He needed to remember the anger. His reason for waking her. Fucking his wife could wait a few minutes, until he was satisfied with her answers. His dark eyes caressed her fearful features, taking in the soft cheeks, the sweep of her fluttering lashes, the terror clouding her jewel-like eyes. She shook beneath him, her fists coming up protectively for a second before he shoved them down and settled his heavier frame more securely against hers. He loved the new softness of her curves. He could feel the peaks of her tight little nipples rising up against him through the thin fabric of his shirt.
“I am going to ask you questions, Natasha,” he said calmly, his voice dripping with ice. “It will be in your best interest to answer promptly and truthfully. Nod if you understand, my love.”
Her breath caught for a moment and she watched his face with unbridled fear. After a moment, she jerked her head forward and then back in a quick nod, knocking her chin against his fingers where they flexed against the slim column of her throat. The fear - it was what he thought he wanted from her. Yet for some reason he felt unsatisfied. As though it wasn’t enough… or he wanted something else from her. Something he couldn’t define.
He gave himself an internal shake and called up the soldier once more. It didn’t matter what he thought he wanted. It was enough that he was allowing her to live. He needed answers and his wife needed to learn obedience. They would have to find a way to continue, together, if she were to survive by his side. He frowned and forced himself to move forward on the path he had started when he woke her. Forced himself to rekindle the anger.
His dark eyes met hers, penetrating her, daring her to lie. “Why did you follow me that night in Versailles?”
A tremor ran through her body, hard enough to shake even his heavy frame. She opened her mouth to answer him, but the hand around her throat prevented her from speaking. Her eyes pleaded for mercy. He had none to give, but he eased his grip enough that she could draw in a deep breath and give him the answer he sought.
“I thought you were with another woman. I-I couldn’t stand the thought and decided to see for myself,” she whispered the words quickly, dropping her gaze.
David was so startled he nearly dropped his hand from her throat. Another woman? The very idea was absurd. Before Natasha, women had been few and far between. They were nuisances and only served a single basic purpose when he was feeling so inclined. Usually after a kill, when his adrenaline was high. Once he’d acquired a wife, other women became no longer necessary. Yet, gazing down at his young wife, he could well imagine the lines along which her immature, sheltered brain would have thought. Her older, well-traveled husband often disappeared at odd times of day and night without explanation, expecting his young, obedient wife to simply wait for him. He should have realized, eventually, curiosity would have gotten the better of her. It was such a simple, ridiculous, cliché explanation that David almost wanted to kick his own ass for his stupidity.
He shook his head and gritted his teeth, glaring down at the woman that had ended their happiness on one idiotic move. “We made love twice that night, Natasha. How do you think it was possible for me to go from your insatiable bed straight into the arms of another woman?”
It took a few seconds, but understanding flared bright with a lovely blush to stain her cheeks. She stammered, “I-I wasn’t thinking. Just th-that you kept leaving without telling me where you were going. I was jealous and I wanted to know where you were going.”
He sighed deeply and shook his head. “Well you found out, didn’t you?”
She nodded her head miserably, knocking her chin against his hand once more. Memory etched itself across her expressive features and he knew she was replaying the terrifying moment he had put a bullet in the brain of Peter Vronsky, a paid hit and the reason for their unexpected trip to France. The hit had started out like any other. He’d followed the mark through the chilly streets, following him from the local pub where Peter had imbibed his final drink and was heading back to his flat. David had turned the corner behind him into a narrow roadway with no traffic. He had been in a bad mood that night, annoyed at having to leave Natasha’s luxurious arms to do the bidding of a faceless boss. Rather than making the hit a swift one, he’d allowed this victim to see it coming. He’d given Peter a chance to beg for his life, thus giving Natasha a chance to see the man plead pathetically before David had put a bullet in his heart and as he fell, another in his head.
David frowned, his dark eyes flickering over her anguished features as the memory terrorized her. “I never saw you,” he murmured, his face darkening in confusion. “I see everything.”
“You didn’t look up,” she whispered. “You crouched next to him. Ch-checking him f-for something. I don’t know what. I just turned and ran after… after you…”
She couldn’t finish and he didn’t insist. He remembered now. He had been tasked with sending Vronsky’s wallet to the person who’d ordered the job. A sort of prize, perhaps. Or maybe there was something in the wallet. David didn’t particularly care. He’d completed the job, lifted the wallet and walked calmly away from his kill, never hearing the patter of a young dancer’s feet as she fled into the night. If he had, then he might have caught her. Might never have lost those years.
Tears leaked from her eyes, terror bright as vivid memories continued to crash through her brain. “Hush, my love,” he said, his accent stronger than usual. Using the edge of his thumb he captured one of her tears. These were new to him and he found he did not enjoy it when she cried. He changed the subject in an attempt to shift her focus. “Tell me, how did you get out of Versailles so quickly? I would have only been steps behind you when you reached the hotel.”
A new kind of trepidation flashed through her eyes and her lips trembled. He gave her a stern look. “The truth, Natasha,” he said, his voice soft steel.
She nodded slightly and licked her lips. He followed the movement.
“I ran all the way back to the hotel room without pausing once,” she whispered, bravely holding his gaze. “I knew you would be close behind me. I tried not to panic, but I was so frightened. I had never seen anything so… so terrifying in my entire life. The Bolshoi, it could be disturbing sometimes, but I was protected. Cushioned from the seemlier aspects. What you did to that man… it was…”
David nodded and caressed her cheek with his thumb. She jerked her face away from him, as much as she could within the grip he still had on her neck. He found he regretted her fear of his touch. “You realized you couldn’t stay with me,” he said quietly.
She nodded slightly and without realizing, switched back to Russian, her words coming faster now, “Da, you were suddenly a stranger. I knew you would take one look at me and see the terror within. You would know I had witnessed the truth of your… your profession or whatever. I had no choice but to run. I grabbed only my rings and a few clothes. I left my phone behind because I thought you would track it. Knowing you wouldn’t be far behind me and not wanting to run into you, I hid around a corner until you passed into the hotel. Then I left for good. I ran to a 24-hour pawn shop and sold my wedding rings for cash, then took the first train out of Versailles.”
His hand tightened on her face, gripping her cheek and jaw. His nostrils flared as he pictured her watching him from the shadows in the middle of the night. It was disconcerting. He was the killer that stalked the shadow. How the fuck had he not noticed his small wife flitting through the darkness, chasing him through the streets toward his kill and then running from him? He’d made a colossal mistake that night and then spent two years paying for it.
Now it was her turn.
Ice edged the darkness of his eyes as he caressed her frightened features. “But no one of your description boarded a train that morning or at all the next day, Natasha. Try again. I want truth only to pass these lips.”
A tiny tremor shook her. Her eyes begged him to believe her. “I bought a grey wig and a cane at the pawn shop and make-up at an all night pharmacy. I’m used to making mys
elf up for the stage, David. By the time I was done, my own mother would not have recognized me.”
“I must admit, I did not credit you for such intelligence, my love. Especially when fear could have easily clouded your decisions.”
She shrugged slightly, loosening his grip a little. He allowed it for the moment. “I knew I had to make every move count. You were already invincible in my mind. Older than me, smart, cold and very much a man of the world. Once I found out you were also a… a criminal… I knew if I made a misstep that it would be only a matter of time before you caught up with me and…”
“Yes,” he cut her off. He dropped his gaze toward her naked breasts, giving her the impression it was his use for her body that was his reason for keeping her alive. She did not need to know of his internal conflict just yet. The less ammunition his little runaway had the better.
“Who was that man?” she whispered, taking him off guard.
He should have realized eventually she would want to know about the mark. His wife had a tender heart. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he was attracted to her. She was the opposite of him. She had passion, heart and beauty within her small frame. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
He felt her fists clench in the bedding beside her prone body where they were trapped by his bigger body. “It matters to me,” she said, tilting her chin, a spark of uncharacteristic anger flashing through her eyes.
Or perhaps, not so uncharacteristic any more. After all, his dancer had been caring for herself for two years. She’d had to become tougher, harder. He found he did not mind this new edge to his wife, though he would have to crush it, swiftly, brutally. It would be a shame. But he couldn’t have a disobedient woman.
He raised an eyebrow. Fine. She wanted to know what a cold bastard she married, then he would give her the truth. She would find out eventually anyway. “He was a mark. A man named Peter. He was on his way home from his usual drink at his usual bar.”
Her breathing hitched and her thin eyebrow wrinkled. “W-was he bad? What did he do to deserve death, David?”
“He was a mark,” David repeated.
“B-but, I don’t understand,” she insisted, her eyes begging him for more. “Why would you kill him, unless he did something…”
He held her gaze, watching as understanding dawned. Any hope she had that he might be something more, something better, dimmed. Tears of anguish flooded her perfect, stormy eyes. She struggled to free her arms so she could push him away. He allowed her to bring her arms up, only so he could lift his own body away from hers. He used the leverage to sit up on top of her and begin to remove his clothing.
“You monster!” she yelled at him, hitting her fists against his chest and arms.
He calmly grasped her wrists together in one hand while pulling his collared shirt off with the other. She cried out and twisted beneath him, bucking her body up in an attempt to dislodge him. Though he would have preferred his wife willing, he found all her twisting and panting… alluring. He was angry that she’d sold her wedding rings, but they were replaceable. If she had sold her body for an escape route, he could not be answerable for the wrath that would come down on her head. He still needed to hear of her every move over the past two years from her lips, but for now, his need of her was too much to be denied.
He unlatched his belt, allowing her to feel the metal of the buckle and the slide of leather against her smooth hip. She shuddered underneath him and struggled harder, turning herself over on the bed so her back was against his chest. He pulled his zipper down and shoved his pants down his thighs while yanking her wrists behind her back and forcing her to arch into the bedding if she didn’t want him to wrench her shoulders.
“You bastard!” she yelled. “What if he had a family? What if you killed a man with a wife and children? A mother and father? Do you have enough of a heart to even think of things like that?”
Was she still on about what’s his name… Vronsky?
Blyad… all he wanted to do was sink balls deep into his wife’s wiggling body and she was screeching about a man that had been dead for two years. He grabbed her by the arms and flipped her over, slamming her against the mattress with enough force to stop her struggles for a moment. He shoved a knee between her thighs and settled his naked body against hers, showing her how well they still fit together. Every inch of his hard, cut muscles settled against her soft skin. He stared into her defiant blue eyes and spoke clearly, his heavily accented voice caressing each word with the darkness that was always a part of him.
“The man I killed did have a wife and children, Natasha. I did my research on the man, to know who he was, understand how he moved. He always went to the bar for a drink before going home,” David shrugged carelessly. “If for some reason, she was with him that night, then I would have had to make two kills, which would have been unfortunate as I was only paid for one.”
She shuddered violently underneath him and pressed her hands against his shoulders in an attempt to push him off. David took her wrists in one hand and stretched them over her head, pressing them into the halo of dark hair that spilled across the pillow beneath her head. She glared up at him.
“As to your second accusation, it is true, I do not usually have a heart. Only one thing has ever stirred my senses, Natasha.” The look in his obsidian eyes told her exactly what that one thing was.
“You make me sick!” she spat, fear fleeing in the face of her overwhelming disgust for him.
The only indication that her words hit the target was the slight tightening of his fingers around her wrists and the almost nonexistent twitch of his lips, the scar whitening. His breathing didn’t change. He continued to look down at her with cold intent. Finally, after holding her for an endless minute, until her shoulders ached from strain, he said in a voice that chilled her to her core, “I think, my love… I can very much prove that I do not make you sick.”
Chapter Fourteen
Her heart hammered unevenly as he stared down at her with those cold, terrifying eyes. The way he held her made her realize that, despite his words, nothing could touch his heart. He was hurting her now, both physically and mentally. And she knew before the night was over, he intended to hurt her even more. The only weapon she had left was her words.
“Please, David,” she begged him. “Please don’t do this! I’ll hate you, if you do.”
He ignored her, lowering his face to her jaw and nuzzling the tender skin. He released a sound somewhere between a sigh and grunt, a sound of deep pleasure at having his wife once more in his possession. He stiffened against her and she realized he hadn’t meant to make any sound. It was like he was at war with himself and his feelings and she was going to pay for his confusion. He reached down and took her thigh in a bruising grip, lifted it against his hip and hooked it there. He swept his palm down her body, warming her all over.
He touched her all over without touching the one part of her that needed to be touched. She quivered in his arms, wanting desperately to remain cold and unmoving beneath him. But her body responded as though the past two years never existed. She hadn’t been touched intimately by anyone except this man. He’d trained her to want only his touch, and now only he could bring her back to life. A single tear trickled from the corner of her eye. She turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her weakness, but of course David would never allow her to hide. Not now that he had her under his hands once more.
He took her jaw and forced her face up to his, licking the evidence of her fear and anger from her face. Taking the tear with his tongue before tracing her lips and plundering the recesses of her mouth in a quick, savage kiss that stung her tender flesh. When he raised his head, his dark eyes were triumphant for a split second before reverting to their usual coldness.
He spoke inches away from her lips, one hand still holding her wrists while the other continued to toy with her body. “I was taken as a baby and raised to become a professional soldier. It was a hard childhood because I had to become
a hard man. I made my first kill when I was ten.”
She jerked against his hold, her elbows trying to come down. He wouldn’t let her move out of his hold. Her eyes told him her every thought. She couldn’t suppress the compassion she felt for him, the horror of his experience, being taken as a baby, forced into a life of murder.
His fingers tightened painfully around her wrists making her gasp. He shook their joined hands into the bed. “You do not feel sorry for me in that soft little heart, Natasha. Do you hear me? I enjoyed my first kill and many since. I do not get the thrill of the hunt that I used to experience, but I certainly do not feel my childhood was stolen.”
Still she looked at him with a mixture of pity and horror, remembering the trepidation she had felt when she’d been sold to the Bolshoi and told to dance pretty for the pleasure of audiences. Night after night, year after year, she’d twirled and twirled, turning her feet into a bloody mess, forced to vomit up half the things she ate to keep a svelte competition ready body. David had also been taken, but at a much younger age. He’d been twisted and turned just as she had. His heart never stood a chance of surviving such brutality. It was a miracle he could even feel anything for her.
She cried out as he finally reached between their bodies and pressed one long finger deep into her body. She hadn’t been expecting the invasion and tried arching her back against the overly tight feeling, but his heavy body held her trapped against the mattress. His touch brought her body ruthlessly to life though, giving him the slick entry he needed to ease his way.
The Assassin's Wife Page 10