Beyond Taken (The Beyond Series Book 5)

by Ashley Logan

  "Yes."

  "Was this near the waterfall?"

  He nodded once. "Quite close. In a city that was, in many ways, recovering itself. It was a good place to rebuild myself. I was in good company."

  "Until you were not," I said, pushing up so I could see his face. "Why did you go back to a life of crime?"

  For a long time, he just looked at me.

  "An opportunity came up."

  "To what? Travel? Steal women, and kill bad guys? Your father?"

  His face remained unreadable for another long pause. "Yes."

  "But..."

  Huffing quietly, he rolled his eyes and looked away. "It's complicated. I can't explain it to you and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

  I sat up higher, glaring down at him.

  "Like you do not want to talk about the mysterious city of hope that you keep telling me about, but avoid telling me its name? Do you worry I might show up there once I get to America? You do not want me to? Is it because you plan to go back there to hide from them all - including that stupid Estonian stripper from the Moskva-Liis?"

  "Stop getting angry at me!"

  He gave me a stern look as he inched away. "You're not stupid, and you can't follow me if you're going there first. I just can't risk telling you before you leave, in case-"

  I gasped. "In case what? In case I get caught and tell everyone your secrets?"

  "Sort of. Yes," he admitted quietly before swiping the air with his hand in a dismissive way. "It won't happen; I'm just minimizing the risk."

  "I wouldn't tell!" I argued.

  "They'd make you."

  I stared at him and he continued.

  "They would. And if I couldn't save you, I'd have to kill you if you tried to tell my secrets. This is why I don't tell you things. You can't tell what you don't know, Natascha."

  Grinding my teeth, I studied this new version of the man in front of me. Stoic and restrained, he gave off a distinctly cold and professional vibe that almost rendered our previous relationship null and void. He wasn't being cruel, just stating facts, but it was as if he was talking to someone else and not the beloved Natascha that I thought I had become.

  I threw my hands in the air. "Who are you?"

  "Pardon?"

  I climbed off the bed, unable to keep from staring.

  "Pardon?" I reflected back to him the insanity of the polite, out of character phrase. "Who are you now? I do not know this man."

  Backing away towards the bathroom door, I hesitated. I hated viewing the bathroom as a sanctuary, but it was the only place available to me to seek space from him and there was something solid in knowing it was a bad place to be. The realities beyond the ventilation grate were brutal, but at least they were honest.

  He came after me; eyes softening and hand raising to cup my face.

  "Natascha."

  Taking another step back, I shook my head. "This man does not know me either."

  I opened the bathroom door and he pushed it shut.

  "No. We'll talk about this Natascha," he growled.

  Shrinking away from him, I shook my head. "I don't want to. You are scaring me."

  Shifting my mind into a different space, I blanked my expression, set my shoulders, lifted my chin and avoided his eyes.

  He stepped back abruptly. "Saskia?"

  Turning unseeing eyes in his direction, I waited behind my armor for whatever was wrong to pass.

  He swore and punched the wall, which only made him curse harder.

  Looking me up and down once more, he grabbed his jacket, pulling it on as he rushed for the door. It quickly locked twice behind him.

  I'd been left leaning against a wall for support and I slid down it slowly to sit in a heap on the unforgiving floor as I wondered what my imagination had been leading me to believe all this time. Of all the happenings in the last few months, I wondered how much I had made up in my head. What were the chances that I was making it all up to avoid a reality that was too disturbing to accept? I could have been Keeristorm myself, and just found a way to escape feeling it. People did that kind of thing. I'd heard about it.

  The mind is a powerful thing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  The door unlocked and Pachenko hulked through it into the dimness, ignoring me until he'd had a chance to remove his dirty clothes and wash his face to erase his other self. Nikolai perched at the end of the bed in his tank top and jeans as I turned up the light.

  "I'm sorry I scared you," he said softly, his kind eyes now deep pools of sadness. "I hate myself for bringing Saskia back."

  Lowering his head, he rubbed his face. "And I'm sorry you met the other guy. I'm crossing too many lines and they're getting tangled. I need to stop. I can't be Niko anymore, just Nikolai Pachenko. Nikolai will help you escape, but beyond this door I'll be Pachenko. We'll forget about any others. Okay?"

  He looked up at me through his lashes.

  "The new man. It was real?" I asked, my voice shaking.

  His eyebrows lifted and he regarded me carefully. "Part of me wants to say no, to save you any grief and make myself feel less guilt, but the truth is yes. It was real. I really am a complete and utter jerk playing a whole cast of assholes."

  "It is all real? Am I-"

  A crease formed between his brows. "You're real Natascha. Yes."

  "And you? Were you real? When you... Was your love real?"

  Swallowing visibly, he nodded. "My love is still very real."

  Nodding slowly, I took a deep breath and let it out as a wave of relief rolled through me. "Then I do not want to forget."

  Somewhere in his confusion to keep track of his roles, he'd lost himself again. I knew how to help get him back again. This was just a bump in the road.

  His brows drew together and he shook his head. "We have to forget them. There are too many and I'm not in control. It isn't safe."

  "But-"

  "We must Natascha." His tone was final. As he exhaled roughly, he dragged his hand through his hair, exposing his knuckles to me for the first time.

  Rushing forward on my knees, I grabbed his hand as he stood to escape me.

  "Did you put ice on this?" I asked, taking a closer look at his damaged hand. His knuckles were battered and slightly swollen and parts of his skin had been split. They weren't bleeding now, but they had been, recently.

  "Yes, I put ice on it." He tried to pull his hand away, but I clung to it.

  "Stop," he warned, using his other hand to peel my fingers from him.

  Those knuckles were damaged too and it was clear that he had not sustained these injuries from punching walls. I let go.

  "What did you do?"

  Whipping his hands away, he shoved them into his armpits to keep me from seeing them any longer.

  "Punished someone else for my own stupidity. I told you; I'm not in control. No more Natascha. Do you understand?"

  He looked about two seconds from pulling his hair out. Easing back to the other side of the bed, I nodded, scared of taking my eyes off him.

  "Please don't be afraid of me," he begged, intentionally loosening his posture. "I'll never hurt you."

  "You lie," I whispered. "I am hurting right now."

  Pressing his lips together firmly, he winced as if in pain. "I'm sorry. I won't hurt you anymore. I'll sleep in the chair and spend my days away from the cabin."

  "I don't want that."

  "It'll only be another week until you never have to do it again. We can do that for one more week Natascha. I need for that to happen and I can't do it without your help. We must. Do you understand?"

  "I don't like it."

  "Neither do I, but I can't do this any other way. I'm not strong enough."

  Frowning, I looked him up and down. Not only was he made of muscle, but he was the one controlling this situation and saying things to me that he didn't seem to want to say.

  "You are very strong."

  "Not strong enough to stay away from you if you ask me to stay," he e
xpanded, his eyes running over me, just as astutely as I had to him. Then he closed them. "I need you to help me be Pachenko by turning me down when I come to you."

  Opening his eyes, he cast a serious gaze over me. "I will come, Natascha. Even now - when I know that you're confused, and scared, and sort of hating me - the last thing I should be thinking is about holding you in my arms, but that's what I'm doing. It needs to stop, and I need you to remind me of that if I somehow find a way to make you forgive me. I'll respect your requests. Always."

  Opening my mouth to argue with him, I closed it again as his eyes pleaded with me. Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

  "I do not want you to come to me Niko. You make me angry, and sad, and afraid. I cannot trust in these things. I am done with your many names and different behaving. You will only return at night and you will sleep in the nasty chair. I am done with your kisses and your arms around my body. I do not want them."

  The words themselves held little meaning when my body reacted to even the thought of his kisses and his loving embrace. His eyes zeroed in on my hard nipples and he swallowed as roughly as I did.

  "You lie," he said, his voice hoarse. "You need to be stronger Natascha. I need to believe you."

  Folding my arms over my breasts, I raised my chin.

  "I am done," I repeated with more conviction than I felt. "I am done talking about it," I said, which was much more true. "Good night Pachenko."

  Curling up under the blankets, I tried not to cringe as the chair groaned under his weight behind me. I stared at the wall knowing my last week aboard the Moskva-Liis would be a long and lonely one. I could only hope for a happy ending beyond it.

  THE DAYS WERE LONG and difficult to bear. When we talked, I faced the wall and he sat in the chair and it was almost as if we'd never been in each other's arms.

  Almost.

  I would tune out as he went over the plan for the hundredth time and imagine he was saying other things; sweeter things, and that his words were caressing me. I could feel them playing over my skin, lapping at my edges and sending tingles down my spine.

  It really was quite amazing what I could imagine when I put my mind to it.

  One step further than feeling his words, was imagining his touch itself. Real memories made it easier to convince my mind it was really happening. Easier still was to picture him in my mind as my own hands swept my hair behind my ear and trailed lightly down my jaw.

  His touch was always so warm and gentle. Except when it wasn't. I liked it then too - the way his fingers would dig into my flesh a little as he fought to keep from claiming me. On some levels he knew I wanted to be claimed, but he never took it too far. Instead he'd feed me little bits of what I desired until they added up to the same thing. A firm tweak on my nipple; his teeth on my shoulder; his firm grip on my hips as he pushed inside me.

  "Natascha?"

  "Mm," I mumbled agreeably. I loved the way he said my name. The mixture of his accents made some words surprising and my name was one he almost seemed to whisper at the same time as giving it strength. Whenever he used it, I wanted him to say it again.

  "Natascha."

  "Yes," I answered on a sigh as my body reacted.

  A sharp screeching noise startled me back to reality and I whipped my head around to see his chair falling backwards as he towered above the bed. Breathing hard, his eyes were dark with hunger and... anger?

  "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, throwing his hands in the air and storming to the bathroom before I could say anything.

  I'm not sure what I would have said had he stayed long enough to hear my response.

  Touching myself and pretending it was you? Apparently, he already knew that, or he wouldn't have reacted as he had.

  Sighing at myself, I vowed not to daydream again when he was present. I sat up to await his return so I could apologize.

  "I am sorry," I said as soon as the door cracked open. "I did not mean to. I was dreaming. Awake-dreaming, but just dreaming," I said in a rush as he pulled the door shut behind him. "I did not mean anything by it, I just forgot myself. Forgot... where I was. I... sorry."

  His movements were labored as he righted his chair and then sagged into it. Shaking his head, he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. Reaching for his flask, he took what I assumed to be a restorative sip before re-capping it, then he fumbled around in his pockets until he produced his iPod.

  "We're done for the night," he said without even looking at me as he pressed in his earphones. He closed his eyes, shutting down any potential communication between us unless I went to him.

  He didn't want me to go to him.

  Lying back down, I kept my eyes on his face, hoping he'd give me some sign that he'd accepted my apology. I fell asleep without knowing and when I awoke, he was gone.

  I KEPT BUSY TO KEEP my mind off so many things I didn't wish to think about. Pachenko, Nikolai, Niko, the other guy, my impending escape attempt and possible failure or success; both of which would have entirely overwhelming consequences. I didn't feel like singing, but I danced out my frustrations until I was slick with sweat and then I spent far too long in the bathroom doing every possible task from toothbrushing to painting my toenails, just to spend less time in the stifling cabin.

  There were noises through the vent, but none of them were feminine in nature and I found I could even relax a little, knowing nobody was being raped next door.

  At one stage there were two men talking and I had a quiet chuckle to myself as I interpreted their foreign language into a discussion about which outfits they were going to wear to the tea party they were planning. It didn't work very well, because they sounded too grumpy to be discussing tea and fashion, but it was still easier to think about than the more sinister things they might actually be plotting.

  When I heard the name Pachenko, my ears sharpened and I stared at the vent as if it would give me more information. They were not mentioning his name with kindness, nor did they sound in awe of his epic strength or handsome face. Their tone had sent a chill through my body.

  Rushing back to the cabin, I grabbed a blanket to wrap around myself and returned to perch upon the toilet seat in case they said anything more.

  That is where Pachenko found me when he finally arrived home.

  Giving me a strange, slightly annoyed look as he came in to wash his face, he eyeballed the vent as he patted himself dry.

  It had been quiet for hours, so I returned to the cabin and waited on the bed for him to follow.

  He didn't shut the bathroom door. Leaving it wide open, he slumped into his chair and pulled his iPod from his pocket.

  Jumping off the bed, I shut the door myself and when he closed his eyes and refused to look at me, I stormed across the room and ripped the speaker buds from his ears.

  "You will want to hear what I have to say," I informed him as I threw them in his lap and retreated to the blanket I'd cast off on the bed.

  The look in his eyes could have set me on fire - in a bad way.

  "Let me explain," I said, calming down and holding up my hands. "The men next door hate you. I heard them say your name. Pachenko's name," I clarified, not at all sure that I wasn't talking to him. "I did not understand what they said, but it did not sound like good things."

  His eyebrow remained subdued and he offered a one-sided shrug.

  "That's not surprising." He reached for his earphones again and I held up my hand.

  "Wait." Pulling my notebook from inside the blanket, I opened it to the page on which I'd made my notes. "What does this mean?" I asked, reading out what one of the men had said.

  He frowned in concentration as I read my probably bad interpretation of his language, then he laughed.

  "Yuri is pissing blood. This is not surprising, Natascha. I didn't treat him gently yesterday."

  I stared at him a moment, piecing that information together. "He is who you hurt your hands on?"

  "Yeah, but don't feel bad for him. He's a disgust
ing man. As you know," he added more quietly as his expression became more serious.

  "Yes," I agreed. "He is lucky you did not kill him."

  "I can't kill him, so smashing his kidneys will have to do for now." Smiling slightly, he nodded at me and lifted his earphones as if asking for permission to continue with the task of ignoring me.

  "No," I said, getting annoyed. I turned the page in my notebook and read the next thing I'd written. When I looked up at him, he'd shifted forward in his seat. Gesturing for me to continue, he watched me with intensity.

  I read the next bit, and when he still looked as interested, I read everything I had. When I was done, he gestured for my notebook.

  I looked down at the nonsense I'd written. It wasn't Russian, only what Russian had sounded like to me. Frowning, I handed it to him.

  "I do not think you will be able to read it. What did I say?"

  Just shaking his head in response, he flicked back through the pages. His brow furrowed as he squinted at my scribbles and he passed it back to me.

  "Again."

  Eying him warily, I read the whole thing again, watching his face as much as I could. It didn't help. I could glean no information from his expression when he'd purposely kept it neutral.

  "What time did this happen?"

  I looked down at the pages and shrugged. "I do not know how to mark time," I whispered. "After my second meal and exercise and washing. Before my third meal would normally be, but I did not eat." I pointed to the remaining portion of food on the desk. "Some hours before you returned. Maybe four? Six?" I shook my head and fought the rising pitch of my voice. "I cannot know."

  His eyes softened and he made little shushing noises.

  "What did I say?" I asked again, unable to keep my voice from shaking. "Is bad? Is very bad," I answered myself.

  Calm as still water, he stood. "It's not for you to worry about Natascha." Placing a hand gently on my shoulder, he offered some comfort as he sat on the edge of the bed. "Lie down and rest. I have to go and see about something, but I'll be back soon."

  Encouraging me to lie down, he tucked me in securely and rubbed soothing circles over my back, but as he stood to leave, I sprang back up.