28. Chapter 28

twenty-eight

Leonid

I don't like how Kayla’s eyes widen when I tell her to prepare two sets of supper. It’s barely noticeable, just a slight tightening around her crow’s feet, but it’s there.

“Two, sir?” she asks, her accent coloring the words.

I nod, keeping my face neutral. “ Da . Is that a problem?”

Kayla’s weathered hands smooth down her apron. “No, se?or . No problem at all.”

As she turns to go, I catch the questions bubbling behind her lips. Questions she knows better than to ask.

It’s why I’ve kept her around for the past fifteen years. Kayla knows her place, does her job, and keeps her mouth shut. A rarity in this line of work.

I remember the day I hired her. A widow with two kids back in Mexico, desperate for work. I did my research, of course. Her husband, a low-level cartel member, had been killed in a turf war. She needed money and safety. I needed discretion. It was a perfect match.

“Something else, Kayla?”

She shakes her head, silver-streaked bun bobbing. “No, sir. Dos cenas , coming up.”

As she shuffles toward the kitchen, I call out, “And Kayla?”

She pauses, looking back. “Yes, sir?”

“Make it… substantial. Our guest has had a long day.”

A flicker of surprise crosses her face before she schools it back to neutrality. “Of course, sir. Borscht and pelmeni, perhaps?”

I wave a hand. “Whatever you think is best.”

Kayla nods and disappears into the kitchen. I hear her muttering in rapid-fire Spanish as she goes.

Running a hand through my hair, I slump into a chair. What the fuck am I doing? I’ve got an assassin in my trunk, and I’m worried about feeding her?

“ Ty sdurél ?” I mutter to myself. Maybe Maksim was right. Maybe I am losing it.

The distant clang of pots from the kitchen snaps me out of it. I need to focus. I need a plan.

But first, I need to get her situated.

I stride toward the elevator, my footsteps echoing in the vast living area. As I step in, I command, “Penthouse.”

The elevator glides upward silently. I catch my reflection in the mirrored walls and frown. When did I start looking so… tired?

The doors open with a soft chime, revealing my private sanctuary. The cleaning bot scurries out of sight as I enter, its job done for the day.

“Lights, 60%,” I order, and the room obeys instantly.

My eyes scan the familiar space—minimalist furniture, state-of-the-art tech hidden seamlessly within the decor. The floor-to- ceiling windows automatically tint, keeping the fading daylight at bay.

I walk over to the door connecting to the adjacent room. It’s been empty since… well, forever. I press my thumb to the biometric lock, and it slides open with a hiss.

“Not anymore,” I mutter, making a mental note to have it prepared. It’s close enough to keep an eye on her but secure enough to keep her contained. Perfect.

In the bathroom, I lean toward the smart mirror, scrutinizing my reflection. The stubble on my jaw is getting out of hand. I run a hand over it, debating whether to shave.

“ Blyat ,” I curse, realizing I’m actually concerned about my appearance. For a prisoner.

I lean in, sniffing my collar. Do I smell okay?

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Shaking my head, I stride back to the elevator, jabbing the button for the garage. The ride down feels eternal.

As the doors slide open, I take a deep breath. It’s just a woman. An assassin. Who tried to kill me. Nothing to be nervous about.

I approach the trunk, steeling myself before popping it open.

A pair of fiery blue eyes glare up at me, filled with rage and… Is that triumph?

“What the—?” I start, noticing the cloth that should be covering her eyes is hanging loosely around her neck.

She’s wiggling furiously, and I realize with a jolt that she’s managed to fray the rope around her wrists. She’s using the trunk’s carpet lining to saw through the bindings.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl, reaching in to haul her out.

She thrashes wildly, nearly kicking me in the face. As I grapple with her, I can’t help but admire her spirit. And her body pressed against mine as she struggles.

“Stop… moving,” I grunt, trying to subdue her without hurting her.

She responds by attempting to headbutt me.

Despite the situation—or maybe because of it—I feel a stirring in my groin. Fuck . This woman is going to be trouble.

“Enough!” I roar, pinning her arms down. Reluctantly, I realize I have to shove her back into the trunk.

She stills, panting heavily, those blue eyes boring into mine. A bead of sweat trickles down her neck, and I find myself following its path.

“Are you done?” I ask, my voice rougher than I intended.

She narrows her eyes, a muffled sound of frustration escaping from behind the cloth still covering her mouth. Then, she does the last thing I expect—she headbutts me again… hard.

I stumble back, more surprised than hurt. “ Blyad !” I curse, rubbing my forehead.

For a moment, we both freeze, assessing each other. Then, to my own surprise, I start laughing.

This woman is fiercer than a Siberian tiger. The fire in her eyes, the defiance in every line of her body—it’s intoxicating. And infuriating.

I stop laughing. Staring down into the trunk.

Fuck, what do I do with you?

I lean in close, my lips nearly brushing her ear. “Nice try, kitten. But you’ll have to do better than that.”

She jerks away, but I can feel her shiver.

My eyes lock on the fiery blue ones glaring back at me. She’s still thrashing, her body twisting as she tries to break free from her bonds.

“I’d suggest you stop it, myshka ,” I growl, leaning closer. The scent of her—a mix of sweat, fear, and something uniquely feminine—fills my nostrils, making my balls tight.

Her chest heaves with each labored breath, the thin fabric of her dress doing little to hide the hardness of her nipples. I swallow hard, heat pooling in my groin.

Suka. Focus, Leonid.

My gaze lands on a small handbag tucked in the corner of the trunk. Curious, I reach for it, keeping one hand firmly on her shoulder to prevent any escape attempts.

Inside, I find a broken vial. The smell hits me instantly, and I can’t help but let out a bitter laugh.

“Really, myshka ? My own poison?” I hold up the vial, watching her eyes widen. “I’m almost impressed… almost.”

She makes a muffled sound behind the gag, her eyes blazing with defiance.

Ignoring her, I continue rummaging through the bag, finding an ID. “Natasha Volkov, ” I read aloud.

I scoff, “You don’t look like a ‘Natasha Volkov’ to me.” I squint at her. “Who the fuck are you?”

Her eyes narrow, and she attempts to headbutt me yet again. I dodge it easily, but the movement brings my face closer to hers. I can feel her ragged breath on my skin, and it takes all my willpower not to rip off her clothes and fuck her sweet little cunt right here.

“I said, stay calm, myshka .”

A flash of memory hits me—Maksim’s report about two women from the auction being attacked by a “nasty server.” Clever girl. Despite myself, I feel a grudging admiration for her audacity.

I reach out, brushing a stray strand of her brunette hair back from her face. She doesn’t turn away, instead staring right into my eyes. Daring me.

Blyat, she’s fucking beautiful.

“Feisty little thing, aren’t you?” I chuckle, my hand moving to the cloth covering her mouth. “Let’s hear what you have to say for yourself, shall we?”

I pull the gag down, my eyes immediately drawn to her lips. They’re full and pink, slightly chapped from the gag. I remember how they felt wrapped around my cock, and I have to stifle a groan.

Dammit.

I clear my thoughts. “There,” I say, my voice rough. “Better?”

She spits, barely missing my face. “Fuck you, you piece of shit! Let me go!”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound rumbling deep in my chest. “Such a dirty mouth on such a pretty face.”

Her eyes dart around, taking in her surroundings. I watch as realization dawns on her face, her body tensing even more. “Where the hell am I? What is this place?”

“Somewhere you can’t escape from,” I reply coolly, my breath fanning across her cheek. “So, I suggest you start behaving.”

She stills suddenly.

With slow, seductive flutters of her long eyelashes, she holds my gaze, her expression shifting. I feel her body relax slightly, and alarm bells start ringing in my head.

“Please,” she says, her voice softening. Her eyes, so defiant moments ago, now look up at me pleadingly. “I’ll be good. Just… just let me go.”

Really, now?

I raise an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. But damn if my traitorous body doesn’t react to her softness. “Oh? And why should I believe that?”

“Because I—” She lunges forward suddenly, teeth bared.

I jerk back just in time, avoiding her bite. My heart races, equal parts adrenaline and arousal. “Nice try, myshka. ” I sigh deeply, my palms flat against the trunk. I shake my head. “You leave me no choice.”

“You fucking bastard! I’ll kill you, I swear to God!”

“I’m sure you’ll try,” I mutter, reaching for a syringe in my pocket. It’s loaded with a mild sedative—just enough to knock her out for a bit.

She must sense what’s coming because she doubles her efforts to escape. “Don’t you dare! I’ll—”

The needle slides into her neck before she can finish her threat. She gasps, her body going rigid in my arms.

“Shh,” I murmur, holding her steady as the sedative takes effect. My lips brush against her ear, and I feel her shiver. “Just relax.”

Her struggles weaken, her eyelids fluttering. “You… you motherfucker…”