Let Me Burn (Six Silent Sins Book 3)

by Elodie Colt

  It would break me.

  And if Nathan cast me aside because he decides he’s not hot on dating his step-sister? That would break me, too.

  Jackpot, Ella. You’re on the best way to total self-destruction.

  The ring feels like a heavy rock inside my bag when I punch in the code to disable the alarm on the gallery’s backdoor, weighing me down and making my limbs numb. The door opens with a soft click, and I slip inside with my nerves in tatters.

  One night. One night of pretending everything is red hearts and colorful rainbows. One night of sweet conciliation, warm touches, and hot love before I make a clean slate and tell Nathan the truth.

  The door to his apartment is already ajar when I step out of the elevator, clutching my bag like a lifeline. I texted him earlier to let him know that I wanted to talk things out. His response was a lightning-fast ‘About fucking time. Thank God…’ with a string of heart emojis.

  Damn, Nathan, you’re going to regret all thanks you’ve sent to God come tomorrow morning.

  Nathan materializes in the doorframe—his face stern, his eyes scorching, and his body sinful in a coal-gray Henley shirt. I approach him with hesitant steps. How the hell am I going to evade his questions? What am I going to say without dishing out more lies?

  “Hey,” I start when he’s in full view. “I’m—”

  His hand clamps around my wrist, yanking hard so I stumble into his rock-hard chest. Before I can even gasp in surprise, his lips devour mine, his fingers slipping into my hair to hold my head in an unrelenting, possessive grip. My pulse spikes up to a speed that can’t be healthy for my fragile heart as he thrusts his tongue into my mouth in nothing short of desperation. The door slams shut behind me. My legs turn into a pair of over-cooked spaghetti, unable to hold me any longer, but Nathan pins me against the door, pressing his body into mine so hard, it wouldn’t surprise me if our ribcages fused.

  With a smack, he rips his lips away, and I gasp for air.

  “You feisty, stubborn, crazy girl,” he growls, clawing his fingers into my cheeks. “Don’t you ever run away from me like that, do you hear me?”

  His lips. They are the only thing I can focus on right now. A pair of soft, moist lips that I want to feel all over me at once.

  He gives my chin a shake. “Words, dragonfly girl. I want your words and your promise.”

  “I won’t run from you again…” I babble so fast, the sentence blurs into one, incomprehensible mess of words.

  His lips hint at a crooked smile—a smile that almost makes me come undone in combination with the hard tip in his jeans poking into my groin. I lean forward, eager to reconnect with his mouth, but he retracts an inch, a full-blown smirk now on his face.

  “That wasn’t a promise.”

  He’s teasing me, the bastard, knowing that I’m at his mercy. Cornered, trapped, and hornier than a fifty-year-old virgin. My nostrils almost flare as I gather the last threads of patience.

  “I promise to never run from you again. Now, can you stop fucking with me… and start fucking me already?” The words come out as a menacing growl, one that boils with frustration at the brutal injustice of my impossible situation, but they do have the desired impact as his growing length twitches against my hipbone.

  His eyes burn into mine—intense, promising, and foreboding—before he snatches the pendant around my neck and uses it to pull me forward so he can whisper over my lips, “So eager to let me destroy you…”

  When this night is over, I’ll be the one to destroy you.

  I kick the gruesome thought aside as he sweeps his tongue into my mouth, the fluttery sensations in my lower section quickly overpowering the sinking feeling in my chest. My hair flies around my shoulders when he pulls me away from the door, his hands holding me up with ease. I’m so feverish from our carnal kiss, it’s only when my butt hits a hard, cold surface that I realize Nathan has plonked me down onto the kitchen counter.

  We pull and yank at each other’s clothes—desperate to get naked, eager to connect, dying to love—until nothing is separating us. The designer bowl behind me clatters to the floor, half a dozen apples thudding against the tiles. Nathan’s pecs twitch as I roam my trembling hands over the ridges of his divine body, and I thrust my head forward to sink my teeth into his neck. He groans when I suck his skin, his fingers clawing into my hair to keep me attached. I lick and nip and bite, hard enough to leave marks, but the hisses escaping him only urge me on.

  A sudden thrust makes me rip my mouth from him, and a loud, whiny moan rattles over my lips when two of his fingers find their way into my wet, hot core. The euphoric sensations severe the tendons supporting my neck, my head rolling back as if not attached to my spine any longer. Drilling the heels of my feet into his ass, I spread my legs further, making his fingers go in so deep, I tremble like a washing machine running on full spin cycle.

  “My turn,” he growls with an evil smirk before he sinks his teeth into my neck, pushing me back until I’m lying on the counter.

  He removes his fingers before he drives into me with a body part that feels to be ten times longer and thicker and harder, and I instinctively grab his shoulders, needing something to ground me. The strangest sounds come out of me. Moans, whines, whispers, pleas, cries, screams, grunts—fuck, even death prayers force their way out of me as he rocks his hips against mine, combining his calculated thrusts with affectionate touches. The bright overhead spots make me feel like one of his jewels showcased in a box of glass, and it quickly becomes clear that this had been his intention all along—my body on full display. Imperfections, blemishes, and every minuscule birthmark included.

  Always with the lights on, has been his nightly promise to me ever since we left the depressing, dark Silent Sins rooms behind us, and where else would he get the best view of me if not in his kitchen where the lights are as bright as in a surgical suite?

  Or do I see stars? No. The sun?

  Hell, if I know. Probably shouldn’t have knocked down three vodka shots to ease my nerves before I came here. The booze combined with the adrenaline and endorphins rushing through my bloodstream induce a total shutdown of all my brain cells until reality morphs into fantasy, and fantasy morphs into vivid dreams.

  I pry my eyes open, blinking to untangle my lashes from each other. Everything is dark. Silky blankets cradle my body that lies on a soft mattress. A comforting, rhythmic rush of air makes me turn my head to the side to see Nathan next to me, deeply asleep with one arm draped around my waist. Wow. My orgasm was so intense, I zonked out right there on the counter. Seeing as I’m wearing an oversized T-shirt that smells like freshly showered male, I assume Nathan took care of me and put me to bed.

  A smile builds on my face, one that quickly diminishes when I remember what I came here to do.

  To give back the ring that was never mine in the first place.

  Carefully removing his arm from my waist, I swing my legs over the bed, pad out, and close the door quietly behind me. Dimmed lights lead the way into the kitchen where I find my clothes discarded in crumpled heaps. I wriggle my legs into my jeans, switch Nathan’s shirt for mine, and grab my bag. Trying not to make any noise, I tip-toe toward the door when it occurs to me that I could use some fresh air before I confront Nathan with the truth, so I quickly fetch my jacket and shoes, too.

  I slip out the door and skip into the elevator to take a ride down to the twenty-second floor. The doors open with a ping, and I wince. Darting glances around me, I make sure the dimly lit hallway is empty before I scoot into Nathan’s office.

  Silence engulfs me. The place feels god-awful daunting all of a sudden as if I’m too insignificant to roam these walls on my own. I take slow steps toward the art niche in between two, huge window panes. The sixth nook is empty and the only one without a safety glass. With my chin quivering, I retrieve the ring from my bag and gently set it onto the dark-blue velvet.

  It fits the indent perfectly.

  A trembling breath wheezes over my lips wh
en the brutal reality of it all kicks me in the gut once more. If it wasn’t so tragic, I’d laugh at the irony, but all I can do is slap my hand against the window as my vision narrows, and stars pop up behind my eyelids. My tummy makes a flip as if I were plunging into a deep abyss, and I shudder in a breath as my lungs constrict.

  Air. I need air.

  Pushing away from the window, I hurry out of the room and stumble into the elevator. The damn thing needs hours to close the doors, and I jam my finger against the button in panic. The sinking elevator feeling only increases my nausea, and I gulp down bile, pressing my eyes shut and mumbling a silent prayer before the doors finally open.

  I bolt out with a choke, staggering for the back door. Shoulder first, I push the heavy steel open, bend over double, and wheeze in a breath. With my arms clamped around my belly, I try to pump my lungs with oxygen until the dizzying feeling subsides. When I’m somewhat steady again, I straighten and rake my hands through my hair so hard, my scalp tingles.

  A flicker of light snaps my attention up to a tiny, almost invisible camera pointing straight at the back door. Nathan doesn’t need to watch me going to pieces behind his gallery, so I quickly take a few steps to the side, retreating into the shadows, when suddenly, my back collides with something hard.

  I yelp, spinning my head around, but right then, a sharp sting shoots up my neck. The scream bubbling out of me drowns underneath a cold hand clamping around my mouth.

  A terrible realization hits me before a curtain of darkness closes in front of my eyes…

  Luka has finally caught his prey.

  19

  Luka

  I knew patience was the key. Fortunately, I’m a man with patience in abundance.

  And tonight, my efforts finally paid off.

  I admit it was a rocky road. Years of waiting, suffering, scheming. Long days and endless nights of exploiting boundaries, finding patterns, searching for opportunities. Every encounter between her and me set me back, every mistake I made threatened to blow up the plan I’d been forging since I first laid eyes on my Russian queen.

  Elenka Jendarov. Beautiful, cunning, temperamental, and irritatingly reckless. She’s always given me a run for my money, my perpetually cautious girl, doing everything in her power to keep me at bay, but she never stood a chance. All I needed was a second of imprudence, a tiny slip-up to strike at the right moment.

  After my massive fuck-up last time, I had to reevaluate my strategy. Pushing her wouldn’t get me anywhere, so I backed off for a while and retreated into my shadows. Stopped all communication attempts, erased myself from her constant fear, and eventually, lulled her into a false sense of security. It was torture. Watching her meet with that scumbag Nathan Crawford, knowing his hands were all over her divine body, felt like cutting out my insides with a jagged knife. Every time she slid onto her bike to drive over to him left me hyperventilating behind the steering wheel—always seconds away from cutting her off, dragging her into my car, and slapping some fucking sense into her.

  But I smelled my opportunity tonight. She was upset when she left her sister’s house. I could tell by the way her pretty lips were turned downward, her expressive eyes glassy and red, her movements jittery. She made it so easy for me when she slipped out of the Crawford building in the middle of the night, hiding in the blind spots of the cameras.

  My gaze is locked on the beautiful creature in my arms. Countless nights I’ve dreamed of this moment, to cradle her body and feel her heart beating. She looks so peaceful without any fears and worries creating that ugly furrow between her eyebrows.

  Gently, I lower her into the wing chair in the living room. I take my time getting her comfortable, tugging her body into a blanket, and positioning her head so it won’t roll off the backrest. Not removing my eyes from her, I squat down to bask in this incredible moment.

  I haven’t seen her up close for years, at least not longer than a minute. The last time we had a face-off, she had a gun pointed at my chest. Slowly, I trail a finger along the contours of her face, leaning closer to inhale her sweet, fruity scent.

  “I love you, Elenka. So much,” I whisper into her hair. “You are my religion. People pray to God, but I will always pray to you.”

  She will be out cold for some time. The fast-acting anesthetic propofol I stole from the hospital has knocked her out for good. Being an experienced pharmacist has its perks.

  I push to my feet. The old floorboards creak as I amble into the bathroom that is as rusty as a shipwreck corroding at the bottom of the ocean. I throw a look into the yellowed mirror. A man who calls himself Dimitri Smirnov stares back at me. I’ve changed my names so many times, I sometimes forget the name my parents gave me. Brown contacts cover my usually pale eyes, and a matching mustache is glued above my upper lip. I move a hand over my short hair. The new buzz cut that I trim every day feels strange, but I had to get rid of my ash-brown curls to change my looks. Frankly, the black suit doesn’t hide my gangling build.

  I crack my knuckles, giving myself a fevered stare. Do I even remember who I am?

  You are Luka Sokolov, my reflection answers silently. The man who still lives in the past instead of seizing the few years he has left.

  My lips flatten as I dab at the lump on my neck. The swollen glands don’t hurt, but they keep coming back despite the countless treatments I’ve had. I swallow, watching as my hollow cheeks move. The hoarseness in my sore throat is getting worse, too. The doctors say it’s a miracle I’m still fully functioning considering the massive amount of radiation exposure I’d endured as a child.

  I say it’s fate. God wants me to protect Elenka. To live for her.

  Just like Annika should have lived for me…

  Yeah, yeah, I know what you think. I’m the villain in this story, right? I deserve to suffer. I deserve to have contaminated blood rushing through my veins that caused thyroid cancer in the first place. Maybe I do. I’m not a saint. I’ve done horrible things.

  But what about those who have done horrible things to me?

  I was born and raised in one of the shittiest holes in Novozybkov, a little town in Bryansk Oblast, Russia. We were dirt poor. The few days we were lucky enough to have a meal on our table were holy. Mother made me beg for bread on the streets and steal potatoes from our neighbor’s crop to feed the family and her unborn child. I remember the trousers I wore each day—worn-down and patched up so many times, you couldn’t even tell the original color. Whenever I was careless and ripped a hole into the fabric, Father beat me with a ruler and forced me to sew it with my bloody fingers. All in all, not a golden childhood.

  And the nuclear reactor core overheating in Chernobyl 1986 didn’t promise a better one, either.

  Not that we had a clue about what had happened. We didn’t have a radio, and the government reacted too late. By the time the town was evacuated, most of us had already signed their death sentence.

  We were lucky, though. The Babanin family in Chernihiv, Ukraine, gave us shelter and allowed us to live in their shed. They were beyond wealthy with a property twice as big as the school I’d visited for a few months until we couldn’t afford the luxury of education any longer. Maxim Babanin owned the biggest pharmaceutical company in the Soviet Union and lived with his wife, Galina, and daughter, Annika, in a three-story villa with carpets softer than any bed I’ve ever slept in and storerooms crammed with more food than a three-person family needed in a lifetime.

  Life was nice there. We earned good money and received warm meals every day. Father tended to the property, Mother did the cleaning, and I served the family with whatever tasks Maxim handed over to me. He saw to it that I received proper education and taught me a lot in the field of pharmacy. I loved him.

  But I loved his daughter more.

  Pain glistens in my eyes, and I quickly close them, lowering my head. Annika…

  She was fourteen. I was only ten. Too young to fathom the meaning of love, Father said. Too young to have a crush on a girl. Too young to und
erstand anything about the other gender.

  He was wrong. I knew what love was, just as I do now.

  You see, I was always more compassionate, more sensitive, more responsive. There was always more going on inside my heart. I’ve never had a stupid crush. It was always soul-wrenching, heart-bleeding, maddening love. Mother used to say it’s a gift from God.

  I say it’s a curse.

  One evening, when I was changing the bedsheets, Annika made me follow her into one of the many backrooms. The entire place was wired, always under tight security. She showed me how to hack into the security system to disable the cameras before she puckered her rosy lips, leaned in, and gave me my first kiss. From then on, I knew she was the one. The woman I was going to marry. We met in secret every night, playing around with the technical equipment and playing around with each other. She let me touch her breasts and even showed me parts of her body I didn’t know existed. It was the first time in my life I was happy.

  Until the day everything changed.

  It was a cold and stormy night. I remember the flames of the candles dancing as the wind blew through the shed, flickering shadows over the wooden walls. Mother was about to deliver her baby, lying on the cot pale, sweaty, and weak. She was screaming for hours. I knew something was wrong when blood started to soak the sheets. Father panicked and kicked me out of the shed, saying I should get some towels to be prepared for the baby.

  Only I never got to see it. Not alive, anyway.

  I stood outside the window, my hands pressed against the glass as I watched Father cradling a chubby, bluish bundle of flesh. I didn’t know why he was crying until Mother stopped screaming, her eyes sliding shut. I was already about to run back inside when I heard Father say, ‘Forgive me, Luka.’

  The next thing I knew, a loud, blood-curdling shot pierced the silence, red liquid spraying against the windows. Turned out he took his gun and blew his brains out. With my eyes widened in terror, I watched as his body toppled over and hit one of the candles.