by Zoe Blake
Trapping me.
Slipping into bed beside me, he wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me close. My back to his front.
“Stop,” he whispered into my ear after smoothing my wildly tangled hair aside.
“What?”
I could hear the smile in his voice as he continued. “Stop whatever is racing through that beautifully intelligent, chaotic mind of yours.”
I bristled. My body tensing, I tried to pull out of his embrace but his arm only tightened. After a moment, sure he had made his point, his arm shifted. His hand caressed my arm and hip in long soothing strokes.
“How about you don’t think of it as being trapped?” he murmured against the nape of my neck.
I started. It was as if he were reading my thoughts. I stayed silent.
“How about we just worry about the next minute and the minute after that? And not let the entire future crash down on us all at once?” he offered.
I played with the wrinkled tag that poked out from the pillowcase under my head. “Does this mean you won’t make me marry you?”
His hand stopped moving. The dark hair on his chest tickled the skin of my back as he took a long, deep breath. “No.”
I turned and looked over my shoulder. “No you won’t make me marry you, or no it doesn’t mean that?”
His dark gaze bore down into mine. I could tell by the tightening of his jaw that I was trying his patience. “Would it be so terrible to rely on someone other than yourself for once? To actually trust that someone might care enough about you to want to protect you?”
I turned away. I thought about how I'd once rambled to him that the song All By Myself was sampled from Rachmaninoff. That horribly morose ode to loneliness had become sort of a life anthem for me. I could hardly be blamed for not wanting to trust or rely on anyone. My own mother had taken her life, choosing death over me. The rest of my childhood had been spent dodging my stepfather’s fists and being told I was useless and unwanted. I had been fending for myself for as long as I could remember.
“When were you born?” he asked suddenly.
I furrowed my brow, trying to figure out what his angle was in asking. Unable to decide, I answered, “December third.”
“What does that make you?”
“Make me?”
“Your zodiac sign.”
Realization dawned. “Oh. A Sagittarius.”
“And what is a Sagittarius like?”
I traced the symbol of an archer’s bow onto the sheet with the tip of my finger. “My mother used to say that I was destined to dream big, chase the impossible, and take risks. That it was written in the stars.”
Damien shifted, pushing me onto my back as he loomed powerful and large over me. Leaning down, he kissed my shoulder, then the top of my breast. “And how compatible are a Sagittarius and a Scorpio?”
“Terrible!” I said gleefully, my eyes widening as I warmed up to his change in subject.
He frowned. “You’re lying.”
“Nope. It’s true. Scorpios are too darkly intense and controlling, forcing the more free-spirited Sagittarius to run away and chase their freedom.” My lips twisted into a knowing smirk.
Damien looked deep into my eyes. “Or maybe the Sagittarius brings light and a breath of fresh air into the Scorpio’s rigid life, and instead of taking away her freedom, he becomes a rock, something solid to fix her dreams to.”
And just like that I was completely, irrationally, stupidly in love.
Damn him to hell for making me feel this way.
I should have known better than to fall into the path of a stubborn Scorpio.
Chapter 27
Damien
I watched as Yelena’s small nose scrunched in distaste as she picked her wrinkled pair of yoga pants and simple black hoodie up off the floor where she'd left them the night before. She cast a glance at a small suitcase with a designer dress tossed over the side. By the looks of it, it was about two sizes too big for her. It was probably best if I didn’t ask too many questions as to how she had acquired it.
It was clear my baby preferred her designer outfits. I was certain she only wore hoodies and yoga pants when she was running from me. Since their innocuous appearance and maneuverability would be prized well above tailored but constricting designer clothes.
With a resigned sigh, she stepped into the yoga pants. Leaving on my t-shirt, which I'd given her to wear last night, she pulled her hoodie over her head and reached for her sneakers.
I liked the sight of her in one of my shirts. It felt strangely normal. Like something a boyfriend and girlfriend would do. It was a funny thought. I had never really thought of myself in relationship terms. Probably because I had never been in one. I didn’t count fucking the occasional model and having them on my arm for the random social function as a relationship. More of a quid pro quo.
Yelena was different.
She had always been different. From the moment I'd laid eyes on her on that dance floor, something inside of me changed. I thought it would pass over the years but it had only grown stronger. Then when I saw her yesterday, it solidified, like a fist made of hot iron wrapping around my heart. It was solid and steadfast. My feelings for her were now not just a part of me but the only breathing warmth in my body.
“When this is all over, I’ll take you to Paris for the Spring shows. I’ll escort you to Dior and Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent, and you can buy whatever you want,” I offered as I tossed on my jeans. “Although, please no Gucci. I won’t be able to pretend to like boring brown patterns with green and red or all that trashy gold.”
It really was adorable to see her eyes light up with excitement like a little girl just offered a treat. Then just as quickly, her look shuttered. Sticking her chin up in defiance, she huffed, “I’m perfectly capable of buying my own clothes.”
She had just put her long blonde hair up into a high ponytail which made it convenient for me. Grabbing her ponytail, I looked down into her petulant upturned face.
“I’m more than aware you can buy your own clothes. That isn’t the point. From this moment forward, I want to be the one buying you things.” I gave her ponytail a tug for emphasis.
“Listen. Just because you fucked me doesn’t mean you own me,” she snapped as she tried to break my grip.
Placing my hand around her throat, I walked her backwards till her body flattened against the wall. Her small hands tried to wrap around my wrist and dislodge my grip. I pressed my hips against her stomach so she could feel the threat of my quickly hardening cock.
Leaning in close, I stared suggestively first at her open mouth, then into her startled baby blue eyes. My voice was so low it was practically a growl. “Let’s get something very straight. I do own you. I own this mouth, that tight pussy, and sometime in the very near future, that sweet ass of yours. You’re mine. Run as often as you like. I’ll find you each and every time and bring you back where you belong. You’re never getting rid of me, beautiful. I suggest you get used to the idea.”
After giving her a hard kiss, I released her throat.
She wisely stayed silent. I think we both knew if she dared contradict me, I would not hesitate to drag her over my knee and give her ass the spanking it so richly deserved.
These weren’t just words to me. I fucking meant every one of them. She was the woman for me. She aggravated the piss out of me, and I would probably wind up with more scars from her than from my enemies, but she would be worth every damn one of them. I wasn’t some jackass Neanderthal who didn’t know a good thing when it slapped him in the face. I knew I had found a beautiful little gem when Yelena crossed my path, and I had absolutely no intention of ever letting her go.
From across the room, she watched as I tossed the wrist restraints into my bag. I walked over to the hotel bureau and also retrieved my wallet. There was a chortle that sounded very suspiciously like a laugh, which quickly turned into a cough from Yelena. I cast her a look which hopefully signaled I would not tol
erate any mention of her easily lifting my wallet without my knowledge.
Noticing my cell phone had died sometime last night, I grabbed the plug from my gym bag and started to charge it. It wasn’t like me to let it die. I must have been too distracted by the painfully beautiful woman in my arms. I couldn't recall ever spending the night with a woman. Things got complicated when you spent the night. It sent a message I'd had no intention of ever sending, but with Yelena, it was heaven just holding her warm body in my arms, falling asleep to the soft sounds of her breathing.
Yelena played with the strings of her hoodie. Without looking at me, she asked softly, “What about Natasha?”
My eyes narrowed. What the fuck? “How do you know about Natasha?”
Yelena nodded to the wallet in my hand. Of course, the photo. Shoving the wallet into my back pocket, I grabbed my gym bag and motioned for her to start heading toward the door. “Natasha is none of your business.”
Yelena dug in her heels. “That’s not fair, and you know it. You expect me to suddenly just trust you… to suddenly just throw my lot in with yours, and you probably have a wife or girlfriend in Russia!”
I tossed the bag onto the bed and paced away, running a hand through my hair.
I turned to see Yelena staring at me, arms crossed defensively across her chest. At least I could take small comfort in the fact that my babygirl was clearly jealous; it meant she wasn’t as immune to my charms as she claimed. She obviously felt the same intense connection I did.
Still, I did not want to talk about Natasha right now.
But it looked like I didn’t have a choice. Not if I wanted to get Yelena out of this hotel without half the lobby calling the police to report a kidnapping in progress.
“Natasha was a friend of Gregor's and mine from college.”
Yelena’s mouth quirked up. She all but rolled her eyes. “Oh… a friend.”
“Yes. A friend. More like a second sister. We lost her several years ago.”
Yelena closed the distance between us and placed her hand on my arm. It was the first time she had touched me of her own accord, if you didn’t count the knee to my knife wound, which I didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Damien. I didn’t know.”
I shrugged my shoulders, uncomfortable with showing this weak side of my past. “She fell in love with an asshole who got her addicted to cocaine. Every time Gregor and I dragged her away to get her clean, he would appear back in her life and get her hooked again. Realizing we would never get her clean if he was still in the picture, we… took care of the problem. That’s why Gregor was shipped off to Russia. The investigation into Natasha’s boyfriend’s death was hitting a little close to home.”
I gave Yelena a hard look, certain I didn’t have to spell out what I meant by taking care of the problem. She knew I meant we'd killed the bastard. “Unfortunately, it was too little too late. Natasha overdosed shortly afterwards.”
Yelena rested her head against my chest as she wrapped her arms around my waist. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, her voice slightly muffled.
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She was so small; it was like trying to hold a wild bird. Still, I took the comfort she offered.
“Despite the outcome, I don’t regret for a minute that asshole breathed his last in my presence. I protect those I care about. No matter the cost.” Stroking her back, I kissed the top of her head, hoping she realized I was talking about her too, before giving her ponytail a playful tug.
Before I could press her again about marrying me for her own safety, my cell phone began to ping. As I crossed the room, there were several more pings as it came back online. A knot formed in my stomach. We kept our cell communication as minimal as possible, usually just quick conversations and never any texts. Even after you deleted them, texts left a record that could be accessed by law enforcement.
There was a notification for several voicemails as well as texts.
From Gregor…
Call me.
We have a situation.
Warehouse.
Now.
From Dimitri…
At Gregor’s.
Clean up necessary.
Warehouse.
And Vaska…
Where is your location?
Situation.
Warehouse in five.
“Blyad',” I cursed as I pressed the button to listen to the voicemails.
Yelena crossed the room to stand next to me. “Fuck is a word I do know in Russian. Is everything okay? What happened?”
I wrapped a protective arm around her waist and pulled her close as I listened to Gregor’s voicemail telling me about the attack on Samara. He was speaking in rapid-fire Russian, so I wasn’t worried about her overhearing the substance, but she did pick up on the tone.
Placing a hand on my chest, the light in her blue eyes dimmed as she asked, “Is Samara okay? What happened?”
Setting the phone aside, I placed my hands on her shoulders. “Samara is fine.”
She closed her eyes briefly and visibly relaxed.
I hated to tell her more, but there was no point in keeping it from her. She would learn the details soon enough. “She was attacked last night. Three men broke into Gregor’s home.”
Her eyes flooded with tears. Her small hands gripped the fabric of my shirt over my upper arms. “What? Is she hurt?”
I shook my head. “Gregor reached her in time.”
Her hand covered her mouth. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” Her knees buckled. Leaning down, I swept her into my arms and carried her over to the bed. Sitting down, I settled her on my lap. Rubbing soothing circles over her back, I kissed her temple. “Shhh, baby. It’s fine. She’s okay. She’s not hurt.”
Yelena began to rock back and forth in my arms. “This is all my fault. It’s all my fault!”
My hand stilled. For just a moment, I considered letting her believe that. If she thought the attack was by the Columbians, then maybe she’d finally listen to me and realize she was in danger. Maybe she’d stop fighting me at every turn and accept my protection. As soon as the idea formed, I discarded it. I had never lied to her, and I wasn’t about to start now. Lying was for weak cowards who didn’t have the strength to back up their own words.
Gripping her chin with my thumb and forefinger, I forced her gaze to mine. “No. It’s not.”
She tried to wrench her face away. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“Baby, I don’t lie. It’s not your fault. The attack was by another Russian family. The Novikoffs.”
“The Novikoffs? I know them. My stepfather used to drink with one of their bodyguards. Pavel Rasskovich, a real asshole who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.”
As if it were yesterday, I remembered Pavel touching her on the dance floor at Nadia’s party. I'd wanted the man dead then, and apparently last night, I got my wish. “Well, he’s dead now.”
“Did the Novikoffs attack her because of Gregor?”
The simple question was like a punch to the gut. Although the answer was no, it could so easily have been yes. It was a stark reminder that while I was offering Yelena the safety and protection of my name, it was a double-edged sword. It might protect her from the monsters seeking her but wouldn’t protect her from my monsters. I lived a dangerous life full of dangerous immoral people. Was what I was offering her really any safer?
My whole body rebelled at the thought. I had to believe she was at least safer in my arms, sheltered by my name, money, and strength, than out in the world alone and vulnerable. Sure, she had made it this far but for how long? It was only a matter of time before someone got to her. If it wasn’t the Columbians it would be the Italians or worse.
My motives may not have been pure, but neither was the world we lived in.
At least I was the devil my angel knew.
“Can I talk to her?”
“Not just yet. Soon.”
“But she’s okay?”
“Yes, baby.
She’s safe and unharmed. I’ll explain it all in the car. For now, we need to get out of here.”
I would wait till later to explain to her how the voicemail also mentioned how my brother forced them to marry the moment they'd landed in D.C. No point in putting ideas in her head. I needed to get her on a plane in a few hours and that would never happen if she thought I was planning to do the same… which was in fact precisely what I was planning. I even had the same damn judge lined up.
Yelena nodded and rose to finish dressing.
I gave Vaska a quick call. In Russian, we made plans to meet at Dimitri’s. His house had a helipad on the roof and a helicopter they would let me use. Although we were close to O’Hare, private planes left out of Midway. With morning rush hour traffic, it would take far too long to get across the city and to the Southside by car. A helicopter would be faster. By the time we arrived, the Ivanov private plane would have finished making the round trip from Washington, D.C. back to Chicago.
“Where are we going?” she asked as I ushered her out of the room.
“First to Dimitri’s. Gregor and Samara caught a private plane out of town a few hours ago. We’re going to do the same. I’m taking you home to D.C.”
She nodded. “Okay,” she answered softly. Her head bowed. Her face hidden behind a curtain of golden blonde hair.
I sighed. The news of Samara’s attack must have really rattled her if she was agreeing with me without a fight. It felt cruel to think it, but I was pleased.
Although I was forgetting that it had also been an extremely long and stressful twenty-four hours for my baby. Starting with my return into her life and ending with a bout of intense sex. I also remembered that she hadn’t eaten much of the ravioli before I selfishly decided I wanted a taste of sweeter fare. “I don’t think you ate enough. We’ll grab some food on the way.”
Her voice trembled slightly, probably from exhaustion. “Can I get a Happy Meal? I don’t have the Little Bo Peep from Toy Story yet.”
I caressed her cheek with the back of my hand. “Whatever my baby wants.”