“Military?” I ask, surprised he’s even answering any of my questions. I take a bite of something I don’t have a name for, but mostly I’m finding myself curious. He hasn’t actually hurt me or put me in any danger, though I know better than to trust him. At least, my brain knows. The rest of my body wants to take in everything he tells me.
“Spetsnaz,” he says, nodding his head before downing almost his entire glass of water in a few gulps. “We were like your Navy Seals in a way,” he says, those dark eyes of his searching out mine as he explains things to me like a patient teacher. “We went where soldiers know better than to go. Did things they could not. You understand?” he asks, and he’s waiting. Watching. Wanting to know if I truly do understand.
Is it meant to be taken as a threat?
I try not to flinch under his hard stare, and suck in a deep breath. I will not let this man intimidate me.
“You’re a badass. I get it.”
“So you should understand that you’re safer here with me than on your own out there,” he says, speaking calmly as he points to the door. “There are men after you as we speak. I have confirmed it for myself.”
“Listen, I might be cute, but I’m not so cute that anyone’s going to be after me,” I say, masking my fear with sarcastic humor. I don’t know if he’s really being serious, but something in his eyes tell me he is. But I can’t just hide in here the rest of my life.
He laughs at me just a little and continues to eat a moment before speaking.
“By no fault of your own, you have been a part of something ugly. I wish it was not so, but I can’t change what’s already done. Your boss is dead,” he says, the proclamation rather brusque and pointed. “A man like him simply doesn’t die and go unnoticed, nyet? And it is too important to leave open to question. The kind of questions a surviving witness can raise.”
“I didn’t witness anything!”
“It does not matter,” he says, and I see his thick forearm swell through his sweater as he clenches his fist. “It only matters what they think you witnessed,” he explains to me, his voice getting darker, more serious. “Do you think someone has a congressman killed without wanting to make very sure it never comes back to him, hmm?” he says, his eyes boring into me with their intensity.
It sends a shiver down my spine, and I swallow hard.
“I can’t stay here forever. What are you going to do to me?”
“To you?” he asks, eyes wide before he laughs and looks away. “Nothing. But I do not send pretty, young women to their deaths. No matter how dense in the head they’re being,” he adds, that patience eked away a little as he puffs up his broad chest and sighs.
“I’m not dense. But how many kidnapped women have you saved that are just totally fine with being your captive, huh?”
He gives a light, exasperated sigh and finishes off another generous bite before looking back at me.
“I do not make a habit of this, if it’s what you’re meaning. You are the first. But too much time and money had been sunk into getting the target where he was needed to be. If I didn’t do the job then, a messier hit would’ve happened as they all left, and you’d be dead instead of complaining,” he says, revealing all that info so calmly.
A storm is brewing within me, emotions surfacing that I didn’t know even lingered beneath my skin. My heart pounds, and I stare at the man ahead of me. I know what he meant about what he did. He killed people. He still does.
I’m here, having a quaint little dinner with what is possibly the sexiest killer in the world. Not that I know a lot of killers. Any, actually, before him.
My skin flushes, and for a second, I feel like I’m going to be sick again, but I swallow it back as I force myself to stand. Tears are stinging my eyes, but I blink them away, fury and terror swirling within me.
“You want me to thank you or something, Mikhail? Is that what this whole dinner business is about?”
He takes one of the napkins in hand, unfurls it, and calmly wipes his mouth.
“I do not want your thanks or your gratitude,” he says, still sitting there at the table. “What I want is for you to sit tight until it is safe for you to go. Or until I figure out where you can go that won’t get you killed,” he says, looking right at me with those dark eyes of his.
The eyes of a murderer.
He should make me sick. He does make me sick. So why am I so drawn to him, and what does that say about me? Normal girls don’t feel drawn to their murdering kidnapper.
I take in another deep breath of air as I continue to stare at him.
“I’m not staying here. If you were supposed to kill me and you didn’t, they’re going to be looking at where you led them. It’s only a matter of time before they find this place, if they don’t already know of it.”
I have no idea who they are, or if I’m correct, but I’m taking a giant stab in the dark in order to gain my freedom. To plead with him for a way out.
His brows furrow a little, and he looks at me.
“Only a handful of men in this city know who did the hit. You’re sitting with one. The others are all well under my influence,” he says with that stoic gaze of his, unflinching and serious. “And furthermore, they do not know about this place. This is my safe house. A place where nobody in my life knows how to get to. Where if everyone in the world turned on me, I could come here and last out a long, long wait. This place,” he says, jabbing his long index finger into the table, “is my insurance. And now, it is yours.”
I hate that somehow, he’s making me feel bad for taking this all for granted, and I fidget under his hard stare.
“People… people who hire hitmen don’t just forget about murder witnesses. I’ve seen the movies, you know. The ones where people are sitting and having breakfast twenty years after the fact, and they get a gun in their face. This is never going to leave me.”
His broad jaw sets tight, and he looks at the food, taking a deep breath.
“I’ve told them that there were no witnesses. That you must have left the scene before I hit. The local boss is paranoid and wants to take you out just in case,” he explains, turning his gaze towards me, staring hard. “But when you don’t show up for a while, and nothing comes of it…you will be forgotten. Business moves on, as usual. As it must,” he explains firmly.
I shift forward. This is dumb. I shouldn’t be getting closer to him. I shouldn’t be placing my hand on his jaw, my fingers caressing him tenderly.
And the worst part is I don’t even know if it’s all just a ploy to get him to let me go or if I just want to touch him. To know he’s real, to feel that stubble beneath my palm.
“You’re trying to do the right thing,” I say more softly, and I truly believe that’s what he thinks he’s doing. Hell, maybe that is what he’s doing. Maybe, beneath that gruff exterior and hard gaze and that gun on his hip, he really is my knight in shining armor.
My fingers trace back over his jaw towards that red scar on his face, and I watch as his rugged features contort into a look of curiosity. He’s almost as confused by my actions as I am.
“I am not a school boy to be manipulated,” he says, his voice a little quieter. “I am looking after you, not because I’m out to be the hero. Not because I expect some big thank-you.” He reaches up and wraps his hand about my wrist, that grasp of his so tight as he rises up to tower over me again. “I saved you because I wanted to. I’ll keep you alive because that’s my desire. It is no more complicated than that, and I expect nothing else than for this to end with you alive and well, if cranky.”
My breathing quickens despite myself as my gaze is forced upwards. He’s just a hair’s breadth away from me, and if I leaned forward just a little, my chest would be pressed against his abs. It’s tempting, for all the wrong reasons.
“Why did you want to save me?” I ask, surprised at how quiet and shaky my voice has become.
He’s still holding my hand, and though I can no longer touch his jaw where he keeps it, I cou
ld reach out, touch that broad, hard chest of his if I wanted. If I wasn’t quaking before the towering Russian.
But that question seems to stump him a little, or maybe he’s just not sure if he wants to be honest, because he doesn’t answer right away.
“Because I chose to, that’s all there is to it,” he says, releasing my arm. But even this stoic brute doesn’t do a good job of hiding the truth this time, because I can tell there’s more.
It hangs between us, but I don’t push. Not this time. Not if I hope to see him let me go from my prison cell.
And do what? That voice in the back of my mind nags at me. I want to be free just because I don’t like being trapped, but even I understand the risks, if those men are actually after me. But on the outside, there’s people I can go to for help. People I know and trust.
“I can’t stay here, Mikhail,” I say softly. I don’t know if it frightens me more to stay with him or leave, but at least on the outside, I’m free.
“But you have to all the same,” he says to me with a tone of finality, stepping around me and going right for the door. “There’s plenty of leftovers, and more food in the cupboards and fridge,” he reminds me, but I don’t care about those things.
“Wait!” I say, and try to follow after him, tugging at the door. But it’s no use, he pulls it shut tight against my resistance, undaunted by my feeble attempts to stop him. And it slams shut. Leaving me alone inside.
“Damn it,” I curse, and I find myself staring at the closed door, picturing him on the other side, filled with a sense of longing that definitely should not exist. I can still feel the imprint of his hand on my wrist, and I touch it tenderly before my heart drops and I return to my bland captivity without the spark of his presence.
Mikhail
She’s a pain in the ass.
So why am I putting myself out on the line for her? I don’t kill women, I tell myself. No different than my sticking up for Nikita years ago.
But that doesn’t mean I have to go out of my way to save her. I could have just dumped her off somewhere with a warning, leave her fate in her own hands. But I know a girl like her has no way of understanding the trouble she’s in, nor how serious it is. Ditching her anywhere with a simple warning would have been the same as a death sentence. That’s all.
Why did I just sit and eat dinner with her? That’s a question I can’t answer as easily. I’ve never sat down and ate a meal with Nikita, not in all the years since I helped her upon arrival. When she was emaciated and starving after her trip over, I brought her food and left her to it.
I can’t even remember the last time I actually sat and spoke with a woman casually over dinner. I may not hurt women, but I don’t deal with them either.
Yet this one…
I have to get her out of my life quickly.
Alicia
Things were so quiet in my little hideaway-slash-prison that I just cried myself to sleep after a news report about the murder of the congressman and the search for a missing witness. Me.
That’s why it struck me as so odd, I guess, when I awake from my nap to the sound of movement. I’m put on edge immediately, because it could be anyone. Maybe it’s my captor come back, or maybe it’s the police. Or worst of all, it might be those mobsters out to eliminate the last witness.
That last possibility is the one that sticks out in my mind so much and makes my heart thump noisily in my chest, because it’s the stuff my tortured dreams had been made of all night.
I get up, still dressed in the simple silk nightdress I’d found in the closet, my bare feet padding over the hard floor as I make my way out of the room.
I can hear the sounds, but they aren’t coming from inside. It’s like the sound of scuffing, mixed with the sound of metal. My heart is going haywire, and I creep closer to the door to hear. Light streams in from underneath, along that very narrow crack.
Grunting.
Oh lord, what if there’s a fight happening outside my door right now?
I want to run and hide, but I know if they’re here for me, hiding is only delaying the inevitable. If I’m going to live, I need to run.
But the door is locked…
I reach out with trembling fingers towards that cold metal door knob, and gently wrap my hand around it. I do my best to be quiet, but I’m no pro. I only hope the scuffle outside keeps them distracted as I turn…
And it opens. It’s not locked.
I’m more surprised than thankful at first, but I very slowly open the door and peer out. The light blinds me for a second, but I squint through. Outside is a large brick hallway, and it seems to be empty but for the light spilling out of the room across the hall.
I creep out, my bare feet helping me stay quiet as I look to the elevator at the very end of the hallway. My heart leaps for joy!
But now, curiosity is getting the better of me, and I peer into the room across the hall. There, my captor awaits.
His back is mostly turned, but he’s alone. All alone. The sounds I heard seem to be him working out. The room itself is just a bare-bones chamber, filled with gym equipment. Weights, pull-up bar, and more. But there he is, almost naked but for a pair of black boxer-briefs clinging to his thick thighs and groin.
I’m hypnotized watching him, frankly. He pulls himself up as those glistening muscles bulge, biceps swelling so large as he seamlessly hoists up then eases himself back down, all control. He’s well over six feet tall, and must weigh in excess of 200lbs of sheer muscle, but he moves with a certain grace that comes with that practiced workout.
He’s engrossed in his routine, and now is the time to make my getaway…but here I am, staring at him instead. Gawking like a schoolgirl seeing a hunk working out for the first time. And in some ways, that feels so true. Because no guy I’ve seen before looks anything like this Mikhail.
He’s tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome, sure. Ripped from head to toe, yeah. But those scars, those strange tattoos of his…all so unique. I can’t deny the attraction and the curiosity I feel about him. Especially not since I’m standing here instead of running out into the street and finding my way home, like I should be doing.
I don’t know if it’s just the stress of the past few days, either, but watching him work out is getting me hornier than all hell. Not that cute kind of horny after a drink or two, or when you’re with someone new. This is more primal than either of those things, and I catch the scent of his fresh sweat in the air, and that only helps to ignite the fire burning within me.
Everything he’s told me has been the truth. He’s been protecting me from someone far worse than him. But he’s a killer. The conflicting thoughts swirl within me and then fade away to pure, simple, easy passion.
I can make a run for it.
Or I could walk into his gym, grab him through his boxer briefs, and work out my aggression on his body.
Part of my decision gets made for me, however, because with a grunt, he lets himself drop once more and speaks up.
“Are you going to stand there all day?” he asks in that deep, dark voice of his, so rich and delicious you could drizzle it over pancakes.
He hadn’t needed to so much as turn to see me, and I can only presume my time spent staring gave me away somehow. But when his eyes turn towards me, so deep and smoldering, I feel a little weak in the knees.
Okay, a lot weak in the knees. Not even just the shock of him seeing me, but the way his body gleams with perspiration, and his gaze is locked on mine. Everything about him and his body calls out to me, and even though I should resist, I take a step forward.
And then another.
It’s like I’m under his spell, though even I know it’s only the spell of lust. Of frustration warped into desperate arousal.
Hearing the news report and knowing he was telling the truth, knowing that I’m really in danger, makes me want to feel alive. And this man, this killer, is the only one I know who can do that.
“You left my door unlocked.”
He
delays, and when finally says:
“Must have been an accident.”
I know he’s lying to me. It’s easy to tell, because it’s the first lie he’s told. And while he might be the best killer on the planet for all that I’ve seen, he sucks at lying.
“You learn to spot a liar, working in a politician’s office,” I say, and he furrows his brow.
I’m in the presence of a military trained killer in better physical condition than any man I’ve ever met. Standing right in front of his glistening, hard body, and I just called him a liar to his face.
“You really know how to try my patience,” he says, but instead of turning away, he grabs me. Both hands. That strong grip of his taking hold of each hip as he pulls me right up against him. “What is it about you?” he growls in frustration, his voice so dark as his words rumble out, those eyes staring through me. Only the thin fabric separates us, and he’s oh so close.
He feels amazing. Powerful and terrifying, all at once. The type of guy I should be running from, not the one that I should be subtly grinding against, but I can’t help it. My hips work of their own accord, his hands gripping them but not impeding my motions. He could, if he wanted to.
I don’t doubt that he could do nearly anything he wanted to to me. I’ve worked with a congressman, but Mikhail has real power. Not just physical power, but his personality, his control…
“What else do I do to you?”
Did I really just ask that?
His answer doesn’t come like I expected though, it comes in the form of a throb. A heated pulse through his loins that swells out against me. His member rising beneath that thin layer of cotton over his groin, and rising fast.
He doesn’t have any more words for me, because he reaches up with one hand, grasps the back of my hair, and tilts my head to the side.
He’s in control now, there’s no doubt of that, as there’s no doubting the effect I’m having on his dick, and he lunges down, biting my neck, making me gasp, kissing at me with a desperate, carnal energy. To confirm, his other hand slips right around from my hip and grasps my rear, cupping the cheek and squeezing it tight.
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