On second thought, I probably wouldn’t have time for all that, so I’d settle for a hard and willing fuck.
Unsure of the angle to take with this girl, the thrill of the chase mixed with the pent-up frustration tightening in my groin. I had multiple women I could call, Nadia included, but somehow, I knew I wouldn’t. The only lips I wanted on my dick right now tasted like strawberries.
The longer Mila made me wait, the more she’d regret it.
Her phone rang in my pocket. I turned it back on this morning, having the urge to gloat a little. When I saw Ivan’s name onscreen, a smile pulled on my lips. I answered the call and brought it to my ear.
“Ronan’s Steakhouse. Home of the largest sausage in Moscow.”
“Ty sukin syn.” You son of a bitch.
I chuckled. “Bitch is appropriate, but ‘cunt’ would be a better description of my mother.”
“You touched her,” he gritted through clenched teeth.
“My mother?” I parried with amusement. “No. Even I find incest unappealing.” Then I added, “Not to mention, not a huge fan of STDs.”
He made a bitter sound. “I’m sure you have a history with them. You’ve fucked half the city.”
“Nah. I always wrap it up.” And then I drawled a popular health provider’s slogan. “Prevention is the key to health and happiness.”
“You’re a dead man walking, you know that?”
“Living on the edge always did make my cock feel a little tingly.”
Pavel blew a stop sign, narrowly missing a T-bone collision with a farm truck.
“Jesus, kid,” I snapped.
He white-knuckled the wheel. “Fuck, I’m sorry!”
“How did you coerce her to make that video?” Ivan growled.
This was all fun and games until now. My blood heated at the idea he’d watched it; that he’d seen Mila’s body in person before; that he’d fucked her. My chest twisted with aversion, but from years of training, I managed to keep my voice indifferent. “Good show, huh?”
“I’d rather fuck your mother’s corpse than watch that.”
Good.
That was good.
Although, I now regretted sending that video to her papa. I didn’t think he would show it to others, but if he did, they were dead men. She was mine for the time being, every goddamn inch of her, whether she liked it or not. I refused to analyze the feeling. I had enough shit to do.
“She wouldn’t have done it unless you blackmailed her.”
Interesting he was so concerned about whether she was willing or not, rather than if I’d harmed her since. Maybe he knew a hard shell of viciousness encased her soft heart.
“You know her so well, do you?” I asked.
“Better than anyone.”
My grip tightened on the ridiculous sparkly phone. “Obviously not as well as you believe.” The innuendo was clear: there was no blackmail necessary.
“You’re an idiot if you think I’ll believe anything you say, D’yavol.” A hint of vulnerability touched his voice, and I realized, with a sense of disgust, the man had feelings for her. I wondered if she shared them. The idea seemed more repulsive than watching the Hallmark channel for twenty-four hours straight.
“I prefer to talk about my prowess in bed over tea, but I’ll make an exception today. I assure you, Mila has no complaints.” Had, I corrected in my head.
“Remember, when you have your revenge, Mila will come back to me. We’ll see who has better prowess then.”
I gritted my teeth, and a murderous buzz flared to life beneath my skin. “Run, Ivan,” I warned with a deadly calm. “Run fast. Because if I catch you, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands.”
I ended the call.
The bastard was in my city, but he knew how to play the game. Not as good as me though.
I would find him.
And when I did, there was a space on my mantel with his name on it.
abience
(n.) the strong urge to avoid someone
The sun rose to fill the space with rays, bound wrists, and retribution.
Yulia entered the room adorned in black, exuding irritation when she noticed the broken chair on the floor. Unperturbed by the sight of me, she took her time tidying things up while humming a creepy tune. I wondered where Ronan found his employees. The insane asylum?
Dried blood marched like ants down my body, itching and chafing. Worse than the crawling sensation was the guilt I fought from rising to the surface. I shouldn’t feel remorse for defending myself, but a tightness still invaded my chest. I wondered if the blood on my skin was an eternal stain I could never wash off. I wondered if that man had family, children. The idea made me sick to my stomach, so, for the hundredth time, I forced the thought away and decided I needed to escape this place before it swallowed me whole.
My gaze found Yulia who was dusting the room with single-minded purpose. Every woman had to have a little maternal instinct inside of them. Maybe I could play on her sympathies to help me. I jumped when she smacked the dresser with a loud thwack. Then, she flicked a quarter-size spider to the floor with a disturbing amount of satisfaction. Obviously, the motherly side in this one was smaller than most, but it wasn’t like I had many other options.
“Do you have children?” I asked her.
“Ikh slishkom mnogo.” Too many of them.
Not exactly the best start, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. “What would you do if one of them was in my situation?”
“I would tell them not to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I blinked slowly. “I must be unfamiliar with Russian gifts. In America, being kidnapped isn’t equivalent to unwrapping a tin of butter cookies and that hideous scarf your grandma knitted for you on Christmas morning.”
With a roll of her eyes, she moved to right the rug. “There are worse things than being fed three times a day.”
“Like being tied to a bed covered in blood all night?”
“You got yourself into that mess, devushka.” She must room next door or have secret passages in the walls she peeked through. I was growing annoyed she was painting me in the wrong here, and even more irritated a part of me felt she was right.
“And I imagine you’d just lie here and take it,” I said in disbelief.
“You are dramatic. Master is not bad man.”
A constant beat ached in my head whenever someone spoke to me in this home that defied all rationality. The only thing Ronan needed in order to become the classic villain straight from the pages of a vampire novel was fangs. The fact Yulia couldn’t see that, given she just referred to him as “Master,” conjured the mental image of him brainwashing her with a supernatural power.
“I’m not sure how men courted in your day and age, but in the twenty-first century, this”—I tugged at the ropes on my wrists—“isn’t exactly the best third date.”
“Americans. Greedy, the lot of you.”
I dropped my head back onto the pillow. Clearly, I wouldn’t receive any help from Yulia.
“I have to pee,” I deadpanned.
“Congratulations.”
“Fine.” I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s not like I have to do the laundry around here.”