Chapter 14 - Natalie

The first thing I notice when I open my eyes is the raging headache throbbing in my temples. It feels like a thousand little men are hitting my head with jackhammers, and my brain pulsates until it feels like it's going to explode.

What I'm lying on is too soft to be the desk I was leaning on, but my vision is still blurry.

I rub my eyes and wipe away the tears that have left dried, crusty marks on my cheeks. I groan and sit up. My head spins as I look around, trying to figure out where I am.

The last thing I remember is Leon telling me that he murdered my family fifteen years ago. He talked about the things he did to them and how they fought, how the knife dug into my brother's body.

I didn't even know I had brothers.

Leon's grin was downright menacing when he told me what had happened all those years ago. The insane look on his face, when he told me about the knife, sent a shiver down my spine.

The whole time I stood with him, hearing the joy in his voice as he spoke, I just wanted to run away. My whole body was screaming at me to run and never look back. To get on the first plane, I could book and get the hell out of New York.

But he kept me trapped. There was nothing I could do to escape.

Leon enjoyed the pain he was inflicting on me.

Bile rises in my throat, and I look at the lilac-colored bedspread beneath me. The large four-poster bed stands in the middle of the room. The walls are white, and a few windows let in plenty of light. The floor moves beneath me as I swing my legs out of bed. I stretch out my hands and hold on to the light oak bedside table as I try to regain the feeling in my legs.

Panic floods through me as I get a better look at the bedroom.

Where am I?

The blood rushes in my ears, and my chest tightens as I stumble to the door, banging my hip against the dresser. My whimpering is the only thing I hear as I press my ear to the door to see if anyone else is there.

I can hear a soft voice on the other side of the door, but it doesn't sound close.

Still, I have to try and get their attention.

I bang my fist on the white door as hard as possible and jiggle the handle with my other hand, hoping it will miraculously open. "Help me! Hello, help!"

My voice raises higher and higher, my heart galloping through my chest, trying to force its way out of my ribcage. I scream until my throat goes dry.

Pain shoots through my fist with every blow to the door.

Only when my voice goes hoarse do I let myself sink against the door, and more sobs shudder through my body. I pull my knees to my chest and hold them tightly.

When I set out to find my family, I never in a million years thought I would find something like this. I thought that I would learn the truth. I would find my family and we would finally be with each other again.

Instead, I met a ruthless monster who told me that he slaughtered my family. Then he sent me to Russia to live with people I don't know.

Marina kept this secret from me for years. She told me that my family had given me up for adoption. That I was from Russia, even though I thought I had memories of New York. She always told me that I made them up after watching too many movies.

She lied to me for as long as I can remember.

I take a shaky breath and try to stop the sobs. I pull myself together; I can't afford to sit here and wallow in self-pity.

As I stand up, I feel lightheaded, and the floor beneath me starts spinning again. I hold on to the chest of drawers next to the door to support myself for a moment.

My room is large, with two doors on the wall opposite the bed and a bookshelf between them. There is nothing on the shelves; the room is without any decoration. There are no curtains hanging over the windows, no books, or pictures, not even a single work of art.

I stumble to the other two doors and yank one open to find the closet; behind the other door is the bathroom. A single roll of toilet paper and a towel lie on the vanity, but there's nothing else to help me get out of here.

Sighing, I go to the window and see a large, manicured garden.

As I press myself against the window, I look to the side, searching for any houses or buildings. Someone that might be able to see me if I try to get a signal to them. Nothing. Just trees that tower high around the perimeter of the garden.

"Shit. Shit. Shit."

I can climb out of the window. It doesn't look like a long fall. If I get the window open and try to land properly, the baby would be safe, and I could run.

Hope floods through me, and the world around me sharpens as I reach for the window and try to yank it up. I pull until one of my nails breaks, and blood drips onto the windowsill.

"Fuck."

The window doesn't budge. Not even a little bit.

My gaze wanders around the room as I look for something to break the glass. As I rush to the dresser to check the drawers, I catch my foot on the edge of the carpet. I tumble into bed and slam my shoulder into one of the bedposts.

My hands ache, and my body feels like it's been put through the wringer as I stand up and walk carefully to the dresser. None of the drawers open.

The weight of the world is on my shoulders as I slink back to the bed, needing a moment to catch my breath and think clearly. Panic won't get me out of here. I've tried everything I can for now.

It's time to make a plan, but it's hard to do while I"m lying on the bed and my brain is going haywire. My mind is like a broken record of thoughts; words echo from deep canyons, repeating everything I've heard in the last few weeks.

‘But trust me, you don't want to do this.'

Boris was supposed to be a lovely man who finances an orphan. He was supposed to be kind, a friend of Marina"s who knew how hard she struggled. He was supposed to be a man who was happy to see me and welcome me. I had built him up in my head so much that I thought he would be the solution to all my problems.

Instead, he handed me over to the freaking monster who ruined my life.

‘I killed your family.'

The man who killed innocent children. Killed my parents. And is thinking about killing me.

Leonid Orlov is the devil. My avenging Dark Angel of the night–is the devil in disguise.

He may be handsome, but it's not his perfect warrior body, his perfect hair, or his well-defined cheekbones that make him look like he belongs in the underworld. It's his stormy eyes that glow with rage and sparkle with lust at the same time.

His seductive charm has lured me in, and an undeniable attraction has brought us together like a magnetic force. I don't regret that I had the best fuck of my life, which I will never experience again, feeling desired and empowered. Just thinking about it sends a heat coursing through my body.

And now I'm carrying his child.

But he said something else, which I can't make any sense of, ‘after everything your family had already done to mine,' he said. What did he mean by that? Was my father in the mafia, too? Is my life destined to be surrounded by murderers?

An acrid taste fills my throat as I lunge to my feet and rush to the bathroom, flinging up the lid of the toilet and throwing up. All these thoughts make me sick. What a fucking mess.

I rinse and get up to wash my mouth out with water before sitting on the edge of the bathtub. The porcelain is cool against the back of my legs, but it does little to calm the storm ahead of me.

The decision to keep the baby a secret from him feels like the right decision, at least for now, especially now that I know who this man really is and what he"s capable of.

I don't know where I am, but I can assume that Leon is the one keeping me here. What I don't know is why.

Why would he lock me up when he could have killed me in his office yesterday?

Does he want to torture me? Leon is a sick bastard who would rather see me hurt and fall to pieces, rather than kill me right away.

This would never have happened if I hadn't come to New York.

If I hadn't found Boris, I would have been left with a million questions, but I wouldn't be waiting for a murderer to decide what to do with me.

The father of my child is going to kill me.

Although, if I tell him I'm pregnant, I don't know if I"d be any better off. I can't raise a baby with him. There is no way I would allow my child to be exposed to that kind of violence.

To this life.

I should have listened to Marina and stayed home with her, where it was safe.