Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Renata

I'm blind, gasping for breath, every cell in my body on fire when he braces himself above me. I'm dimly aware of him shedding his clothes. The ache for his weight on me is unbearable, a need that consumes every cell of my body. When he joins me, his skin flush against mine, our bodies pressed into the bed, I exhale in contentment.

He claims me in a single, brutal thrust, so intense the world spins. I gasp for breath when his big, rough hand wraps around my neck and squeezes. My pulse races, blood pounding through my veins as he pumps into me. A second orgasm eclipses the first. I'm lost to him, gasping out incoherent pleas and whimpers, my voice cracking under the weight of my need.

"Take me. Take all of me," he breathes into my ear. "I want you to know you're mine."

Another hard thrust before he pulls himself nearly fully out. I arch my hips, trying to meet his thrusts, whimpering at the loss of his heat, craving the fullness and completion of him inside me when he glides back in to complete me. My pussy clenches, and another spasm of pleasure consumes me.

"Ollie," I gasp. My face is too hot, his hand just tight enough. My vision grows hazy as my body's consumed with another orgasm on the heels of the last. I've lost count.

He shoves his cock into me, lowers himself down, and kisses me when I'm still coming. His tongue meets mine. I whimper and claw at him, my fingers scraping along his back tats. His hand tangles in my hair, and as I gasp for air, I revel in the perfect blend of pain and pleasure, each tug sending shockwaves through me.

"Look at me! Keep your eyes on mine. Do not look away, Renata."

I lick my lips and ride out my pleasure as he rocks his hips with mine. His hot seed spills inside of me. His deep, satisfied growl reverberates through me, so primal and masculine I can't help but moan in response. He slams into me again, his eyes boring into mine like flames of green fire. I watch him chase his pleasure with mine and trail my hand down the side of his arm. He's beaded with perspiration but barely winded.

As he lies beside me, still pulsing inside me, I relish the heat of his claim, the way his release marks me as his, binding us together in the most intimate of ways.

I roll over as he quietly gets up and walks to the bathroom and reaches for his balled-up tee. It's warm and smells like mountain air and alpha male. Like him.

I curl up in a ball, blissfully content, my body flushed and numb with a pleasure I've never felt before.

"I don't know if I need a joint, a bar of chocolate, or a bath," I murmur, my voice gravelly. "I can't move."

"Maybe a nap before I order some food and fuck you again."

I crawl up on his chest and smile, my eyes closed, breathing him in. My body feels light, but my eyes are so heavy. I fall into a deep sleep.

When I wake, Ollie's sitting in a corner of the room. The view is hazy, and I blink my eyes. The shades are drawn and in the distance, I hear the rhythmic thudding of footsteps on the pavement, someone jogging outside. It must be very early in the morning.

Ollie holds a tablet in his hand. He's slightly turned from me, bare-chested, wearing a pair of boxer briefs. I gaze at the deep marks I left on his back, vivid reminders, as if I've branded him with every desperate touch.

I lie in bed, not daring to make a sound. I want to observe him like this, silent and thoughtful.

His fingers flick over the screen of the tablet. I squint my eyes so I can see more clearly. I'm suddenly very wide awake when I realize he's watching recorded footage… of him.

I don't know who the man is, but he works for my brother. They were tight when they were younger. The man kneels on the pavement, the night dark, while he pleads in Spanish for his life. Ollie's voice is cold and calculating as he questions him.

" Where is she ?"

It takes me a moment in my sleepy haze to realize the she is me. I watch in horror as the man continues to plead for his life. Someone mutters in Spanish—the person making the recording.

I close my eyes. I don't want to see this. I don't want to hear. It's so low it's like background noise, but anyone would recognize the desperation as he begs for his life.

I open my eyes just as Ollie puts a gun to the man's head and pulls the trigger. I can't completely stifle my gasp. Ollie turns quickly to see me watching him. Our eyes meet.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he says with genuine warmth, his eyes lighting up. He places the tablet on the table and walks over to me. I flinch when he reaches to touch me.

A deep furrow knits his brows. "What is it, Renata? Why are you looking at me like I'm going to hurt you?"

My heart races, and my stomach aches. How could I have been raised in this life and still, even now, be consumed with revulsion at violence?

When I don't answer, he strokes thick, rough fingers through my hair. He hasn't shaved in a few days, his jaw covered in rough stubble. As he drags his hand down to my shoulders, he frowns, touching me with such tenderness it's as if he's memorizing the way I look and feel.

"Everything I do, I do to ensure your safety, meelaya. "

Sweetheart.

His touch is gentle, his voice soft, as he pulls me into an embrace, his touch reassuring.

"You'll hold our children with the same hands you use to hurt people."

"Yes," he says quietly and offers nothing else. Agreement. No explanation and no lies.

"What if I don't like that?"

"Like what, Renata?"

His heart beats under my cheek.

"This lifestyle. What if I want to… to leave it behind us? Have a life that is normal and pedestrian."

A beat passes before he shakes his head. " Nyet. You say this now, Renata. You've got a tender heart. You're sensitive. I knew this when I first met you." He smiles sadly. "Why do you think I bought you a puppy? But you and I both know there is no escape from what's before us. Not for me. Not for you."

He's right; I know he is. I could pack up and leave. Run away. But my brother is alive, and he'll stop at nothing until he finds me. Everything we are, everything we own, is tied up in the Romanov family line and the Los Sangre Dorada. We'd be penniless and friendless with targets on our backs.

But we'd be free.

"Let's talk no more of this," he says, bending to kiss my forehead. It doesn't feel as tender as it did before. "Are you hungry?"

The apple pie I ate at the diner seems like ages ago. "I'm starving. But I'm not so sure this is the kind of place that has room service."

He shrugs. "We don't need room service, and we will skip the continental breakfast. There are four different places nearby that offer delivery, I can order whatever you want with the touch of a button."

Oh, right.

I sit up. "Sounds great."

I walk to the bathroom and clean up. The shower is larger than I expect, and the little bottles of toiletries, while not expensive, smell faintly of lemon. I take my time washing up, and by the time I join him, wrapped in a white towel, he's got several cardboard containers on the bed.

We sit cross-legged on the bed, inspecting each one. Turns out ordering breakfast takeout doesn't hold a candle to actually going out to a diner, but you can't eat in a restaurant half-naked, so it's a good trade-off. The eggs are a bit cold and the toast soggy, but there's a warm muffin studded with plump blueberries topped with thick sugar.

I take a bite. "Mmm. This is delicious. Do you want it?" I ask.

He shakes his head and eats the cold eggs. "You eat it. I'm fine with the eggs."

"You do the high protein thing for your manly physique?" I ask, smirking.

He winks. "It works."

I slather butter on the muffin. "Yes, it does. Do you know how to cook?"

He nods. "I do. I travel a lot, so it helps to know how. You?"

I pick a blueberry out of the muffin. It's plump and sweet, and still warm. I notice idly that my finger's stained with berry juice. Silently, he reaches for my hand and licks the juice off the tip. My heartbeat races. Why does everything he does to me turn me on?

"Yeah," I say, yanking my hand back so I can concentrate on filling my belly and not worrying about sex distracting us. "I had to learn to cook as a matter of survival. My father was absent more than he was present. My brother used to cook for me when he was younger."

I remember sitting at the kitchen table, swinging my legs because I was too short to reach the floor. "Carlos learned how to make huevos pericos, a kind of scrambled eggs with tomato and onion, and arepas with cheese."

But that was when I was little, it feels like a full lifetime ago.

Ollie's eyes darken. He doesn't like when I talk about Carlos fondly. How can I help it? He was good to me back then.

"I want to tell you what happened, but you don't seem to like when I talk about Carlos."

He shakes his head. "You should be able to tell me anything. I'm your husband. And what I think about Carlos is irrelevant."

"It isn't, though, Ollie," I say pleadingly. I place my hand on his arm. I love the warm, reassuring feel of his muscles when he looks at me.

"I just don't want you softening toward him. It won't do, Renata. You must be ruthless, fearless, and as impassive as you can to keep yourself and the people you love safe."

And right there and then, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he just gave me a little glimpse into what it means to be him, didn't he?

Maybe we both don't have to be that way.

"When we were kids, Carlos was different. He was my older brother, but I always felt like I was his protector. He was different… in not a good way."

I pause, trying to figure out how to continue.

"I understand," he says. "We all came from fucked up backgrounds, didn't we?"

I nod and swallow. We did. We have.

"He was always so angry and controlling, like a mini version of my father. I didn't realize how bad it was until… until the day he hurt another child. Badly."

Ollie's jaw tightens. "What happened?"

"Carlos got into a fight with a neighbor's child over something stupid. He pushed him down the stairs. I watched. I tried to stop him, but I couldn't. He knew exactly what he was doing." I shake my head. I can still hear the boy's cries for help, still feel myself grasping for thin air too late. "The boy was in the hospital for weeks. He broke his back."

"Jesus," Ollie mutters.

"My father covered it up, of course," I say, unable to hide the bitterness from my voice. "He paid off the family, bribed the local law enforcement and his men made the press stay quiet. But I never forgot. That day I knew what he was capable of."

Ollie nods quietly. "I understand."

"But he never raised a hand to me. Everyone treated me very well in school, and if they even hinted at any less, all that had to happen was someone reminding them who my brother was, and it stopped. He was gentle with me. Protective."

Just like Ollie.

In sharing this story with him, I realize why I fear Ollie's dark side so much.

At some point, will Ollie turn on me too? I've seen how obsession and protection can morph into something dangerous.

"I get it," Ollie says gently. "I've seen things in my brothers and my father that were similar."

I don't know about his father, but I know that at least his brothers didn't turn on him.

"It was hard," I tell him, shaking my head as if somehow the gesture will make it go away. "Still is. I've always felt responsible somehow, like it was my fault he is the way he is. As if I could have done something, anything to stop him."

"You were just a child," he says gently. "It wasn't your fault."

I shake my head and sigh. "But so was he."

"I know. Thank you for telling me though. It helps me to understand what we're dealing with here."

I nod, feeling a strange sense of relief at having shared this with him. "There's more. I want you to know that Carlos has a motive. This isn't just about power or control but about revenge. His worst actions have always been fueled by revenge."

"Revenge for what?" Ollie asks, his eyes narrowed.

"For everything. For the way my father treated him. The way the world treated him. He blames everyone and everything for his problems, and he wants to make everyone pay. He takes no accountability for his choices, it's always someone else's fault."

Ollie's expression darkens. "We need to be more careful, then. He won't stop. Not until he gets what he wants."

I nod. "One hundred percent. And we can't let him win. Just like that little boy who was feared and unstoppable—we have to intervene. We have to stop him."

"We'll stop him together, Renata." Ollie squeezes my shoulder. "I know that it hurts. Remembering how he was. I've gone through something similar."

I nod. I want to ask him for more details, to elaborate, but something tells me to stop. I think I've had too much sharing of dark past details for today.

"Polina sent me more pictures." He takes out the iPad. I blow out a breath, thankful for the change of subject. I don't know if I'll ever be able to see him using that damn thing without remembering what I just saw. But when the screen fills with pictures of my sweet pup, I smile. "When will we go back?" I ask quietly.

"As soon as I'm confident your brother isn't following us." How can he be really, truly confident? I saw that shadowed figure in the road last night.

Maybe it was a coincidence.

But maybe it wasn't.

We finish our breakfast in silence. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to eating in silence, for Ollie is a man of few words. We clean up, and he leans across the bed to me, kissing me.

"You taste like blueberry muffins."

I smile and shrug. "Beats huevos pericos, I can guarantee you."

My heart flips in my chest when he smiles. It's so rare, it feels like unearthing a precious gem. I have to admit, I still fear him —a lot, but still, a part of me wishes I could just make him feel at ease for once. I wish I had the power to magically make the tension around his eyes soften and do something to help him truly sleep at night instead of catnap like he typically does.

"Look," he says, pointing to the iPad he's put by the window. It's an ocean landscape, complete with the sound of crashing waves. "I found a farmers' market here in town today, too. Did I miss anything?" He pulls me to him and holds me. "You said you like puppies, farmers' markets, ocean views, sleeping in, and what was that other thing… oh yes, sex ."

He remembered. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"You get a gold star," I say with a pang. I want this to last. I want to hold onto this moment, but I know I can't. I remember trying to catch fish with Isabella with our bare hands, how they were slippery and wet and would slide right through our fingers. We'd think we actually caught one, only to groan as it slithered away. This feels vaguely the same.

"I know I've asked you this before, but what truly makes you happy, Ollie? I want you to be completely honest with me" I pull away and place my hands on his shoulders, holding his gaze with mine.

For a moment, he's so serious I don't think he's going to respond. I'm getting used to his quiet ways, but it still unnerves me a little. "It's not that complicated," he says in a low voice. "I like knowing that the people I love are safe."

I wait for him to continue, but when he doesn't, I can only nod in understanding. "That's it?"

He holds me, pressing his hand to the back of my head and tucking me close. Our hearts beat in sync. "That's it."

Am I one of "the people he loves?" The thought surfaces, but I'm too afraid to ask. I know I overthink things, and I know that a part of me fears that is exactly what I want.

I make no sense even to myself. I know we said the words, but I want him to truly love me. Who wouldn't?

I'm also not so sure what it will mean to be loved by Ollie. Will I be smothered? Chained?

Will I have any memory of where I begin and he ends?

Is this what I want?

We linger for a moment until the world outside starts to seep back in. I think we'll have to be mindful of this. It's easy to forget it isn't just the two of us sometimes.

Ollie's phone on the table buzzes, breaking the silence. I remember in vivid detail what I saw last night on the iPad. I can still conjure up the cold, distant sound of his voice. The man's pleas for mercy. The boom of the gunshot and the thud of the man's dead body hitting the ground.

Does Ollie have a conscience at all?

"Go get dressed," he says in a quiet command.

I pull clothes out of a bag and do what he says, but I don't miss the way his face darkens as he reads a message on his phone.

"What is it?" I ask, already bracing myself for the answer.

Something's gone wrong.

Again.

"Aleks says they've found your brother, he's definitely alive," Ollie replies, his voice now all business. "He isn't anywhere near us yet. We're safe. But he was sighted at The Cove earlier today."

Oh God. It's happening. I knew it would come to this, but it still hits me with the force of a tidal wave. My heart sinks to the floor.

Ollie's face is unreadable as he dresses, shifting seamlessly back into the cold, distant, calculating person I first met. The difference is so palpable I can't help but wonder if I've imagined any warmth.

"We're heading into town to go to the farmers' market. Your brother can kiss my ass." He tugs on a tee, his muscles tense. "I want to take you before it gets too crowded. Let the men back at The Cove do their job and find him." His green eyes laser in on mine. "Stay close and do what I tell you, Renata. Is that clear?"

I can only nod as I try to push away the anxiety that rises in my chest. I get dressed and put my hair in a messy bun. When I return to him and we leave the room, he acts as if I'm a witness in a relocation program or something, holding me behind him while he scouts ahead of us. I don't bother to remind him that Aleks just told us moments ago no one's found us here. It's just as well, he wouldn't listen to me if I did.

Normally, the vibrant energy of a farmers market would lift my spirits, but today, it feels like a distraction, nothing short of a temporary escape from the storm that's brewing.

In the distance, someone plays a guitar, her soulful voice both beautiful and poignant. Ollie holds my hand.

The market stalls overflow with fresh fruits and vegetables, the air thick with the smell of ripe tomatoes and vendors showcasing their daily specials. Children dart between the stalls, and a sweet black puppy on a leash barks playfully between them.

We pass a stall selling freshly roasted coffee. I buy us both a cup as Ollie takes the opportunity to scan the crowd with practiced precision. His expression is, as always, tense and alert. One of the children runs from another and nearly knocks into me.

"Easy," Ollie says, steadying the boy with two hands on either side of him. "You almost ran into my wife."

The boy blanches and nods. I look in surprise at Ollie and try to see what the boy sees—a man twice his size wearing a leather jacket, covered in tattoos, with dark-green eyes that have no boundaries.

No wonder I'm having second thoughts.

"Do you want anything?" I ask. Perhaps a chocolate chip cookie will sweeten him up and soften the edges.

Perhaps not.

He shrugs. "Whatever you're having. Mexican street corn?"

"No! Where?"

He jerks his chin at a vendor three stalls down.

" Sí. " Elote is 0ne of my all-time favorite foods.

The plump woman with a kind smile running the stall hands me two paper boats filled with grilled corn slathered in mayonnaise, chili powder, cojita cheese, lime juice and cilantro.

He hands her two $100 bills and tells her to keep the change. "No, no, this is too much," she begins, but he only shakes his head and leads me away.

I take a bite. The flavors burst on my tongue. "This is delicious. Do you like it?"

I try to pull him into a conversation, but he only shrugs. "It's fine." I can't help but notice the way his shoulders are slightly hunched, like he's expecting something, or some one , to jump out at us.

We weave through the crowd and take our time looking at handmade jewelry, jars of homemade jams and preserves, and smelling baskets of cinnamon and clove potpourri. He buys me a turquoise beaded ring at one of the stalls on the edge of the market, closest to the music. "It's pretty and dainty," he says, sliding it onto my finger. "Like you."

I kiss his stubbled cheek. "Dainty?"

"Mmm."

When we reach the stall with fried dough, my mouth waters. "Care for a taste?" the vendor asks, holding out a sample.

When I reach for it, Ollie shakes his head. "If you want one, he'll make it fresh," he says in my ear.

"Okay." I bite my lip. "Yeah, let's get one." We buy one and share it, but the silence between us feels louder than the bustling market. I try to ignore it, but Ollie's continued distanced demeanor makes my chest feel tight.

Though the market buzzes all around us, it feels as if we're miles away.

"Do you want to go back?" I finally ask. "You need to be in the thick of things, don't you?"

He exhales and shakes his head. "It isn't that, Renata. I trust my brothers. But I don't like waiting for your brother to find us. I thought I'd feel differently about him once we were alone and safe, but the truth is… I feel like we're only postponing the inevitable."

The inevitable being my brother trying to murder me and my new husband putting a bullet between his eyes. Just like he did to that man on the video.

"I agree," I say. The fried dough sits like a rock in the pit of my stomach. "Let's go home."