Chapter 17

Marissa

Everything here is unfamiliar, and I draw instinctively closer to Nicolai. I have no idea what to expect next, and that frightens me. He told me to trust him. Can I, after all that’s happened?

Every moment I spend with him erases the cobwebs from my mind and reminds me that I’m his. I’m no longer bound to the abuse I suffered at the hands of those who stole me. Every time Nicolai touches me, speaks to me, or looks at me with those vibrant blue, possessive eyes, a little bit of me heals.

I wonder where the woman who ran went. If she’ll find her way back home, if she even remembers where she came from. If she’ll go to the authorities and report them. She poses a threat, but I don’t blame her. What we’ve experienced is an utter crime against humanity, and it’s only natural to want to escape from whatever comes next.

What will happen next? How will Nicolai and I free ourselves once and for all from the grip of those that threaten our safety? I want to run as badly as she does, but I’ll never run from him. Never. I don’t care if they kill us. I’ll die by his side rather than spend another minute apart from him.

Two armed guards bring me, Nicolai, and the other two into a massive building. It’s luxurious, set apart from the inner city on a grassy knoll, surrounded by the tallest gates I’ve ever seen. There are cameras positioned at odd angles, and I get the distinct impression this place has maximum security. Even if someone did get through these gates, I couldn’t imagine facing the men who escort us now. They’re huge, muscled, and intimidating as hell.

“This way,” one man says. His accent is similar to Nicolai’s, but a little more subdued. Like the rest, he’s large and muscular, dressed in black jeans and a sleeveless black shirt. Like Nicolai, he’s covered in ink.

He brings us to a large door with two panels to the left, swipes a card through, and the door clicks unlocked. He jerks his head for Nicolai to go in first. I follow.

“The infirmary,” as the leader called it, looks like a small, but well-equipped medical room. Hospital beds lay side-by-side, and the glass fronted cabinets in front of us display a variety of first aid materials. These guys don’t fool around. I stifle a shiver. What sorts of things do they do that require them to have an on-site medical facility like this? I grew up familiar with Bratva life, but I suspect now I didn’t know the half of what actually went on.

All of us from the ship take our places beside tables and chairs in silence. No one knows what to expect in this new place, under new leadership. It scares me to even make eye contact with any of the Bratva brotherhood. What if someone recognizes me?

For the millionth time, I want to go with Nicolai and run. Escape the danger that threatens to tear us apart. I don’t care if we have to live in a hovel and take on new identities. I don’t care. As long as I’m with him.

The door opens and a woman comes in. She’s tall with wavy red hair, and wears glasses perched upon her nose. She’s on the younger side, probably late twenties or early thirties, and wears a stethoscope around her neck.

“Are you the nurse?” Yakov asks, his arms crossed on his chest. He can be intimidating, and right now, he’s wearing his most vicious glare. I suspect he dislikes being forced to seek medical attention, like someone’s supposed to survive a car crash unscathed.

The pretty redhead smiles widely. “Oh, no,” she says. “We don’t fool around with nurses here. I’m the doctor.” She pats an exam table. “Why don’t you hop on up first.”

Yakov quirks a brow at her, as if “hopping on up” the table is beneath him, but he does what she says. She begins examining him, then talks to us over her shoulder. “The rest of you sit and prepare to tell me in explicit detail what injuries you sustained.”

Nicolai looks at me curiously and points to a chair. He sits beside me, and Yakov’s woman sits on an exam table. Erik is apart, in another room altogether.

She swiftly and efficiently examines each of us, and quickly gives us our diagnoses. I don’t need sutures, but she uses a liquid adhesive to fix the gash on my face before she bandages it up and gives me pain medication. Nicolai thankfully only sprained his shoulder. I’m grateful he wasn’t more badly injured.

“You will return to your room and I want a follow-up appointment with all of you next week,” she orders, adjusting a brace on Nicolai’s arm.

“I’m fine,” he mutters. “I don’t need this damn thing.”

“Wear it,” she orders. I blink. I’ve never seen anyone speak to Nicolai with so much authority, and it startles me. Though his jaw tenses and his eyes scare me with their intensity, he growls his agreement.

One of the men who escorted us here stands at the door, watching everything. Nicolai walks with me, but the man stops him.

“She’ll come with me,” he says. “You two have a separate room before the induction.”

Nicolai tenses and looks to me.

They’re going to separate us? God. Of course they are. What did I think, they were going to give us a hotel room together and let us actually have some privacy?

“Where are you taking her?” Nicolai demands.

The other man chuckles. “Grown a bit attached?”

Nicolai’s jaw clenches and he doesn’t respond,

“Let her go, brother,” Yakov says in a low voice. “We have to complete our induction first.”

But Nicolai doesn’t have much of a choice. A second guard takes me by the arms and marches me off with him. I want Nicolai to think I’m okay, that I know this will all work out. So Yakov’s girl and I go along with the guard and I give Nicolai what I hope is an encouraging smile. We were apart for months. We can survive an hour or two.

The guard takes us down a hallway in silence, and I observe every detail. This place is massive and opulent, with thick, cream-colored carpet, and landscape paintings in gold-edged frames on every wall. We walk and walk, and with every step I take, a sinking feeling in my stomach reminds me that I’m getting further and further from Nicolai. I take in a deep breath. I told him I would trust him, and this is a test of that trust right now.

He found me once. He’ll do it again.

We finally stop outside a plain black door. The man who escorted us here removes a key, pushes the door open, then gestures for us to go in. He doesn’t follow.

“Make yourselves at home,” he says pleasantly. “Someone will bring you dinner soon. But a few things you should know.” His voice grows harder. We look at him in silence. “You do not leave this suite without permission or an escort from one of the Bratva men. You belong to no one, so you belong to all of us. You do not ask questions, and you refer to the authority of the Bratva. Do you understand this?”

I nod, and so does my companion. Of course. We are still prisoners, whether they lock us in an ivory tower or not.

But I trust Nicolai. I have to.

He shuts the door, and the two of us look at one another in awkward silence. We haven’t spoken a word to one another, not in the months of captivity. We weren’t allowed to.

“Hi,” I begin. “My name is Marissa.”

She stares with wide, cornflower blue eyes, and nibbles her fingernail, then jerks it out of her mouth. “Yvonne,” she says. “My name is Yvonne.” Then she drops her voice. “I think.”

Her confusion is a vivid reminder of where we are and what we’ve gone through, and it pains me. She doesn’t even know if this is her name.

“Is that what your master called you?” I ask. If I stay within familiar lines, I may not startle her.

She shakes her head and her eyes go even wider. “No,” she whispers. “I was only slave to him.” She wraps her arms around her chest and rocks back and forth. There are so many questions I have for her, so many things I want to say. It’s been so long since I’ve had real companionship from another woman, I don’t want to mess this up, but at the same time, if I push too hard or fast it could frighten her.

I turn from her, giving her space, and look around the room.

“Wow,” I breathe.

There are two adjoined bedrooms that share one large, massive bathroom. The cream-colored carpet is thick and plush, and it feels nice to walk on it as I make my way to the bathroom. I flick on the light, and overhead lighting brightness the room. There’s a large, oval-shaped vanity and marble sink, tiled floors, a massive jacuzzi in the center of the room, and a walk-in shower. Everything gleams beneath the lighting. It’s impeccably clean.

I open the cabinets and drawers and find every toiletry we could need, as well as full drawers of brand-new cosmetics, hair brushes, and anything I could want to doll myself up. I run my finger along the black edge of a flat iron and look around the room in awe. When I turn around from my perusal of the room in surprise, Yvonne stands in the doorway.

“This is… surprising to me,” I say.

“What is?” she asks, stepping into the bathroom and removing a luxurious towel from a shelf.

“This is… well the rooms are so fancy. It’s like staying at a luxury hotel.” And so, so very different from what we’ve experience for the past few months.

“Of course it is,” she says, her voice distance and pained. “It’s a luxury suite for whores.”

I blink. I’m so startled by what she says that at first I don’t respond.

“What?” I whisper.

Her pretty eyes look at me with curiosity.

“What did you think we were brought here for, Marissa? To cook their food?” She laughs, her voice hollow and empty. “They already have staff that do that.”

I leave the bathroom and go to the second bedroom. There’s a separate entryway door into this room, so both rooms, though adjoined, can be locked off from the other. The second room is decorated in darker colors than the first, in navy and burgundy and gold. The massive bed must be king-sized or greater, the furniture heavy and gleaming. I take in a deep breath and turn to Yvonne.

“Pick a room,” I tell her.

She shrugs. “I have no preference. It doesn’t matter anyway.” Her voice is still empty, hollow. The abuse we suffered was horrific, and I wonder if being near Nicolai somehow makes it easier for me to heal. But if we’re to be whores like she says… God.

I shiver and wrap my arms around my chest.

“So you don’t mind if I take the first room, then?” I prefer the lighter colors and brighter atmosphere to the darker room.

“Sure,” she says. She walks into the room, lies on the bed, and stares up at the ceiling. “I like this one.” She sighs. “For now.”

“Well, alright then,” I tell her, heading back into the bathroom. “I’ll, um, see you later?”

She’s still staring at the ceiling when she responds. “Later.”

I shut the door, then shut the bathroom door, too. She seems potentially sweet, but I don’t trust anyone but Nicolai. When I exit the shared bathroom, I lock my door. I’ll have to unlock it to get into the bathroom, but she can’t come back into my room now.

I walk back into the room and inspect every inch. There’s a bedside table, and when I pull open the drawer I find it empty. There’s a cozy couch in front of a fireplace, and a few soft throw blankets, and tucked in one corner is a tiny kitchenette, with a sink and a mini refrigerator.

I’m inspecting the closet when I hear someone’s hand on the doorknob. I freeze. Who would come in here? It could be anyone.

I step out of the closet, my heart hammering in my chest, when the door opens. I breathe out a sigh of relief as Nicolai steps in, shuts and locks the door behind him, then silently comes to me. I take off at a run and meet him halfway, crashing into him.

We waste no time. His hands are on my face, and mine are at his waist, the moment urgent and hurried. I don’t need him to tell me he shouldn’t be in here, that he’s wanted by the others, and I’m not his for the taking. I moan into his mouth when his lips meet mine. We’ve been through so much in such a short time, and we have no idea what happens next. We could be torn apart from one another at any moment.

His mouth is both hard and soft, his rough whiskers scraping me at the same time the tenderest touch of his lips makes me moan. Gently, his tongue explores my mouth, sending a thrill of pleasure rippling through my core. My skin prickles with awareness, my heart races, but it’s more than physical affection. I held my breath until he came back to me. Now I can breathe again.

I sink into him and he holds me, lifting me up into his arms and to his chest but not taking his mouth off mine for a minute. I inhale his cleansing, powerful scent, and let my arms roam over his shoulders and back as he holds me. Somehow, feeling his strength and power soothes me, reminding me that I’m his and he will fight to the death for me.

The room is nearly silent save our breathing, both of us quiet. I don’t want anyone to hear, even Yvonne. I’m vividly aware of how stolen our time together is, how easily we could be discovered. Will I ever be able to speak freely to him?

Finally, he pulls away, his forehead pressed up to mine. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he draws me onto his lap. “Are you okay?”

My body has already begun to respond to him, my need to be filled by him and irrevocably tied to him masking everything else I’m feeling. I take his hand and place it at my breast, sighing with deep satisfaction when he cups my breast and grins.

“I’m fine,” I whisper. “How are you?”

“Fine.” He breathes in and out, as if the very scent of me somehow brings him life. “I’m better now that I have you again. Are you alone?”

I shake my head. “This room is attached to a second, and Yvonne is on the other side.”

“Yvonne?”

“The blonde woman taken by… your friend.” Are they friends? Another one of the woman brought to the Bratva. He doesn’t speak at first, but kneads my shoulder with his fingers.

“I have to go soon. We have our induction tonight.” He drops his voice and brings his mouth to my ear. “And we know what that means.”

We do. He needs to play by the rules if we’re ever going to survive this. I have so many questions I want to ask him, but I don’t want to risk being overhead. Will any of the men recognize him? Have I been brought here to be shared by the others? What if someone knows who he is, and how we know one another?

I want to escape,I think, my forehead pressed up to his, our breathing mingled, and I almost think he hears me, for he takes my hand and squeezes it. Holding me to his chest, he presses my hand to his heart.

“This heart beats for you,” he whispers. “And only you. No matter what happens, I want you to remember that.”

“Come back to me tonight?” I whisper. The hope of a secret rendezvous, just the two of us, makes my heart sing with joy.

“I’ll come back to you,” he promises. But he doesn’t say when.

I mouth, “I love you.”

He gives me a sad smile before mouthing back, “And I love you.”

“I have to go,” he repeats. “But I’ll be back.”

I whisper in his ear. “And I’ll be waiting.”

We make promises to one another we have no idea if we can keep.