Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Aria

When I wake,I don’t know where I am.

The room is dark, but I know my abductor is nearby.

I can smell that scent.

I can still feel his strong arms about me, and even though I knew I was in danger, I had a strange sense that I wouldn’t be accidentally hurt.

No. If this man hurts me, there will be nothing accidental about it.

I’m still too drugged and disoriented to really appreciate where I am. I know that it’s a large room, with very few windows. It’s definitely not a cell, or underground, or really hidden anywhere. The faint touch of blue hints at sunrise out the window.

The smell of coffee and toast makes my stomach rumble.

Asshole. No one should turn the smell of morning coffee and toast into a negative thing.

"You’re waking up.”

I know that voice. I hate trying to piece things together like a toddler with a puzzle, but I can’t help it.

I’m too drugged. Too disoriented.

I open one eye. So it definitely wasn’t a hallucination or a dream. Mikhail Romanov didn’t send one of his henchmen, either, but apparently took it upon himself to keep guard over me.

Dressed in faded jeans and a black shirt rolled up to his elbows, he’s leaning forward, looking at me.

“It will take a little while for the effects of the drugs to wear off." He says it so casually, as if it’s not terribly wrong.

I shiver uncontrollably, unsure of what’s going on. “Wh — where am I?” My teeth chatter, and a full-body tremor makes my teeth clang together.

“You’re in my home,” he says.

His home. He took me to…his home? Why am I here?

“Are you cold?” he asks when I shiver again.

“Fr-freezing,” I chatter. The fact that I can’t speak properly makes me want to scream. I take pride in having complete control over myself.

“Hmm,” he says thoughtfully. Leaning forward, he lifts a second blanket from the foot of the bed and tosses it over me. “Coffee?”

I shake my head because I don’t trust my voice. What is going on?

“While you’re not yet capable of talking fully and you’re still disoriented, I’m going to catch you up to speed, little hacker.” Because he has the decided advantage right now, in every possible way.

Little hacker. That’s right, he said that when he first took me.

Took me.Mikhail Romanov kidnapped me.

I swallow, my throat tight. He knows. He knows I manipulated his online scheduling system so I could get in to see him. I’ve been so foolish.

If he knows I hacked into that, what’s to stop me from hacking into damn near anything else?

Nothing.

He walks over to the side table and retrieves something slender. My heart beats faster when I realize he’s holding some sort of silky rope. With effortless ease, he reaches for my wrists and begins to casually bind them. I hate that I can’t stop him.

I push through the fog and try to protest. “What did you do? Who do you think you are, taking me like this?” I wish I could threaten that when someone — some unnamed, mysterious someone who actually cares about me — finds out I’m gone, there’ll be hell to pay.

But it isn’t true. It would be a lie, and he’ll call me on my bluff.

Leaning back, Mikhail scowls at me. I noticed he was unnervingly skilled at binding my wrists.

“The punishment for violating security in my family is execution.”

My heart nearly bursts through my chest. I look down at myself, still barely clothed, and realize how vulnerable I am. How easy it would be for him to torture or kill me.

But if he were going to do that…wouldn’t he have done the job already? Why bring me here first?

“You broke a rule that in my world gets you punished.” Casually, he opens a drawer and pulls out a gun. He strokes it lovingly before he places it on the bedside table. “I’ve killed men for far less than that.”

I believe it’s true. Based on what Tatiana told me about him, I know he isn’t lying.

My heart is in my throat as I look at the gun. Hear the casual way he talks, as if this is just the way things go. You did X, therefore Y. As if things like my world and punishment and execution aren’t wildly wrong. As if the casual admission of having killed people just makes sense.

Tatiana warned me. They stop at nothing to get what they want.

“You offered me your services. You demonstrated such services, and I won’t lie — it’s impressive.”

I watch him like a hawk, as if he’s going to strike at any moment.

He looks so different than when I saw him before. When he leans forward, his biceps stretch against the black fabric of his shirt. If I wasn’t afraid this man was a psychopath, I’d find him hot. It’s not my fault, though. I mean, any woman would.

Everything about him exudes raw, masculine strength and virility — the muscles that bulge against the tee, the definition in his shoulders and arms. Tattoos scatter across his neck and look like they go down his back, a stark reminder of his allegiance to the Romanov brotherhood. His perfect, ruggedly handsome face that would be model-perfect if not for the coldness in his eyes.

He’s crazy, though, and he kidnapped me. So while he may have rules in his world, in mine? He’s insane.

“So you drugged me,” I say, my words still slurred as if I had an all-night bender with my sorority sisters. I rarely drank in college, so the effect is quite insulting. And you think that’s okay? I want to ask him. It doesn’t seem like now’s the time to question him.

I wonder briefly if there’s ever a time to question him.

With a shrug, he tips a finger under my chin. “I did. It made my job easier, for now.”

When his phone beeps he looks at the screen with a scowl. Swiping it on as if it personally offends him, he rasps something out in Russian. The voice on the other end is plaintive and apologetic, but he cuts them off and hangs up. I don’t even know Russian, but you can tell a lot from someone’s tone of voice and body language.

I shiver. He isn’t just a leader. He leads other men just like him.

My heart beats faster. Adrenaline surges through me when he leans in closer.

“I have questions for you, little hacker.”

Apparently, we have a pet name. How cute.

I tremble. I’m pissed that I’m shaking. I walked into his office with my head held high and I want to be on equal terms again. “Hard to — talk — when I’m drugged.”

“Mmm. I see,” he says, as he sits on the edge of the bed before he reaches for me and lifts me up, placing me on his lap.

His. Lap.

I can feel the tightness of his thighs beneath mine, and I’m painfully aware that I’m nearly naked. I’m wearing nothing but a tank and thin white cotton panties while he’s fully clothed.

I couldn’t think of anyone more unlike me in this moment — him, muscled and strong and powerful. Me, damn near scrawny. Him, rich and powerful and fearless. Me, running for my life without a penny to my name. Him, a leader in the Russian mafia. Me…a nobody.

It seems like the most logical response to anything he asks me is to tell him the truth. I can barely talk, much less defend myself. And yet…I won’t roll over and let him have what he wants. Yes, I hacked into his goddamn computer base, but that doesn’t thereby give him carte blanche over me.

I gasp and flinch when he reaches for me. His fingers stab into my hair, effectively pinning me in place. I remember his admonition before I left his office about not leaving my hair pinned up.

He’s been waiting to do this.

I clamp my teeth together and look into his cold, merciless eyes. I bet if he had a man in this position, he’d be treating him very differently. Still, it’s unnerving how easily he dominates me into submission.

“Yes or no answers will suffice. A simple nod or shake of your head will do.”

I clamp my lips together. I won’t tell him anything. He won’t break me.

“Did you or did you not hack into our database and break it so my secretary couldn’t access it?”

I clamp my teeth together and look away. His fingers in my hair tighten. A warning.

“Answer me.”

I stare stoically ahead. I know who I’m dealing with but I won’t be bulldozed by a goddamn man.

“No one says secretary anymore. Join the modern age, you Neanderthal,” I mutter through clattering teeth.

To my surprise, he shakes his head and gives a cold chuckle before his grip tightens to painful. “Answer me,” he whispers in my ear. “Answer me now before this becomes a lot more painful for you.”

I grit my teeth and refuse to speak.

He pulls my hair and I gasp. I freeze, unable to move.

“I have other methods to make you talk,” he says in a voice that reveals no emotion. “But I won’t use them yet. With the plans I have for you, it would be better if you and I weren’t enemies out of the gate.”

“Fuck. You,” I seethe. As if he can just take me from my bed and manhandle me and expect us to not be enemies?

The pain worsens as he holds me in his grip. If I move, I’m fucked.

I feel his fingers against my aching scalp and his mouth to my ear. “Did. You. Do it?”

“Of course I fucking did,” I manage to rasp out. “I needed to talk to you. All I did was make her calendar disappear for a little while, so I think you’re way overreacting.”

“Am I?” he asks. He sighs as if pained as he reaches for his gun and cocks it. “We could try traditional methods if that’s what you truly prefer.”

Fear spikes through me and I’m suddenly wide awake. I wonder if I’ve imagined that he’s drugged me. My mouth feels dry.

“Her calendar should be back now,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

“That isn’t the point, and you know it.”

His tone of voice — cold and indifferent, as if I’m nothing more than a specimen pinned on a card — scares me more than anything else he’s done. Why did I ever go to him to begin with?

Again, his fingers stroke through my hair, as if to remind me that if I behave, he can be very nice. But even drugged, I know that’s a lie. I wince when his grip tightens.

“I’m going to ask you another question. Think before you speak, Aria.” So we’re heading into first name territory, are we? Excellent. Something tells me familiarity with this man will be a huge mistake.

His mouth to my ear makes me shiver from the closeness and intimacy. The difference between warm and cold makes me uneasy. One minute, he’s holding me tight and the next, he’s switching on a dime.

“Fine,” I say, my teeth chattering.

“Did you hack into any of our other systems? Tell the truth now.”

I don’t respond at first. So maybe I did. Maybe I found it as easy as opening up a can of soup to get into her calendar, and…maybe I was curious. I wondered what I would find. Sometimes when I discover a hidden passageway or open door, curiosity kills me.

This time it actually might.

“I peeked,” I say through gritted teeth. “I touched nothing. Downloaded nothing. I barely even looked.”

This time when he pulls my hair, I feel as if it’s coming out at the roots. I scream but it doesn’t stop him. He knows exactly what he’s doing, hurting me in a way that makes me vulnerable and won’t leave a mark. Tears spring to my eyes.

“Tell me what you saw.”

There’s no point in holding back at this point. “I found the names of the men in your group. Contact information. Addresses. Some financial transactions. Contracts and identities I didn’t understand.”

Another lie. They had informant identities clearly marked and categorized. The contracts were drawn up with agreements and arrangements with other groups and individuals. It was very civilized, honestly. He needs better fucking cybersecurity, but it’s probably not the wisest thing to tell him that right now.

“Very good. Some truth.” To my surprise, he strokes my hair, almost gently, another reminder that he’ll play nice if I do. “My brother was right.”

About what?

I look away from him when he finally releases me.

He pushes me off his lap. I wobble on my feet.

“Get in bed,” he says, turning away from me. “You’re here now. Sleep off the rest of those drugs and when you wake, we’ll talk about the consequences for what you’ve done.”

Wordlessly, I stare at him before he scowls and turns me to face the bed. Gripping my arm, he smacks my ass, hard. “Bed, now. You’ll learn very quickly that I won’t tolerate disobedience.” He punctuates his words with another sharp smack.

My cheeks flame with embarrassment. My heartbeat races as I climb into bed like a chastened child, afraid of what he’ll do.

While he watches me, his arms crossed over his chest as I lift the blanket with my bound hands and slide under it, a part of me wonders if he’s human underneath that stern exterior. Or is he so used to getting his way he doesn’t know how to be human anymore? He manhandles and dominates me with such ease, it seems it’s part of his character.

When I’m tucked into the bed, exhaustion hits me like a freight train. I’m vaguely aware of him swiping something on his screen and talking in a low voice in Russian before he turns away.

I can’t sleep. I won’t sleep, I tell myself, not when he’s watching me and holding all manner of threats over my head.

I’m relieved to find I’m able to process my thoughts more clearly. I’ve lost everything — the few friends I have, a safe place to stay. A place to call my own. But the absolute worst of it all would be losing my ability to think. A cognitive impairment sounds to me like a punishment worse than death.

So when my thoughts begin to sift through what happened — what I did, and what he did — I realize with a sigh of relief, I can still think.

It feels like an hour or more later as the adrenaline finally crashes and the aftermath leaves me spent. I tell myself I won’t fall asleep, that I’ll stubbornly refuse to do what he tells me. But the bed is warm and it’s quiet in here. I have no idea what the day ahead holds for me.

I should maybe sleep while I can.

I close my eyes and drift off, waiting for him to come get me at any second. I dream of codes and computers in a darkened room, but this time my hands are bound.