Chapter 26

Kimberly

W hen I wake, it’s still dark. I curl up in the covers inhaling Yaroslav’s masculine scent on the sheets. For the first time on the night after the fire, he didn’t subtly ask me to spend the night in another bed. He held me as I fell asleep, feeling safer and more content than I had in a long time. Ever since, by unspoken agreement, we’ve slept together in his bed.

Sex with Yaroslav that night and every night since have been unlike the other times, he’s been different, gentler. Don’t get me wrong, it’s just as toe-curlingly incredible, but in a different way. Each time, as he kisses me passionately and slowly brings me to orgasm again and again, I can’t help but ask myself, is this what people mean when they say ‘making love’? I think I’m falling for him, and with how he’s been opening up to me lately, I might actually allow myself to believe that he could be falling for me too.

As my senses start to awaken, I realize that the room is quiet, too quiet. I reach across the wide expanse of the super-king bed to confirm what I already know, Yaroslav isn’t here. Surely, it’s too early for him to have gotten up for work? I fumble around in the darkness, searching for my cell phone, the display shows it’s 4:38 am. Where the hell is he? Did he decide to sleep in another room after all? Perhaps he’s just gone to get a glass of water, or he couldn’t sleep and decided to get up rather than wake me.

I try not to let myself think the worst of the situation, I’m sure there’s a simple explanation and that it isn’t Yaroslav pushing me away again. With a yawn, I climb out of bed and pad over to the ensuite to use the toilet, walking slowly and carefully with my arms outstretched using the light on my cell to guide me, not wanting to bump into anything. I’m sure he’ll be back soon, I should try to get some more sleep.

As my eyes adjust in the gloom, I notice a small chink of light coming through what appears to be a doorway close to Yaroslav’s side of the bed. Weird, I could have sworn there wasn’t a door there. There was only the bookcase.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I go over to take a closer look. As I suspected, it seems that there’s a hidden doorway.

Once again, I find myself asking who is this man really was. Seriously, who has a hidden passageway in a bookshelf? Is he freaking James Bond?

I pull the door open wide, revealing a dimly lit corridor and staircase going down. I hover there, uncertain of what to do. While I’m unbearably curious about what might be down there, and wondering if this is where Yaroslav has disappeared to in the middle of the night, I also know I should respect his privacy and not go snooping around.

I resolve to ask Yaroslav about it when I see him. I’m sure there’s nothing sinister down there, it’s probably his man cave with video games or something, somewhere he can have some alone time. With that decided, I turn to go back to bed. And that’s when I hear it. A scream.

The sound is definitely coming from the hidden staircase. I rush back inside and down a few steps before stopping and straining to hear anything else. Perhaps Yaroslav is just watching a scary movie down there? But there are no other sounds, which doesn’t make sense, if he was watching a movie that loud, I’d hear more than just one scream.

Just as I’m starting to question whether or not I heard it after all, there’s another scream. This time even more agonized than the last. It sounds as though someone is in tremendous pain. The sound sends shivers down my spine and without thinking I dash down the stairs toward the noise. Someone, possibly Yaroslav, might be seriously injured and in need of help.

I follow the staircase down, it goes down so far that I realize I must be underneath the house. Finally, I enter a hallway with several doors off of it. I try the closest one, but it’s locked. I press my ear to it and, hearing nothing, I continue down the corridor, listening out for the cries. I don’t know why, perhaps some innate instinct, but I don’t call out for Yaroslav. Suddenly, my senses are on high alert, like prey ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.

As I approach the end of the corridor, I can hear groans and banging. It sounds as though someone is being beaten up. I can also make out voices speaking in Russian. I tiptoe forward, my whole body screaming at me to run the other way and forget about this—yet I can’t stop myself. I have to know.

As I get closer, I can hear everything better, but I’m none the wiser to what’s being said as it’s all in Russian. From what I can tell, there are two men calmly asking questions before dishing out blows, and a third who sounds distressed and pleading as he responds and cries out in pain. The door is shut but there’s a small window with a shutter, a bit like what you see in prisons. It’s with horror that it dawns on me that’s exactly what this area is, some sort of secret prison in the basement of Yaroslav’s home. The shutter is open on the door but I’m too afraid of what I might see to look in.

But then I hear Yaroslav speak.

“I despise traitors, Ivan, and you know it. How did Roman Sharkozi discover the information about the shipment?” he says, his voice eerily calm and collected.

“I swear I don’t know anything!” the man pleads, his voice filled with terror.

Yaroslav sighs, tutting slightly as though he’s a disappointed parent being lied to by a child. “I know that isn’t true Ivan. It seems we’re going to have to increase our efforts. If pulling your fingernails off isn’t doing the trick, perhaps we need to take the whole finger?”

He sounds so nonchalant, as though he’s talking about the weather, not amputating a man’s digits.

“No, no, please no!” the man screams before changing to speak in rapid Russian.

I can’t bear it, I have to know, to be certain that it’s really my Yaroslav torturing a man. I can’t quite believe my ears, I have to see. I edge closer to the door, quickly risking a peek. It’s so fast, that I don’t see who’s in the room, but I do see that all of the men’s backs are to me, so I risk another look.

In the middle of the stark, empty room, there’s a badly beaten man I don’t know tied to a chair, his once-white shirt soaked with blood. Although their backs are to me, I recognize Vova and Artem. But the one man I truly care about is Yaroslav, I could spot his broad shoulders and formidable shape anywhere. I can’t believe what I’m seeing and yet I’m powerless to look away. I watch in horror as Yaroslav walks toward a table laden with tools and picks up a pair of pliers. His shirt is splattered with blood which I know is not his own. I catch a glimpse of his handsome face as he hands the pliers to Vova, nodding at him to start.

I can’t bear to watch what’s about to happen next. I turn and flee, but the piercing sounds of the man’s screams chase me down the corridor. I don’t dare look back to see if I’ve been spotted, I won’t let myself consider what might happen if I am.

After what feels like an eternity but can’t be more than a few minutes, I’m back in Yaroslav’s room, panting and out of breath. I hastily shut the hidden door behind me and fling on a light. Back in the relative safety of the bedroom, I could almost convince myself that this was all just some horrible nightmare, but I know what I saw was real. David was telling the truth all along, Yaroslav really is the head of a Russian Bratva. And I’ve been stupid enough to fall for him.