by Shandi Boyes
After fastening the button on his suit jacket, he nudges his head to the washroom. “Tidy yourself up before meeting me in the hangar,” he instructs, his words clipped.
Not waiting for me to reply, he paces to the door. Just before he exits, he cranks his neck back to peer at me. When his gaze zooms in on the moisture forming in my eyes, his stern mask slips for the slightest second, exposing a flare of emotion I was certain he didn't hold: fear.
“I’m trying to protect you, Blaire. Please don’t make it harder on me.”
Chapter 11
After splashing cold water onto my face and using a wet napkin to remove the mascara stains tracking down my cheeks, I roll my shoulders, lift my head high, and walk out of the bathroom. My brisk strides falter when I sense a presence in the room. Unlike the weird buzzing sensation that fills me when Rico is close by, this isn’t a rush of excitement. It's pure fear.
With my heart dropped from my ribcage, I spin on my feet. Glacier blue eyes on a ruggedly handsome face reflect back at me. The unnamed man who confronted me last week has his backside propped on my suitcase and his eyes rapt on me.
“One little bag for a week worth of packing.” His voice is gritty and colored with a slight Russian accent.
Pushing off my suitcase, he paces towards me. He walks with a swagger and an air of authority, but his commanding aura isn't as refined as Rico's. Wearing a pair of ripped jeans rising from black military boots and a buttoned-up dark navy shirt, his clothing showcases his body in eye-catching detail that even the evilness beaming from his eyes can’t detract from. The mysterious blue-eyed stranger is a similar size to Rico, but I feel dwarfed by his height when he stands next to me.
Not speaking, he surrounds me like a shark circling his prey. His eyes drink in every detail of my face before dropping to absorb my body. Mere seconds pass, but it feels like hours. You’d think my first thought would be to dart towards the open door mere feet in front of me, but I'm frozen in place, incapable of thinking, let alone fleeing.
I balk when the mysterious stranger leans in to sniff my hair. It isn't just a quick, dignified whiff. He takes his time, soaking in every strand of my wavy blonde hair.
“Rico has always had an eye for quality.” His warm breath fans my sweat-beaded neck. Pacing to stand in front of me, he locks his icy gaze with me. “He knows what you haven’t even worked out yet. That’s why he married you before fucking you.”
My eyes slit as a hiss ripples through my lips. I don’t know the man standing before me, but he feels he has the privilege to disrespect me.
The mysterious stranger's eyes flare in excitement. "There it is. I knew it was hiding in there somewhere. Oh, Ahren, you’re going to be a lot of fun. Now I just need Rico to loosen your collar. A little kitty should be free, not restrained."
Even the most naive person in the world couldn't miss the sexual innuendo laced in his statement.
I quote what Rico said to me earlier in the Escalade. "Rico doesn't share.”
My eyes snap to the stranger when he asks, “Not even with his little brother?”
My eyes roam over his face, seeking any similarities between Rico and him. Although they both have dark hair, tanned skin, and gorgeous facial features, there are no distinct similarities between them.
“You’re Rico’s brother?” I try to mask the shock in my voice. I fail.
His lips curl into a smirk that sets my heart racing, but unlike Rico, this isn’t a good heart flutter. “Yes. I am Nikolai. But you, my sweet Ahren, can call me Cataha.”
Before I have the chance to ask what Cataha means, a new type of awareness prickles my skin. I freeze as the words Rico spoke to me earlier filter through my mind. ‘You can’t trust anyone, Kitten. Even when they don’t appear to be watching you, they are. Especially me.’
The insane beat of my heart kicks into overdrive when my eyes lift to the doorway and connect with a pair of eyes that are teeming with danger. Rico has his head tilted to the side and his stern gaze fixed on his little brother. His six-foot-plus frame swamps the room, and his edgy composure suffocates the air. Even seeing him standing behind his brother doesn’t conjure any similarities between them to form in my muddled brain.
Either unaware of his brother’s furious gaze or ignoring it, Nikolai leans into my side. “You're ninety-nine percent angel, but, oh, how I can’t wait to unearth the other one percent. There are devilish thoughts in even the most angelic minds.”
Rico speaks something to Nikolai in Russian. Even not understanding what he is saying, I can’t miss the authority in his words.
After issuing me a heart-stopping smirk, Nikolai spins around to face his brother. "There’s no need for rudeness, Rico. I was merely welcoming your kitten to the family.”
Nikolai turns his gaze to me, requesting for me to back up his claims. I stand muted, not only refusing to acknowledge his demand, but unsure what our exchange was about. Although Nikolai intimidates me, he wasn't threatening nor welcoming.
My frozen stance only stops when Rico demands, “Come, Kitten.”
Like a dog being called by its owner, my feet leap forward before my brain has the chance to register its disgust. I could say my obedience is solely to smooth the thick grooves of anger lining Rico's forehead, but, in all honesty, it isn't. I can barely breathe with so much testosterone suffocating the air. So, if jumping at the demands of my husband is the only way to escape the throat-clutching awkwardness plaguing the air, I'll take it.
My eyes dart to Rico when Nikolai starts singing a song as we exit the bedroom. From the flow of the words and the softness of his voice, it sounds like a nursery rhyme. When I catch sight of the heated look on Rico’s face, I double guess my initial reaction.
“What is he singing?” I ask Rico as we merge onto the steps of the private jet. Even though it's late in the evening, humid Las Vegas air smacks into me, adding to the swirling of my stomach.
“It's a rhyme our father use to recite to us when we were younger.” Rico guides me down the small set of steel steps.
So my original assumption was correct. It's a nursery rhyme. Then why did it cause such an adverse reaction from Rico?
“What nursery rhyme is it?”
Rico drops his dark gaze to me. “Not now, Kitten.” He directs me toward a long motorcade of dark vehicles lined up outside the airport hangar.
A gentleman with silver hair and a kind smile dips his head in greeting as he opens the back passenger door of a large four-wheel drive. Other than advising for the driver to take us to the Popov compound, Rico doesn't speak a word the next thirty minutes of our trip.
I keep my eyes planted on the Las Vegas landscape as the foreign words Nikolai sang run through my head. Although it's in a foreign language, it has an addictive rhythm I can’t help but repeat. Отправить ангел в дьявола кровать, удерживайте ее, ценить ее, затем отрежьте ее головки блока цилиндров. Она дебютировала с сатаны и в настоящее время она является мертвой точки для всех лежа в дьявола кровать.
I only realize I'm singing the words out loud when Rico roars, “Enough!”
My eyes snap to him. His nostrils are flaring, his chest heaving. “You're singing a song about sending an angel to her death.”
Shock ripples through me. “But you said it was a nursery rhyme? They don’t include death.”
"They do when the devil sings them," Rico fires back, his tone deep and knee-quaking. "Send the angel to the devil's bed, hold her, cherish her, then cut off her head. She danced with Satan, and now she's dead, all for lying in the devil's bed."
He sings the song in the same low tone Nikolai used on the plane. Hearing it in a language I understand doesn't lessen its impact. It's just as spine-tingling.
“Why would a father sing a song like that to his children?”
"Because to him, all ahrens must pass Satan's test.
”
“Ahren?” I query, recalling Nikolai calling me that.
My heart stops beating when Rico replies, “Ahren is Russian for angel.”
Swallowing away the lump in my throat, I ask, “What does Cataha mean?”
My breathing shallows as I wait for Rico to reply. Considering Cataha was only used once in the nursery rhyme Nikolai sang, I'm fairly sure I know what it means, but I still want Rico to spell it out for me. The last thing I want to do is get myself worked up over a simple childish rhyme. I've got enough to handle with an unknown husband, barely escaping a murder attempt, mob-like activities, and unearthing my lost memories to add an immature threat into the mix.
Any chance of sweeping Nikolai’s taunt under the rug slips away from me when Rico says, “Cataha is Satan, Kitten,” confirming my suspicion.
Everything blurs as the last part of the rhyme runs through my head: She danced with Satan, and now she's dead, all for lying in the devil's bed.
“Aren’t Satan and the devil the same person?”
Rico shakes his head. "Not in this rhyme. Satan sends his angel to the devil's bed to test her. If she fails, Satan cuts off her head.”
“How does the angel fail?”
He runs his index finger across his top brow, removing a bead of sweat that has formed there. “By sleeping with the devil.”
“Who’s the devil then?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Whoever Satan decides to test his angel with.”
I sink deeper into my chair and give myself a few moments to work through all the new knowledge I’ve been bombarded with. Why would Nikolai request for me to call him Satan after calling me angel? It doesn’t make any sense. Unless he thinks I'm going to sleep with the devil? My pupils widen. Was that Nikolai’s way of warning me that I’m sleeping with the devil?
I turn my eyes to Rico. He's watching me with the same amount of tenderness his eyes were wearing when he comforted me in the plane hours ago. Even shrouded by a world of darkness, there's something in his eyes that tells me he isn’t the devil I need to be wary of. He's the man who saved me from the devil, not the one testing me.
“Nikolai called me ahren.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn't appear totally shocked by my admission. “Nikolai calls all beautiful women ahren,” he replies. Even with his composure not altering, his tone is low, exposing that my disclosure still agitated him.
“He also told me to call him Cataha.”
Now Rico looks shocked. Actually, it's more like fury beaming out of him.
Removing his seatbelt, he slides across the small section of leather between us and gathers my hands in his. “Stay away from Nikolai, Kitten. Do you understand me?”
Although I could construe his words as aggressive, his eyes aren’t relaying that. All I can see is genuine concern.
Relief fills his eyes when I say, “I understand.”
The remaining ten minutes of our trip is made in silence. Rico maintained hold of my hand the entire time. That said more than any words ever could.
A sense of dread washes over me when the six-car motorcade pulls into the ginormous mansion I fled from only a week ago. I truly thought my long walk of shame through this residence would be the last time I stepped foot onto this property. Oh, how wrong was I?
After opening the back passenger door and sliding out, Rico dips his torso back in to offer me a hand. A crackling of tension hangs thick in the air as we climb the stairs leading to the main entrance of the house. A tall gentleman with slicked back hair, cold blank eyes, and an evil smirk etched on his face is standing at the entranceway of the mansion. I can tell the instant Rico notices him as his grip on my hand tightens and an expressionless mask slips over his face.
“Maya, come,” Rico demands, his tone deep and brusque.
A young woman with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail peeks her head out from a gathering of women standing on our right. She bows her head to the ground at the gentleman standing at the entranceway before locking her dark eyes with Rico.
“Take Blaire into her room and get her settled,” Rico instructs her.
Dipping her head again, Maya waves her hand to the elegant staircase behind her.
I shift my eyes to Rico. “Are you not coming with me?”
I try to keep the panic out of my voice. My attempts are borderline. Rico’s pendulum-swinging moods startle me, but I’d rather be attached to his hip than be left to defend myself in a house of horror with a lady who looks like a slight summer breeze could blow her away.
“I'll be up in a few, Kitten.” Before I can plead with him, he peers past my shoulder to Maya and says, “Take her now.”
Unlike his earlier tone, this time his request comes out with a bite of demand. I’m not the only one who notices Rico’s new superiority; Maya jumps to his command by intertwining her arm with mine and pacing toward the stairwell. For a girl who has twig-sized arms and legs, she has a lot of gusto in her core. She drags me through the lobby like I'm the one who is twenty pounds lighter.
Just as we climb the first step, I crank my neck back to Rico. He's standing toe-to-toe with the gentleman everyone seems frightened of. Everyone except him. He looks him directly in the eyes as they speak in Russian, not the slightest bit intimidated that their exchange has caught them the attention of over a dozen pairs of eyes. It's a scary, yet riveting confrontation.
When we reach the landing of the stairs, I turn my eyes to Maya. “Maya, who is the man Rico is speaking with?”
Maya’s throat works hard to swallow before she whispers, “Father.”
My head rockets back to Rico so fast, my neck screams in protest.
“That’s Rico’s father?” My words come out tainted with disbelief.
Maya doesn’t need to answer my question. I reach my own conclusion when Rico’s eyes lock with mine for a fleeting second. Even though his lips don’t move, I hear his silent plea. “Go, Kitten, before you once again dance with the devil.”
Chapter 12
Three hours have ticked by on the clock, and I’ve not seen hide nor hair of Rico. Maya accompanied me to the room I awoke in last week, supplied me with a hearty Russian dinner of a Reuben sandwich and attempted to teach me how to play a Russian card game: Durak.
Although Maya’s English is best described as poor, it isn’t her lack of vocabulary that has our girly night coming to a close. It's my heavy eyelids. I'm beyond exhausted.
After bidding farewell to Maya, I head to the bathroom. I stare at the gorgeous clawfoot bath, hoping it will garner me with an upwelling of energy to draw it, as a few hours soaking in a warm tub sound like heaven. Unfortunately, although it’s tempting, I don't think I can keep my eyelids open long enough to fully enjoy it. So, instead, I turn on the double shower at the side of the tub and start shedding my clothes, leaving them where they fall.
Have you ever been so tired, you wonder if you're still awake or if you're dreaming? That's how I feel right now.
Once all my clothing is removed, I step into the steam-filled space. Hot water pummels my body, waking me from my sleeping state. Leaning deeper into the spray, water pours down my cheeks and rolls over my heavy breasts, triggering a hidden memory to rush to the surface. . .
Using a lavender-colored shower puff, I slather every inch of my body with soap suds, being extra cautious not to touch my newly inked skin. When I step into the spray, hot water sluices the front of me at the same time the warmth of a body molds my back. A large hand with a ruby and diamond wedding band wrapped around the third finger curls around my stomach. Even with the shower filled with muggy dampness, goosebumps follow the trail the hand makes as it slithers up the smooth planes of my stomach to cup my tingling-with-desire breast.
“I thought you didn’t want a shower?” My voice comes out throatier than normal. It has a sexy edge to it.
"I didn't… until I realized it was ten more minutes I could spend with you."
A ghost of a smile stretches across my face. It t
urns into a full smile when I feel his erection pressing into my back. He's thick and long, extending from the swell of my lower back to halfway up my spine.
“Only ten minutes,” I jest, my tone a unique mix of playfulness and seduction. “Feels like a whole lot more than ten minutes.”
The deep richness of his laugh quickly fills the room. It's a beautiful laugh. Following my body’s desires, I spin around. . .
“No!” I slant into the water, hoping it will bring back my memory. “You can’t end it there.”
Even knowing in my heart the man in the shower was Rico, I want to see it, recall it, cherish it. It doesn't matter if I'm unearthing two seconds of my memories with him or two minutes, a range of emotions wallop into me with every one I discover. And no, it isn't all based on my libido. Unveiling my memories is like working on a Rubik’s cube. It seems like a complicated waste of time. But once I achieve the seemingly impossible, I'll have a better understanding of the little square box with the six unique colors.
Rico is my Rubik’s cube. I didn't just marry him because I was drugged, so I want to discover what else drew me to him that night. Yes, even behind his cloaked-in-danger facade, Rico is insanely gorgeous, but I know deep down inside, it wasn't just his good looks that made me agree to marry a stranger. So until I discover the other reasons, I’ll not stop hunting until every lost memory is unearthed.
Switching off the shower, I curl a fluffy white towel around my body and use another to secure my wet hair. Because I forgot to turn on the exhaust fan, the floor to wall mirror attached to the double sink vanity is covered with steam. It's probably for the best, as I don’t need to see myself to know how wretched I look. I can feel it.
My lazy steps stop halfway out the door, closely followed by the beat of my heart when an awareness of being watched smacks into me. My heart rate—although agile—returns when I discover a pair of dark eyes peering at me from across the room. Rico is sitting on a high-backed chair. His suit jacket has been removed, and the sleeves of his dress shirt have been rolled up to his elbows. After his eyes finish raking the length of my body, he locks his heavy-hooded gaze with me. I take a retreating step, unnerved by the darkness of his eyes. They are the blackest I’ve seen them.
