25. Ivan

25

IVAN

L eaving Charlotte when she asks me to stay feels nearly impossible. But the danger of Lev following me to her apartment is too great. I don’t doubt that there’s a chance that he already knows where she is, but I don’t want to give him more reason to think that she’s useful to get under my skin. If he knows I’ve advanced to spending the night with her, he’ll be even more eager for a reason to use her against me.

So, instead, I drive myself back home, relishing the lingering feeling of her touch all over me, the scent of her clinging to my skin. The reality of being with her had lived up to the fantasy, and more. And I already want her again.

When I get home, I head straight down into the basement. All I want to think about right now is Charlotte, but I have a job to do, too, and I can’t neglect it. Now more than ever, I need to make sure that I’m not on the wrong side of the feds, as well as my family.

I consider, for a moment, telling Agent Bradley about Charlotte. I wonder if there’s a possibility that he could get her to safety. But she’s not a part of this, not a victim of my father’s yet, and I think of the way he’s looked at me every time we’ve met, as if he wants nothing more than a reason to bring me down too, along with my family.

He wouldn’t help Charlotte. I feel that down in my bones. If he did, there would be a price—likely using her as bait, and just the thought of that makes me feel coldly furious. I’m not going to reveal every secret, every lie to her, ruin any chance of seeing her ever again, all for them to use her as a means to get to my father.

I’d rather fucking die.

The other monitor, the one that I use to track Charlotte’s web and phone activity, pings, and my heart drops abruptly. For a moment, I think she’s logged on to talk to Venom, and the jealousy I feel is a thick, sick rot in my gut.

But it’s not her. It’s her fucking ex, texting her. And as I watch the messages appear on the screen, my blood runs cold, then hot with anger, then cold again.

Nate: I saw you in the car with some fucking guy.

Nate: I knew you were being a fucking slut. Fucking him in our bed.

Nate: You’re going to be fucking homeless, bitch. I’m going to get the condo back.

Nate: Fuck you. You think you’re too good to text me back? You think me sleeping with some other bitch made you miserable? You have no fucking idea how miserable you can be.

My hands clench into fists as I read the messages. I scroll back, feeling a stab of guilt that I missed this, that I hadn’t seen what he’s been saying to her because I’ve been so caught up in the escalating chaos all around me. I’d seen the messages that he’d sent her at the very beginning—a jealous ex being a dick. I thought he’d leave her alone, when it was clear she wasn’t responding. But he’s never given up, and I grind my teeth as I read each and every one, my anger spiking with every new slew of messages.

No one is going to talk to her like that and get away with it.

The helpless feeling that I had when my father beat me, when Lev threatened Charlotte on the yacht, when I talked to Bradley and realized how much more they wanted from me—it all comes rising back up, and I can feel all that anger narrowing in, given direction, given something to focus on.

At first, he was just a pathetic, jealous, bitter ex pissed that he got caught cheating. But now he’s watching her, threatening her. And while I’m well aware of my hypocrisy in being pissed that he’s stalking Charlotte, I don’t fucking care.

She’s mine. I can still smell her on my skin, still taste her on my lips. And by the end of tomorrow night, Nate is never going to fucking bother her again.

—

The following afternoon, I go to my penthouse, parking in the underground garage, and change in the apartment. I dress in all black—black cargos, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, black gloves, black boots. And next to me, as I dress, sitting on the bed, is a black balaclava and the white skeleton mask that I put on for Charlotte as Venom.

I’ve been texting her all day. Lighthearted texts, back and forth, neither of us willing to come out and say how much last night meant to either of us. Not over such an impersonal medium. But the next time I see her?—

I’m not sure I want to tell her even then. I want to show her, with my hands and mouth and my body, show her how much she means to me. How much I want her. How much just one night with her has made me certain that I have to find some way to keep her.

Keep her safe. Keep her mine .

That obsessive thought buzzes in my head as I grab my keys, the balaclava, and the mask, stalking downstairs to my car. I drive across the city, just out to the suburbs, to Nate’s brother’s house.

The lights are on inside. I park in an alleyway, pocketing my keys and pulling the balaclava over my head, securing the mask. Walking to the line of trees just across the road, I find a vantage point that lets me see into the house, through the large picture windows. I watch patiently as the time ticks past, until the two other adults in the house—a man that I assume is Nate’s brother and a woman who must be his wife, based on the quick research I did—get up and walk down a hallway. A light flicks on in a room towards the back of the house, stays on for about thirty minutes, and then turns off. Nate is still in an armchair in the living room, playing what looks like a shooter video game, and I push myself away from the tree that I’m leaning against, prowling slowly toward the house.

It’s laughably easy to get in. The garage is detached, which means there’s a back door with nothing blocking it. Last night, I checked for any records of a security system on the house, and found none. I pick the lock in a matter of seconds; there are no alarms, nothing to let the residents know I’m here. An astonishing amount of confidence that they’re safe.

Which, of course—Nate’s brother and his wife are. I have no intention of hurting them. But Nate doesn’t need to know that. And by the end of this night, he’s most definitely going to be hurt.

I slink into the living room, pressing myself against the wall, silent as the grave. All of Nate’s attention is focused on his game, and he doesn’t hear me as I sneak up behind the chair, moving in one fluid motion to put a gloved hand over his mouth and my hunting knife to his throat.

“Don’t scream,” I murmur in his ear. “You’re going to come with me. If you do, everyone else in this house will be safe. If you start causing a fuss, then who knows what might happen to them?”

This is the riskiest part. I’m not sure Nate is self-sacrificing enough to keep silent for the sake of his brother and sister-in-law. And I was right to think that—I feel his mouth open under my glove, on the verge of screaming. I rear back, hitting him in the head hard enough to daze him, and he slumps.

Now I’m going to have to wait for him to come back to consciousness. He’s a dead weight, and although I’m strong, I’m not as beefy as, say, Lev. But I manage to get Nate up and out of the armchair, hefting him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes as I leave the game running for noise, slipping back out of the house and across the street to the trees where I was hiding.

I take him further into the tree line, far enough that passing cars won’t get a glimpse of us in their headlights. Pushing him up against one of the trees, I zip-tie his hands behind it, stuffing a rag in his mouth to keep him silent as I fumble in my pocket for the vial of ammonia that will bring him back to consciousness.

Nate comes back with a jolt, his eyes wide and muffled, panicked noises coming from behind the gag. The only light out in the chilly night, in this strip of woods, is the moon filtering down between them, illuminating me in a way that I’m sure looks relatively monstrous. All in black, the only thing that can be illuminated is the white mask on my face, and I can see the terror in Nate’s eyes as he takes me in.

The bitter smell of piss fills the air, and I realize he’s already wet himself. I can’t help but laugh at that—it’s pathetic. I haven’t even touched him yet. But I didn’t expect better from him.

“I’m going to take the gag out. If you scream, your dick will be the first thing I cut off. Understand?” I wait for him to give a trembling nod, and then yank the fabric out of his mouth, dropping it to the grass.

“Who—who are you? If you want money—” He sputters the words, his teeth clacking together with fear, and I laugh.

“This isn’t about money. It’s about Charlotte. You see, I’ve seen your text messages to her. Not because she showed them to me, but because I figured it out on my own. And I don’t like the way you talk to her.”

He’s wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, shivering in the cold night, and I cut the clothes away methodically as I speak, not bothering to be careful. I hear him whimper and gasp as my knife nicks his skin, and I chuckle, tossing the clothing down to the grass.

“That’s nothing, Nate. Just a little scratch. It will get much worse, I promise.” I cut away his boxers, leaving him naked, his dick shriveling in the cold. “Now, we’re going to have a conversation.” I step forward, pressing my knife tip into the lowest part of his abdomen, right above his dick. “And whether or not you get to keep this depends on how it goes.”

Nate is shivering all over now, trembling with terror. I drag the knife lower, holding it against the base of his dick, and reach up with my other hand, grabbing his jaw. “Don’t look away from me. Now tell me, what makes you think you can keep texting Charlotte, when she clearly doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“She—” His teeth chatter. “She’ll come around. She’s upset, but she doesn’t get it. I didn’t ask her to do those things because I love her. I respect her too much! And now she’s out there letting other men touch her, like a filthy slut.” His voice grows stronger, some of his fear receding as he spits out the words that have clearly been festering for some time now. “She didn’t appreciate how I treated her. How I made sure to make her feel special. Better than all the other sluts. But now she’s fucking some guy?—”

I swing, hard, my fist connecting with his face. “I dare you to call her that again.” Another swing, hard enough that I hear the cracking sound of his jaw. “You won’t be able to speak another word out of this fucking mouth when I’m done with you.”

I’d planned to be slow, methodical, but the building stress of the past weeks and months, combined with the way he’s talking about Charlotte, tip me over the edge. I have to be careful, methodical, when I torture someone, but there’s no information I need from Nate, nothing he can give me other than the cathartic feeling of inflicting pain on someone who has hurt Charlotte. I can’t hurt my family for threatening her, but I can hurt him, and I hit him again and again, in his face and ribs and stomach, until I finally drag the knife down, scoring a bloody line down the top of his dick. He’s so bloodied by that point that the only sound he lets out is a mewling whimper, twitching against the tree, and I press the knife in before jerking it away.

“It’ll be a while before you can stick it in anyone else,” I hiss. “Think about that, before you ever talk to her again. In fact, just in case the message isn’t clear?—”

I step closer, pressing the knife into his chest. And as he moans in pain, I etch out the message I don’t want him to forget, one letter at a time, into his skin.

Keep your mouth shut.

“There.” I step back. “Now, when your brother sees you, you’ll have to explain. Good luck with that. And since he’ll see my message, too, he’ll be able to remind you. A little oversight never hurt anyone, right? God knows I have more than I want to deal with.” I pat him on his bleeding cheek, and Nate groans as I shove the gag into his mouth again, cutting through the zip-ties holding his wrists. I sling his bloody body over my shoulder, whistling under my breath as I carry him back to the house, depositing him naked on the back step.

“They’ll find you here in the morning,” I assure him. “It’ll be an uncomfortable night, but you’ll get through it. And Nate?” I squat down, tipping his chin up so I can look directly into his face through the mask. “Don’t ever breathe her name. Don’t go trying to get me back for this. Don’t try to figure out who I am. Just remember that you’re going to stay out of her life for good.” I pat his face again, straightening, and wipe my knife off on his thigh before sliding it back into the sheath on mine.

I wore black for a reason. His blood won’t show until I get home and dispose of the clothing, making sure there’s no trace of him on me anywhere. I’m good enough that there’s no chance this will come back on me. Not unless Nate somehow figures it out, and I don’t think he’s smart enough for that.

I also don’t think he has the balls to do anything about it, if he did.

My spirits considerably lifted, I start walking back to the alleyway where I parked my car. I reach for my keys, looking up—and then freeze in place.

There are three dark figures standing in front of my driver’s side door. Three figures, that, as they step a little closer, I see are all three of my brothers.

“What the fuck is this?” I snap, crossing my arms. “Lev, I’m not surprised to see you here being a pain in my ass, but Niki and Ani, I am surprised to see. You don’t usually manage to drag them out.”

“They’re my backup.” Lev smiles coldly at me. “I know what you’re up to, little brother. We’re going to take you back to otets , and you’re going to confess. You’re going to take whatever punishment he decides. If he wants your death, then so be it, slow or fast, whichever pleases him. And if you go along without argument, if you submit, then maybe we’ll leave your bitch alone.” He smiles, teeth white in the darkness. “Or maybe once you’re dead, I’ll take her for myself. But you’ll never know, will you?”

He moves forward, so quickly that I almost don’t have time to dodge him. In the alleyway, there’s very little room, and it’s three-on-one. Bad odds—but I’ve never cared about that.

When he swings again, this time, I swing, too. I clock him in the jaw, making his teeth clack together and sending him reeling back, and manage to get my knife free of the sheath as Niki and Ani close in.

I have an advantage here. I can see in their faces that they’re afraid of me. That they know I have no love for them, that I’ll kill them if I have to in order to get out of here. To get to Charlotte.

“Ivan.” There’s a reasonable note in Niki’s voice, one that suggests he’s going to try to talk this out. But I’m in no mood to even give him a chance.

When he steps forward, I slash out with the knife, catching him in the arm. He lets out a startled sound of pain, my willingness to hurt him clearly catching him off guard. Lev is staggering forward, and I look around, gauging the distance between myself and the unlocked car.

A handful of steps. A few feet. That’s all I need to manage. I take a breath and barge forward, knife slashing out to one side, my fist connecting with one of my brothers’ soft flesh as I strike out to my left, swinging without elegance or grace as I bolt for the car.

I feel blood on my hand. Pain in my ribs. I strike again and again, the motion around me a blur as I grab for the door handle, yanking it out and flinging myself backward into the driver’s seat. I kick out with both feet as Lev lunges for me, driving my heels into his gut, grabbing for my keys as I swing upright and snatch the door shut.

There’s a howl of pain as I clip someone’s fingers as they try to grab it. I slam my hand down on the locks, every movement to start the car vicious, frantic as I gun it down the alley. Ani tries to step forward, and the corner of the hood clips him, knocking him to one side as I floor it, skidding out onto the road as I turn.

They’ll go for Charlotte next. But I’m going to get to her first.