe, as though he fought with himself not to strike her. She knew she was pushing him in a way that would mean instant death to anyone else. But she couldn't allow him to get to the truth. She had a right to investigate her own attempted murder and to confront the man that shot her. She knew if she gave up the information Sitnikov wanted that she would never be allowed to have that chance. He wanted to hide her away, to protect her. She had no choice but to refuse that protection, even if it meant lashing out at the beast that lay so close to his civilized surface.
"You know nothing of Dennis," he bit out.
"I know what I saw, Sitnikov," she snapped back. "And that was one hell of a grisly crime scene. Why shouldn't I fear for my life? You threaten me and kidnap me. You keep me here against my will. What have you done to make me think you don't intend to kill me eventually?"
"I have given you every luxury!" he snarled vehemently.
"Except my freedom!"
He ignored her. “And this is how you repay me? I have treated you with a delicacy I have given no other. I have given you a safe place from which to recuperate. You are pushing me woman, and you will not like the consequences. I will teach you to respect the freedoms I allow you."
She glared angrily up at him. "A jail is a jail, Sitnikov. Whether it has bars on the windows or silk sheets on the beds."
"You think so?" he asked in such a way that she knew she had finally managed to push him too far.
He dropped his iron hold on her neck and reached for her hand. Jane cried out as he turned abruptly and dragged her out the door. She had to run to keep up with his longer strides, an exercise that was particularly undignified in her current state of undress. She nearly lost her footing on the stairs down to the lower level, but Sitnikov's bruising grip kept her from tumbling head first down the hardwood steps.
Boris stood at the bottom, looking at them impassively. He didn't so much as raise a brow to indicate something out of the ordinary was happening, but he did speak in rapid Russian as they approached. Sitnikov grunted a short answer in the same language. Boris' sharp reply had Sitnikov halting. Jane tripped into his back, but he refused to let go of her hand. He turned and looked at Boris wi
th such chilling intensity that Jane gasped out loud. What had been said?
"You do not question me, ever," Sitnikov said with such quiet intensity it felt like the entire room held its breath in anticipation of an imminent bloodbath.
Boris stared hard at Sitnikov and then glanced at Jane. "She is injured still, boss. It would not be fair to punish her for careless spoken words."
Jane held her breath. Boris was trying to stop his boss from doing whatever it was he planned on doing to her in retaliation for accusing him of being the shooter. She wanted to thank the giant Russian, but decided his life was safer if she stood silently and studied the ceiling. The intricate architecture of the entire mansion was really quite absorbing.
"You continue to question me, brother?" Sitnikov asked, almost conversationally. The occupants of the room knew he was feeling anything but casual. He stepped closer to Boris, as he had done earlier with Jane. He was nowhere near as massive as the huge bodyguard, but the Boss had an air of deadly intensity that was enough to make even the most feral of beasts back down. "You wish to take your rightful place in the Bratva, become my opponent perhaps, take this corner of the new country from me?"
“Nyet," Boris replied quickly.
"Then you will never again question my actions, especially in regards to my woman." Sitnikov stepped back and Boris visibly relaxed his stance. It should have been laughable that the massive boulder of a man was concerned about anyone beating him in a fight. The fact that he feared Sitnikov didn't fill Jane with confidence.
Sitnikov turned away. "She will learn her rightful place."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sitnokov dragged her through the house without another word to Boris, who continued to stand stoically by the front doors. Jane was forced to hurry after Sitnikov, his iron grip on her wrist never slackening. She was confused when they exited the back of the house and glanced around her looking for where he might be headed. Her bare feet barely had time to touch the spongy grass as he pulled her mercilessly behind him toward the tree line far back on the property. Finally she saw it, the place he must be taking her too. It was a concrete wall with a door built into the side of a rise in the landscaping.
Savage Vendetta (Fire & Vice Book 4) Page 10