Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Renata

One thing Ollie doesn't know about me but will soon learn—I cannot hold my liquor. Fortunately, Isabella, the only person who does know, isn't here.

The flight from Colombia to The Cove is a good six hours, and I fully plan on sleeping the entire way. But even though the shots he gave me are thrumming through my veins, the pain relievers haven't kicked in yet, and my arm is fucking throbbing.

I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm in pain though.

Or would it even be satisfaction at this point? He looked genuinely concerned about me back there, as if this twisted marriage was more than just a strategy, more than just a means to an end. But I know better. This isn't love—it's survival.

Ollie. The name alone cuts like a blade. I have to look away, to force myself to breathe, because if I don't, I'll remember how it felt to trust him. To want him. It's a temptation I can't afford.

A pang hits my heart, and I have to look away to compose myself. There was a time when we'd swiftly become each other's confidants, and I'd give anything to have that back.

I hate that my brother has forced me into a position of looking like a goddamn traitor to the two people I actually care about. I hate that he's turned me into this—an outsider in every world I belong to.

I stifle a sigh. Sometimes, I wish I wasn't so good at detecting truth and lies. This might all be easier if I didn't know he cares about me.

My brother wanted me to know that he's watching. He wants me to remember what I promised, and he wants me to know—one slip up, and Ollie's a dead man.

I close my eyes and fight against the well of fear that threatens to consume me whole. I don't know how I'm going to get out of this.

"How's the pain?" Ollie sits next to me.

I shrug and don't answer. For a minute, I feel as if I do, I'm actually going to cry.

Unlike me, covered in dirt and blood, my hair askew as if I had just walked head-on through a wind tunnel, Ollie looks perfect.

He always looks perfect.

I swear to God, the Romanov men could be models, and it is not fair. Gods among mortals. Strong genes in that family which probably has something to do with their status in The Cove. They get everything they want—King Midas with his golden touch. Everywhere they go, women fall all over themselves, trying to get them to look their way. It isn't fair, really. Filthy rich and the picture of ancient gods?

Like a creature carved from stone, he's unyielding and untouchable. But I've seen the cracks beneath the surface, the beast lurking in hiding…I want to coax him out of hiding, tame his inner monster.

I shake my head and take a look at my enemy…also known as my soon-to-be-husband.

What the hell is Isabella thinking , throwing us together like this?

My God, he's every bit as handsome as I remembered.

His jawline, sharp enough to cut glass, is covered in rough stubble. Those green eyes that see right through every layer I've built to protect my heart. Others say he's cold and merciless, and while I wouldn't deny it—there's more to Ollie Romanov than others think.

I hate how my pulse races just by looking at him, a reaction I wish I could control, but I'm only human. His presence fills every room he enters, commanding attention and respect without uttering a word. It's infuriating how effortlessly he exudes power and dominance.

"Are you going to keep staring at me, or do you need more painkillers?" Ollie's emotionless voice breaks through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality.

I scowl at him, trying to mask the involuntary flutter in my chest. "Oh, I'm fine," I say sweetly. "I need nothing more from you, sir. Thank you very much."

"Ah. Good to know you're practicing how to respect your husband."

I give him the middle finger… just to set him straight. His eyes spark at me, and he sobers, leaning closer. "Do that again, Renata, and I'll test my theory about my fiancée and her spanking kink."

I gape at him. "What?"

"You heard me." Oooh, the nerve. I want to wipe that self-satisfied, smug look right off his face, to see the man beneath the mask. The man who might actually feel something more than cold, calculating detachment.

I flop back in the seat, and the small interior of the plane swirls in front of me.

"Is that turbulence?"

He snorts and raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. Oh, fuck you, Ollie Romanov. I'm helpless when he smirks.

"No, I think it's the shots. You probably shouldn't mix alcohol and painkillers."

Oh. Right.

Well, fuck.

I hate that he's right. I hate that despite everything, I'm going to have to rely on him, and that makes me even more vulnerable than ever. The thought makes me want to scream and break things.

"I don't trust you, you know," I say. My voice is steady, but when he gives me a stern look, my heart races faster.

"You don't have to." He leans in closer. "It's really very simple, Renata. All you have to do is marry me. Let me fuck you. Take my name and have my babies." He shrugs, as if all of this is so simple—all I have to do is marry him, give him everything, and let him control the rest.

But this is more than a marriage. This is war.

"I'll handle the rest, Renata."

Oh, is that all?

I narrow my eyes at him but don't give the smug prick the satisfaction of a response.

"Fine," I snap. "But don't think for a second I'll let my guard down with you." I whirl a finger in a circular motion around my face. "See this? This is all you'll get from me."

What the actual fuck am I saying? What was in those drinks?

His dark, rich chuckle sends a shiver down my spine, confirming my suspicion that my comeback line was as lame as it sounded to my own ears. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

My head feels as if it's three times the normal size, and the throbbing pain in my arm has begun to fade a little.

"Fine," I say. Then I wonder if I said that out loud. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" he asks, getting that adorably confused look he gets when he's thinking about something, like a curious puppy. For one tiny minute, his guard drops, and he's utterly disarming.

"When I talked to you." I stifle a giggle. "Did I say that out loud?"

Oh, God, here we go. I should not have had those drinks, especially not on an empty stomach.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" For some reason, I find his confusion hilarious. I burst out with another giggle and cover my mouth with my hand.

"Nothing."

"Are you drunk?" He shakes his head.

"Oh, honey," I say on another giggle. "I'm fucking plastered. I can't hold my liquor at all. "

"Jesus." He stands up, towering over me, and I can't help a feeling of dread and anticipation. This guy is going to be my husband, my protector, and my biggest fucking challenge. And somehow, I have to make sure I navigate this new reality without betraying him to Carlos and without losing myself in the process.

This will be impossible.

"Look at me," he snaps.

I open my eyes as wide as I can and stare up at him, my head swaying lazily.

"Mmm?" His face swims in front of me.

"Have you eaten anything?"

I shake my head. "Somewhere between being captured by our enemies and then dragged to the LSD headquarters, questioned, then dragged to this plane and attacked I forget to eat my three square meals." I shrug. "Oopsie."

He rolls his eyes and signals to the flight attendant. "Orange juice, two ice cubes. Something sweet. And a chicken sandwich, no mayo."

I turn my head away when tears prick my eyes. Of course he remembers exactly what I like. It feels like a lifetime ago I was detained for questioning, and he was the one in charge of me… but in reality, it was only a week ago.

The flight attendant hands us our food, and we eat in silence. I watch him discreetly.

I'll kill the man you love.

I have to look away.

What have I done to give an onlooker like my brother the impression that I love Ollie Romanov? I think back to my captivity with him.

The way we talked for endless hours, and I told him all about my childhood. He talked about his trips to various countries as the international consultant for the Romanov Bratva, and I asked questions, intrigued. Ollie is a quiet man to others, but he opened up to me.

My brother hit me where it hurts. He knows I'm vulnerable when it comes to Ollie Romanov. I wish I wasn't so easy to read.

My head feels light, and my arm aches as I finish my sandwich and eye a chocolate chip cookie.

Ollie glances at me, his eyes softening. "Is your arm still bothering you?"

"Only when I use it," I reply, my words slightly slurred. "Which is all the time because it's… one of my most favorite limbs." I glance down at the bandage. "You doctored it up damn well though. How'd you get so good at that?"

He shrugs. "I was the Bratva's medic before Mikhail took over. We all tried out different positions. I wanted to go into medicine when I was a kid." He takes a long sip of a bottle of soda. I watch his Adam's apple bob up and down and swallow hard. He lifts the second half of his sandwich and takes a large bite, chews methodically, and swallows. "I study things and aim to become an expert." He shrugs. "It's sort of my thing."

"I've noticed."

Languages, cultures, traditions and locations—he keeps it all in his head as if cataloged. Once he learns something, it's there to stay.

I wonder if his skill at mastering things translates to people too.

I shove the cookie in my mouth before I say something stupid again.

Ollie leans over, gently reaching for my arm and examining it. "Looks swollen."

I look down. "I doubt human flesh is made to be slashed and bandaged like that. I'm fine."

"Renata." The sober tone of his voice catches my attention. God, I love it when he says my name. The thoughts in my head come to a stop, and my pulse quickens in my veins. "I'm serious," he continues, his brow furrowed in concern.

I swallow hard. My brother was right. I'm madly in love with this man, and it will kill me… if he doesn't first.

I wave my good hand dismissively. "Relax, Ollie, I won't fall apart. I've suffered worse." I lean in closer, whispering loudly. "And I bet when we get back, you'll kiss it and make it better, won't you?"

I lean back and giggle when he growls, then hold my hand up to the flight attendant.

"Another shot, please."

"I think you've had enough." Ollie scowls.

"Not quite yet," I say with a sickly sweet smile. I push my plate away and stare hard at his cookie.

The flight attendant looks back and forth between us, and Ollie gives him a firm shake of his head. He scurries away before I can put his life at risk again.

"You gonna finish that sandwich?" Ollie asks.

If he thinks he's going to boss me into eating more food… I glare at him. "No. I could use another cookie though."

Wordlessly, he leans over me to grab it. That clean, woodsy scent of his tickles my nostrils, and I stifle a groan.

Not fair. Not fair !

I watch as he annihilates my sandwich in two huge bites, then eye the cookie still left on his plate. Cookies are my favorite. Wordlessly, he slowly hands it to me. I nearly clap my hands with glee.

It's rich and buttery, and I savor every bite.

"You're like a kid," he says, but there's a softness to his voice, something almost protective...

"Mhm. You got a problem with that?" He's not wrong. Healthy food is all well and good, but give me a cookie, and I'm a happy girl.

He snorts. "I like drunk Renata."

My heart thumps madly. Maybe he doesn't despise me.

I grin at him and twist the top off another shot. "Do you? What do you like about her?"

He watches me, amusement dancing in his eyes, but there's a hint of sadness in them. "She's playful. Uninhibited. And maybe a little vulnerable."

"Is drunk Ollie playful and uninhibited? Or would that require a lobotomy?"

He snorts and shakes his head.

We finish our food, the tension easing as we fall into an almost comfortable silence. Despite everything, this feels somewhat normal again. We found a groove with each other back in The Cove. Maybe… despite everything… we can find it again.

Maybe.

I lean back and close my eyes.

It's safer for me not to love him. If the time comes when Carlos makes good on his promise, it would kill me.

We have to find Carlos. We have to get to him before he gets to us… or neither of us will survive this.