by Zoe Blake
“Samara, the only way this marriage is going to work is if you learn to question less and obey more.”
I opened my mouth to object.
He placed his fingers over my lips. “Before you even attempt to deny it, let me assure you… we are getting married as soon as possible. Nothing has changed, especially after tonight, and no, I’m not referring to the intrusion.”
My cheeks flamed. He had promised that in the end I would beg him to fuck me, and damn him he was right, but just because I surrendered to him in bed didn’t mean I was ready to surrender the rest of my life.
Gregor leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “Try to get some sleep.”
I listened to the muted voices on the other side of the door. The deeper, angrier one was definitely Gregor. The other must be Jim, trying to apologize again for the security lapse. After a short heated exchange, heavy footsteps headed off down the hallway.
Still, I waited… holding my breath.
After several minutes, headlights glowed through the gauzy bedroom window curtains as a car pulled around the circular drive and sped away.
I waited a few more tense minutes till I was certain Gregor was gone, before tossing the covers aside and rising.
Chapter 27
Samara
Crossing into my bedroom, I avoided the bloodstain on the carpet and ran to the closet.
I changed into a black t-shirt and yoga pants with black sneakers and checked my purse for what little cash I still had and my Gwen Stevens IDs. He’d be able to trace them, of course, but hopefully I’d be across the border, already have a new ID, and be in the wind before he caught up to me.
Placing my ear to the outer door, I listened for any sound of movement. There was none. Still, I knew Jim must be there.
Taking the lamp off the bureau, I unplugged it and ripped off the shade before hoisting the heavy glass and metal base over my head. Standing just to the right of the door, I inhaled deeply before letting out a loud scream.
Jim came bursting through the door.
The moment he did, I slammed the lamp down onto this skull. He crumpled to the floor without so much as a whimper. Tossing the lamp aside, I whispered a quick apology to his prone form.
Creeping over to my bedroom door, I peeked my head out and surveyed the hallway.
It was quiet and still.
Careful to avoid any squeaks in the floorboards I had noticed earlier on my tour, I made my way down to the main floor and into the kitchen where there was a door to the garage. Rose had shown it to me earlier, bragging about her boss’ taste in luxury cars.
I surveyed my options.
Escalade
Porsche 911
Audi A4
Cadillac CTS
BMW 3 Series
I decided on the Audi. It was less flashy than the others. I didn’t want to stick out on the road. Going to the key box, I selected the one with the Audi key chain. After opening the car door, I placed the car in neutral then went to the side wall and pressed the automatic garage door button. Immediately, I dove into the backseat of the Audi and hid just in case someone came to investigate. A bead of sweat slid from between my shoulder blades down to my lower back as I tensely waited.
The evening remained still and calm. No cry of alarm.
Getting out of the car, I circled around to the back and pushed. The hardest part was just getting it rolling. It didn’t budge. I turned around and pushed with my back, bending my knees to use all my weight. Finally, the car inched forward. Then it rolled. Thank God he had a smooth asphalt driveway and not a gravel one.
I pushed the car till it was a few lengths away from the gate at the end of the drive.
Getting behind the wheel, I found the gate remote and pressed the button. The gate silently slid open on greased rails. Once more, I got out to push the car. By the time it was through the gate, I was sweaty and exhausted. This had taken way longer than I thought it would, and my heart raced at the idea Gregor could return home at any moment.
I turned the ignition on, and the car hummed to life, then I drove out of the cul-de-sac as I fiddled to put the air conditioning on blast.
I finally allowed myself to breathe.
Chapter 28
Gregor
After pulling into the dimly lit warehouse loading dock, I flipped open the glove compartment and pulled out my pair of brass knuckles. They were actually made of a heavy iron. Swiping the pad of my thumb over the faded image of Lenin imposed over a laurel wreath crest, I thought of my father. Cast back in 1927, the weapon had been smuggled out of Russia by a long-forgotten family member when they stowed away to America. My family, my father especially, thought it was amusingly ironic to use a tool of the Bolshevik revolution to inflict violence, command, respect and restore our own wealth.
He gave them to me on my thirteenth birthday.
I had wanted a BMX bike.
Looking down at the deep, black etching of 1917 and 1927 on either side of the four finger holes, I shook my head. Like father, like son.
Although perhaps not entirely.
While he used them to instill fear, I used them to inflict the maximum amount of pain with the fewest punches to save my hands.
I may have been a criminal, but I wasn’t a thug.
I took no pride in walking around with bruised and cut knuckles to showcase the violence of my business. I had no need for such a superficial display. If I were handling myself correctly, a man should have been terrified regardless of whether I looked like I could throw and take a punch.
Against my own wishes, I honored my father and the Ivanov name by taking on the mantle of the family business, but I took no pleasure in it. Probably why I so often sought escape through acquiring art or reading one of Shakespeare’s tragedies. My soul needed to be reminded there was culture and beauty in the world, even though my daily actions sought to destroy it.
Perhaps that was why I clasped on to Samara so tightly. There were other marriageable females with family names of equal reputation and standing, but they didn’t compare to her. Samara had an artist’s creative soul, but with a dark edge. She knew the only way to truly appreciate beauty was to experience pain and ugliness. It was clear in her chosen art subjects, in every stroke of her brush.
I knew bringing her into my world would expose her to even deeper levels of darkness and foolishly dispelled any unease by assuring myself it would make her a better artist, and I did truly believe that. Yet, that didn’t mean I ever wanted her to experience that darkness firsthand.
As her husband in all but name, it was my duty to protect her.
I failed her tonight.
Never again.
Haunted by the look of disgust and terror in Samara’s eyes when she saw the blood on my shirt from earlier, I pulled my sweater over my head and tossed it back onto the passenger seat before stepping out of the car. Slipping the brass knuckles into my back pocket, I slammed the door shut and made my way in the dark to the back storage room where I knew I’d find Vaska and Dimitri.
They were both standing over a crate of guns. Three men—looking worse for the wear—were tied up and gagged with duct tape on the cold, cement floor.
I slapped Vaska on the shoulder in greeting.
“What is this?” I asked with a nod in the direction of the guns.
Dimitri lifted the Russian sniper rifle. “Knock offs those piece of shit Petrov brothers tried to palm off on us.”
Dimitri tossed the useless chunk of metal and plastic back into the crate. We all turned to stare at the tied up men.
Rolling my shoulders in preparation, I offered,“I just want to say—”
Vaska cut me off as he handed me a flask. “No need to thank us, Gregor.”
I took a swig and choked. Swiping the back of my hand across my mouth, I shook my head as I handed the flask back to Vaska. “You’re still drinking that Moskovskaya shit?”
It should have been illegal to call that swill vodka. It tasted like gasoline po
ured through a dirty sock.
Vaska laughed, then took a swig before replacing it in his coat pocket. “You and Dimitri are too soft with your fancy tastes.”
Ignoring the familiar jibe, I asked, “How did it happen?”
Vaska shrugged. “I was having a steam at Red Square.” He nodded in the captive's direction with the swollen right eye. “That idiot bragged about fucking over the great Gregor Ivanov. I tried calling to warn you…”
“I was busy.” While always being aware that my life choices may have put Samara in danger, it never occurred to me that my obsession for her would put us both in danger. There was no denying the woman was a distraction… now a dangerous one. I was so focused on her I had neglected to secure the house as well as I should have by bringing in extra men to patrol the grounds and monitor the security cameras. If it hadn’t been for Dimitri and Vaska interceding, I may have lost her. “I thank you, my friend.”
Vaska shrugged again. “This was not a problem. Although I am sorry about the damage to your side door… and your dining room table… and your—”
I smirked. “A small price to pay.”
With the pleasantries over, it was time to get down to business. Vaska shrugged out of his coat as Dimitri loosened his already blood-stained tie. Reaching into my back pocket, I pulled out my brass knuckles and slipped my fingers through the four holes, testing the familiar weight.
The captives attempted to scream past their gags as they shifted and shuffled along the floor.
It would do them no good. They were dead the moment they accepted the job to kidnap my bride.
Flexing my fist, I approached them. I recognized the first man. It was Pavel Rasskovich, a flunky for the Novikoffs. “Your comrade is already dead. How painfully you die and whether your loved ones die as well will depend on you.”
I tore the duct tape off the mouth of the closest perpetrator. “Who sent you? Egor or Boris?”
Before I proceeded, I needed to know if it was her father, Egor Novikoff, or both who set this into motion.
The man sneered. “Fuck you. I’m not telling you—”
Raising my knee, I used the heel of my boot to kick the man in the mouth. His head snapped back, and blood poured from his lips. He choked and retched as several teeth fell onto the cement.
I gave the man another kick, and he fell sideways as he continued to choke to death slowly on his own blood.
Twisting my left hand into the shirt of the second man, I wrenched him to his feet. Before removing his gag, I drew back my arm, curving it to lessen the jarring impact because of the brass knuckles. I struck out, breaking his nose with one punch. Allowing his body to fall as it absorbed the impact of my blow, I leaned over him and watched him struggle for breath as his nostrils filled with blood. When his eyes rolled back into his head, I finally removed the duct tape. He sucked in a ragged breath.
Leaning down on my haunches, I wiped off the blood on the iron bands around my fingers on my jeans. “Now that I have your attention. I want to know who sent you? Was it Federov or Novikoff?”
Turning his head to the side, the man blew air through his nose, splattering the ground with flecks of crimson before answering. His Russian accent had the thick, unmistakable twang of a newly arrived Muscovite, just like the man who’d held a knife to Samara. “We don’t know who hired us.”
I shook my head. “Wrong answer.”
Rising, I took a few steps back. As soon as I was clear, Dimitri fired a single bullet. Killing him.
The third and final man shook his head furiously as he tried to scurry backwards on his ass away from us.
“Well, this is just sad,” quipped Vaska.
“What do you expect from a Muscovite?” responded Dimitri.
“Aren’t the Petrovs from Moscow?” Vaska asked.
“Exactly.” Dimitri pointed his handgun at the man, who froze in place.
Approaching the man, I leaned down and ripped off the duct tape. The man immediately began crying and ranting in Russian about how they had just arrived in the United States and heard on the street someone was offering big money to anyone who could capture Samara Federova. He didn’t know who or how they would have even collected the money once they secured her.
Chances are these three idiots would never have been able to collect and would have wound up killing Samara after doing God knows what to her.
He continued to sob and plead. “Pozhaluysta! Ne ubivay menya! My ne znali, chto ona tvoy zhenikh. My by nikogda ne proyavili neuvazheniye k imeni Ivanov.”
The fact he claimed they had no idea she was my fiancé and that they never would have dared to disrespect me was of little consequence to me. What was done was done. A man like me didn’t get and keep a reputation like mine by being understanding or forgiving. Taking the gun from Dimitri, I shot the man in the head, then turned away and forgot him before his body even hit the floor.
“It looks like you have a problem, my friend,” Dimitri remarked.
I nodded. It didn’t make sense. I had both Boris and Egor under surveillance. Both their offices, phones, and cars were all bugged. Neither man spoke on the matter of Samara. Her name had yet to even be mentioned. Admittedly, it had lured me into a false sense of security. It had me thinking I had a little extra time to convince Samara to marry me willingly. It had me believing that perhaps in this one instance I didn’t have to live in the shadow of my father’s legacy.
That was obviously over now.
“What are you going to do?” asked Dimitri as I reluctantly accepted the offered flask from Vaska once more and took a swig.
“I’m not going to get any answers here. I need to return to D.C. immediately.” I took out my phone and texted my pilot to get the plane ready, not caring that it was 1:30 in the morning. He was paid very well to be available at all hours. I then texted Damien, letting him know my change of plans.
“And Samara?”
I finished texting a judge in D.C. who I had firmly in my pocket before answering, “If all goes to plan by this time tomorrow, she will be Mrs. Gregor Ivanova… whether she likes it or not.”
Chapter 29
Samara
At just after two am, Lake Shore Drive was practically deserted.
I looked in my rearview mirror to see the lit up Chicago skyline behind me and the crashing surf of Lake Michigan to my right. As I did so, my chaotic thoughts switched to Gregor, despite my best efforts to avoid thinking of him.
I stared at my grip on the black leather steering wheel where the diamond and emerald engagement ring glinted accusingly on my finger. In my haste, I had forgotten to take it and the diamond collar he had clasped around my throat off.
Had he noticed my absence yet?
My inner thighs tightened at the thought of what kind of punishment Gregor would have devised if he had caught me sneaking out of his house.
His punishments tended to be very creative, fucking with both my mind and body.
I knew why he did it; he liked to be in control. He was like those men who revel in the challenge of taming a wild creature.
The task master.
The disciplinarian.
The protector.
What I still couldn’t grasp is why I liked it. True, there was something intoxicating about a powerful man stepping up and taking everything off my shoulders. It was frightening to think how the idea of his protection made me feel safe and not as alone.
It wasn’t just frightening.
It was dangerous.
And I had almost fallen for it.
I had almost fallen for him.
Fallen for the way his sexy, gravelly voice quoted Dracula and Shakespeare. For the way he talked about Impressionist art as if he loved it almost as much as I did. For the way his eyes seemed to devour me whenever we were together. For the intense way he focused on me and my needs… even the kinky needs I didn’t know I had. For the powerful way he took control.
I actually almost said yes to marrying him. Yes to it all.
I would have been trapped in a loveless marriage like my parents.
Caught up in his world of violence, blood, and destruction... completely under his control.
I still couldn’t get the image of Gregor covered in that man’s blood out of my mind.
I was lost in my thoughts when I noticed a car approaching at a very high rate of speed. Probably a drunk driver. At this time of night, I needed to be careful, since the main people on the road were drunks and cops. As a precaution, I switched to the right lane to give the car a little extra room.
At a glance, I could see it was a black Range Rover, but the windows were tinted so I couldn’t get a look at the driver. In my rearview mirror, I watched as the SUV passed a slower moving car. It was now barreling toward me.
Like a high-stakes game of chess, in an instant I analyzed the possibilities.
One, it was a drunk fucking around, and I was letting my nerves get the best of me.
Two, it was Gregor.
The SUV quickly gained ground.
I held my breath, allowing it to get closer and closer. waiting till I could get a view of the license plate. I didn’t remember all the details from Gregor’s Range Rover, but I remembered it started with an A3 and a… Fuck!
I slammed my foot on the gas.
The Audi surged forward.
It was Gregor.
Keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel, I maneuvered the different curves and bends as the road followed the Lake Michigan shoreline.
I had no plan. My only thought was escape.
The Range Rover picked up speed.
I swerved around a slower moving car and increased my speed. Hazarding a glance in my rearview mirror, I watched as Gregor made the same quick maneuver.
