Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Aria

When I wake,I keep my eyes closed. I’m aware enough to know it’s wise to assess my situation before I make a move.

I’m in Mikhail Romanov’s residence. He’s taken me and I’m not sure what he’s planning on doing with me, since all he’s told me is “we’ll talk about the consequences for what you’ve done” and threatened to kill me.

I don’t know what I’m going to find when I open them, but I can barely think beyond the pounding in my head. It hurts so badly I feel nauseous. My stomach rolls, and my mouth feels as if someone’s stuffed it with a T-shirt.

I do a quick mental assessment. I can wiggle my toes and my legs. Good. I don’t feel any pain, so I don’t think I was hurt in any way, which I guess is a good thing. I try to remember what happened. I was definitely drugged so I’m not sure I can trust my memory.

I finally venture to open my eyes then quickly shut them. It’s blindingly bright in here and it hurts my head.

I usually get up at the crack of dawn to go to school.

School.

They’ll be looking for me. There was an attack at the school, because they were trying to find me. Dammit. Despite my definite dehydration, I feel tears prick my eyes. What has happened?

I open my eyes again, and this time the first thing I see is the gun he left on the bedside table. I try to sit up, but it’s surprisingly difficult to do when your hands are secured together.

"You’re awake."

My heartbeat spikes at the sound of his low, husky voice. He’s fully dressed, sitting on a desk chair a few feet away from me, leaning on his forearms. He likes to roll up his sleeves, I note, as I look over his corded, tattooed forearms.

My skin prickles in response. I swallow and nod, leaning into false bravado. “Obviously, yeah. Now do we want to talk about what the fuck happened last night?”

“No,” he says, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Use that tone of voice with me again and I’ll teach you to watch your mouth.”

He says it like he’s half hoping for a chance to school me. I stare at the challenge in his eyes, meeting him with a challenge of my own.

But now isn’t the time to push him, not when I’m at a disadvantage like this.

“You’re dying for a chance to show me, aren’t you?” My voice doesn’t sound as brave as I hoped.

His eyes narrow as his lips twitch. “You have no idea. You’ll see soon enough, little hacker.”

His voice is tinted with a Russian accent. A mild accent means he’s been here a long time, because the older someone is when they immigrate, the stronger the accent. He came from Russia, then, and Russian mafia. It seems he’s the old-fashioned sort.

“I’m just trying to sort out what really happened and if my mind’s playing tricks on me. After the whole drug thing.”

My eyes fall to the gun on the bedside table, and I realize I probably didn’t imagine much of what happened last night, if anything.

Clouds shift outside the windows, nearly blinding me. "You hacked into my computers. You came to me for assistance. You’re on the run because you found out information that had nothing to do with you. Your life is worth nothing, because not only are you on the run from every major organization in this country, you also decided to pull one over on me. Your life belongs to me now. I could kill you, but that would be such a waste. I need more than your dead body.”

I open my mouth to speak, but I quickly shut it because I feel like I’m going to be sick.

"What is it?"

I shake my head and cover my mouth with my hands, which I hope is the universal sign for "I’m going to vomit.”

"Are you sick?"

I nod and try to sit up, but it’s awkward covering my mouth with two bound hands, and my ankles are tied together, which he must have done after I fell asleep. He unravels himself like a coiled snake, rising to his feet. Damn. I forgot how big he is. How strong. "We can’t have that. Not today. It’s a special day."

I watch him walk away.

A…special day. Why does that make me shiver with nerves again? What’s he planning to do with me?

A moment later he comes to me with a glass of water and three pills in the palm of his hand. I turn my head away. I don’t want to be drugged again.

"Open your mouth and take these. They’re pain relievers. The small round one is anti-nausea.”

I shake my head again. “No more drugs.”

Leaning forward, he puts his mouth to my ear. I feel stubble against my cheek, the smell of pine and leather lingering in the air. “I warned you, little hacker. If you disobey me, I’ll punish you.”

I clamp my lips together.

He sits on the bed with ease and reaches for me after setting the pills and glass down, and I realize he’s going to put me over his lap like he told me. I’m humiliated when I remember how he spanked me last night.

"Fine! Fine. I’ll take them! What are they again?” The thought of being treated like a child makes my cheeks burn.

“Pain meds and anti-nausea,” he snaps, but he doesn’t ease me off his lap. “I don’t trust you to obey. You have three seconds.”

I am absolutely going to end up over his knee. God.

I put the meds into my mouth and swig the water.

"Careful. If you’re nauseous, too much water will make you sick.”

He says it like he cares. Liar.

I obediently take a small sip.

"Lie back down until those meds kick in." To emphasize his point, he lays me back down on the bed. This time, his advice makes sense, so I do what he says. This is definitely a “pick your battles” kind of situation.

"Are you hungry?"

I don’t really want to talk about things like food when I’m waiting to hear what he’s going to do to me. Again, I wonder…if he were going to rape me, wouldn’t he have already done it?

Or...no?

If he were going to hurt me, would he be giving me pain meds and offering me food?

I may be a prisoner, but this is a very civilized setting. I’m sure if he wanted to, he could easily put me behind bars or in a basement or handcuff me in a…cage or something.

I shiver.

I’ll need my energy for whatever the day brings, though, so I finally answer. “I’m starving."

"Here. Sit up." I don’t understand why he’s being so gentle with me. I wonder if he’s trying to trick me, to lure me into some kind of Stockholm syndrome thing where the victim bonds with the captor because they’re the only one that fulfills the victim’s basic needs.

Stockholm syndrome is real, and this is exactly what happens. The human brain is naturally wired to attach to people who feed them when they’re hungry. Even abused animals will turn to their abusers when they’re fed and their basic needs cared for.

When I shiver, he wordlessly lifts the fluffy blanket at the foot of the bed and spreads it over me. I wonder where he slept last night because I’m at his place. Is this his bed? I look around. This is either a guest room or he’s a minimalist.

I watch as he walks into another room and comes back with a plate of food on a tray. My mouth waters. Scrambled eggs. Thick slabs of buttered bread. French toast, pancakes. Berries with whipped cream, half a grapefruit with sugar, and a small bowl of creamy oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon.

"I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you a little of everything.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t have a private detective figure all that out.”

“I did, but all he came up with was a cereal bar for breakfast.”

My eyes go wide. “I was…joking.” I shrug and snort. “And yeah, it’s a cereal bar or donuts, so…yeah.”

“No protein? You need real food in you.”

Interesting that the man who kidnapped me cares about nutrition.

I gesture to my wrapped wrists. With a nod, he lifts a forkful of eggs and brings it to my mouth. I open my mouth and eat them, my eyes riveted on his gaze. This shouldn’t be…so intimate. My tastebuds explode with flavor. I swallow the buttery, creamy eggs and eagerly take another bite when he offers.

Halfway through, his watch vibrates on his wrist. With a scowl, he shuts it off and continues to feed me. “Easy,” he says patiently. “Not too much, now.”

After the fifth vibrating text, he curses and unfastens my wrists, allowing me to feed myself while he steps away for a moment.

In his absence, I feel strangely…bereft.

I take a bite of the buttered toast, and some more of the eggs. The berries with whipped cream are delicious, and by now the meds are starting to kick in. I sigh in relief. I won’t admit it to him, but I’m feeling loads better.

When I lay the fork down, he returns.

“Good. Now we need to bathe you next.”

We?

Since when is there a “we” involved in bathing? I consider telling him I’m pretty capable of bathing myself, but then decide that’s probably not going to get me very far.

I look again at the gun on the bedside table. It hasn’t moved, but it doesn’t need to. It’s there to remind me that I’m a prisoner. To remember why I’m here.

I fucked with the Russian Bratva, which is arguably worse than the situation I was in that led me there.

He lifts me, likely because my ankles are bound. Something white flashes in the corner of my vision, but I can’t make it out. Are we alone in this house? It’s the first time I’ve considered the fact that we may not be.

"Why haven’t you killed me?"

"That’s still an option."

I swallow and lick my lips. He tells me that, but I can tell that he doesn’t actually want to kill me. What I don’t understand is what he wants from me.

He brings me to the bathroom I used last night and slides me to the floor in front of him. Holding me against him with one hard arm wrapped around my body, he starts the shower. While the water heats, he bends and deftly unfastens the restraints on my ankles. Though he doesn’t say anything, the look he gives me dares me to try anything stupid.

Bent down like this, he’s in a vulnerable position. I could kick him in the balls. Knee him.

And then what?

Even if I did somehow get away from whatever security measures he has here, where could I hide from the Russian Bratva when I’m already in hiding? It isn’t possible.

Even if I escaped, I’d be right back in the same predicament I was in that drove me to him, only this time I’d have a larger target on my back. I wouldn’t last twenty-four hours.

But why hasn’t he killed me?

“Good. I like that you’re behaving yourself.”

I swallow and look away. I don’t want him to know that I…like his praise. I have to remember to hate him.

I watch as he reaches one of his thick, inked fingers to test the temperature of the shower. When he seems satisfied with the temperature, he begins to strip.

Strip.

I mean, what did I think we were doing in the shower?

He’s getting into the shower with me.

He’s…coming in the shower with me. Like we’re…lovers.

I swallow.

I’m going to see him…naked.

And worst of all, when he’s done…it’s my turn.

“Mikhail,” I whisper. But when he looks at me, I don’t respond because I honestly don’t know what I want to say. Instead, I watch as his clothes fall to the floor. I look away, my cheeks flaming.

I’ve never seen a man like him this close, and definitely never naked. I steal a glance back and quickly note heavily inked arms, rippling with strength. Golden skin, and a sculpted physique that speaks of a man that’s never fully at rest. A man who’s trained to use his body like a weapon, laced with so many tattoos, I know they must tell a story.

Broad shoulders flex as he pulls off his tee, revealing more tattoos and defined abs. When he tosses his tee into the hamper, it hits the side and slithers down. I watch the muscles ripple in his back, showcasing another intricate map of ink, but he turns before I note what it is.

And then his boxers. My cheeks burn hotter as I stare into his eyes because I am not looking there. Nope. I need to get into that shower, so…I guess it’s…my turn.

I’ve never stripped in front of a man before. While I’m not exactly a virgin, the sex I’ve had was in the dark and absolutely forgettable. Something tells me that sex with him would be scorched into my mind for eternity. I mean, if I survived it.

I reach for my tee when he narrows his eyes at me, spins me around, and claps his hand against my ass.

“Hey!”

“You do not undress yourself.”

I swallow and stare over my shoulder at him. “What?”

“You heard me, little hacker,” he says in that low drawl of an accent. “That job belongs to me and you will not take it from me.”

Standing there fully naked, he turns me to face him and reaches for my top. He rests his hands on my hips for a brief second before he lifts my top over my head. My breasts swing free. Next, he reaches for my panties and drags them down my legs.

My cheeks heat with embarrassment and I turn away when I’m fully naked.

I feel his hand on my chin.

“Why do you look away, Aria?”

Aria, not little hacker.

“I’m naked,” I say. Isn’t it obvious? I’m ashamed of standing front of him with nothing to hide me.

“You’re beautiful,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You belong to me now, and you will not hide what belongs to me.”

I. Belong. To him.

Is that my…punishment?

“What does that mean?” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“You will see.”

I’m so nervous. Wordlessly, he balls my clothes and tosses them into the hamper in the corner of the room.

“Ten points for Russia,” I murmur.

His eyes melt into an almost-smile before he takes my hand in one of his massive hands, sliding his other down the length of my body.

“Ten points for America.”

I swallow the feeling of pleasure his praise gives me.

It isn’t real. This isn’t real.

I watch as he steps into the shower. The steaming hot water slides down his belly, rivulets cascading down the contours of his muscles. Every inch of him speaks of power, strength, and almost…majesty. A part of me’s still in awe.

This bathroom is enormous. The shower is one of those huge ones that you would imagine football players use, because they need to accommodate big men.

“Medication can make people shaky sometimes. Do not let go of me.”

He stands a full head taller than me so I stand right at his collarbone.

I want to ask him what he means about me belonging to him, about the expectations he has for me. It’s confusing and unnerving and I’m afraid of what it really means.

He’ll use me as a prostitute? His slave?

Until he thinks I’ve paid my dues?

I watch as he takes a pink loofah and squirts white bodywash on it. "Turn around."

I turn to give him my back. When he steps closer to me, I feel his hardened length pressed up against me. Oh, God. This is it. This is where he’s going to take me.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

The suds and exfoliator feel so good on my back and shoulders I stifle a moan. One of his arms snakes around my body and holds me flat against him. His hand spans the length of my abdomen, his thumb pressed up against the underside of my breast, his fingers reaching down…much, much lower. I’m dizzy as I feel his erection between us and the familiar way he moves his fingers over my body.

Is it getting hot in here? Because all this has me feeling a little dizzy.

He bends down to talk in my ear. “People have different definitions of consent, Aria. And I’m going to tell you this now. You belong to me now. You betrayed my family. Your life is forfeit to me.” He pinches my ass. “When I want to fuck you, I will. On my terms. Do you understand me?"

So that’s what is going to be done. I’m going to be a little sex toy?

I give a barely perceptible nod because I feel lightheaded. “Listen well, little hacker. If it’s the middle of the night and I want your pussy, I’m going to take it. If it’s broad daylight out and you’re in the middle of something, if I ask you to sit on my face, you fucking will. If you wake in the morning with my cock in your mouth, you will obey me every fucking minute and take every drop. If I want to eat your pussy for breakfast, I will. When and how I want to.”

Ho-ly shit. Now we’re getting somewhere. Now we’re getting to the real purpose of me being here.

But he’s not done yet.

“I will have you anywhere and everywhere I want. There’s a reason I’m waiting right now, but you’ll see. Do you understand me?"

I nod, speechless, my mouth dry. He continues, the loofah forgotten. His arms are wrapped around me like bonds as streams of hot water bounce off both of us. “You don’t have to give me permission not to rape you. Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I haven’t fucked you yet? That I haven’t tied you up and taken my belt to your ass to punish you for what you did? That I didn’t whip you before I licked your pussy and brought you to the edge of coming, and left you tied to my bed, sore, dripping with my come while you begged for your own release? While I have my reasons for not treating you this way, remember, Aria. The threat is there."

I’m trembling against him, when he tips my head back and runs hot water through my hair. Pours shampoo in the palm of his hand and massages it into my scalp. If I didn’t feel like I was going to pass out from what he just told me, this would feel nice, but it doesn’t. I know he’s just doing this to make me complacent.

With my head tipped back to rinse the suds, he places his finger under my chin and bends me further back. Before I realize what he’s doing, he drops his mouth to my breast. I tremble at the pink of his tongue flat against my hardened nipple. A tremor of arousal overtakes me and I let out a whimper.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispers against the underside of my breast, running a thumb along my other nipple. When he grips the back of my neck, I fear he’ll try to kiss me.

I turn away. I don’t want to kiss him. I haven’t brushed my teeth, I don’t trust him, and kissing is so…intimate. You’d think showering with someone is intimate, but nothing like a kiss. You can’t hide from a kiss.

But he doesn’t kiss me. He runs his fingers through my hair and rinses the shampoo out while his phone rings again, and again.

“I’ve left toiletries and things you’ll need. My sister picked up a few things for you.”

His sister. Oh thank God there’s a woman somewhere in the mix. I breathe out in relief.

Will she like me? Will I like her?

“There’s pen and paper on the desk. Write down anything you need.” Pausing, he leans forward and tips a finger under my chin. “And remember, Aria. I’ll be watching even when I’m not here.” In other words, don’t do anything stupid. Got it.

Of course I won’t. I watch him step out of the shower and towel off, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he’s sex personified, a god in human form. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he reaches for his phone and steps out of the bathroom.

When he’s gone, the first thing I do is brace myself against the wall and breathe. I let the water flow over me, cleansing me, and breathe in the invigorating, warm air. When my heartbeat finally slows, I explore what he’s left for me.

The pink loofah’s obviously mine, as well as some nice toiletries. Shampoo and conditioner, a bottle of moisturizer. Definitely not the stuff you’d find at the dollar store.

My heart leaps when I find a razor — one of those fancy five-blade deals with a lubricating strip. Great for shaving the legs, but not so helpful if you’re looking for a weapon. I give it a long look and remember what he said about watching me. With a sigh, I use it to shave and nothing else. Thoughts of escaping come and go, fleeting thoughts of what a normal person would do in a situation like this.

But I’m not normal, and neither is he. It’s better if I find ways to make this work. Make it tolerable. Keep my own sense of self while under the control of another.

I finally exit the shower to find a fluffy towel and robe waiting for me on a small table beside the vanity. I dry my hair and body, then take a moment to use the lotion before I slide into the robe. It’s soft against my skin and makes me sigh in contentment.

I’ll enjoy the small luxuries when I can. I’d imagine this is exactly what a luxury hotel is like. I could relish a touch of luxury for a moment.

But it doesn’t last long. When I open the bathroom door, I pause, my mouth agape. Staring at the dress that’s hanging in front of me.