“I don't know about that, she’s quite the freak, if you know what I mean.” I wink at him and he laughs jovially before smacking me on the back as if we are best friends. I pull away quickly and act like I see someone else calling me over. This guy already smells like he has downed a whole bottle of wine, so there is a good chance he will migrate back on over to the bar and bother someone else.
I walk up to a group of Ion’s men who are here. He is not here himself, but they have come to represent the Clan. I don't know whether they are here to watch me or just to blow off some steam. I plan on finding out as I make sure I am standing at a good vantage point to watch the bathrooms, so I know when Natasha is out. I am afraid if I don't keep my eyes on her, she will either be taken from me by some entitled asshole, or she will realize she has a chance to escape and take off running in her stilettos.
I somehow get lost in the conversations, though, and only catch her with one eye, trailing across the room and straight to the bar. I don't like that she hasn't come straight back to me, but on the outside, it could just look like I told her to go get us both drinks. I don't need to make a scene by going over there and demanding she stay with me all night. Maybe a few moments of distance and a drink or two will help and close this emotional distance between us.
So, I leave her alone and go back to my job of mingling and letting everyone tell me how jealous they are that I was the one who went and took out Jan, that I was the one to find Natasha and take her. They speculate about if she might already be impregnated with my child, what all the things she does for me behind closed doors are, and how many of my men have had her at once. It seems there is a pretty sick rumor going around that she is the whore for the entirety of Clan Balan. Honestly, I don't think I helped at all on that front.
I don't know how long it is before I hear it, the sound of a slap so hard it can be heard throughout the room. I look up just in time to follow the gazes of the rest of the guests, right over to the bar where a man has his hand around Natasha’s neck. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but no one touches what is mine. I charge over, not beyond physically pushing people out of the way to get to her, though, as I do, I watch as she defends herself in an unexpected way, gouging out the asshole’s side with a broken bottle of vodka. I watch in interest and horror as I hear her words to this complete stranger, making my heart skip a beat.
She just said her last name, told this man to watch out by throwing it around. Kolosov. Her name is Kolosov. The Kolosov’s are the largest arms dealers in Russia. Hell, in most of the world. The Clans gets almost all of their arms from Sergei Kolosov. I knew the man had a daughter. It wasn't exactly a secret, but I had no idea that daughter was Natasha, was at all related to one of the Clans. The man had his secrets locked up tight, and it looks like I am now privy to one of them.
This is quite the development, and it seems like we have a lot to talk about tonight, once I get her out of here. This could be a complete advantage, but I wonder with all of my traveling and my investigative skills how I had never realized I was sleeping with a Kolosov.
Another question is why the fuck, obviously knowing who she was, would this fucker dare come up to her and try to hurt her? Doesn't he know that she could make a phone call and have him wiped off the face of the Earth? He must be sick, and I am going to make sure he knows he will never lay a hand on her again, in case her assault on him didn't send the clear message he needs to hear.
I walk up to her and tug her into my side as a symbol. She is mine, that is what it says to this motherfucker who dared to lay his hands on her. I don't care if he is the fucking king of some country, I am going to fuck him up for this, especially now that I notice what her face looks like. That slap was so loud because he caused quite a bit of damage. It is red and swelling as we speak.
I pull out my gun, knowing it will do a better job of this than my mouth will. I shoot straight for his kneecap, blowing one into his left side. “You never touch what doesn’t belong to you,” I spit, knowing everyone is watching. I hope they all get it too. Not a single one of them, will get away with touching Natasha Kolosov, not if I get a say in it. No one touches her but me.
The sick bastard I just shot smiles. He is fucking smiling. How is that possible when I have just shot him in the knee and my girl has stabbed him with a jagged glass bottle in the side? He must be hyped up on some strong shit. That's all I can think.
“Natasha has always been mine,” he tells me. He looks like some rabid animal, and I can tell I am turning purple and red with rage. No one disrespects me like that. No one disrespects Natasha like that. I was the last one to fuck her. She lives in my home. I don't know who this is or where he gets off on calling Natasha his property, but it’s not going to last long.
I take my gun and aim it at his other knee, a sure shot. I watch him tumble onto the floor, unable to hold his weight with both his kneecaps blown out. “Natasha is mine now!” I scream, unable to control my anger as it takes me over. I see red, and he better believe this is not good news for him. He will be lucky to make it out of here alive. “She will be mine for the rest of her life,” I clarify. I am marking her as my territory right here and now. I don't care if this upsets her more, because right now this is about her, this is about us. This is about saving her from whatever shit she has been into in the past.
I am not going to let this man take what is mine, or even get the chance to try.
I mean every single word I say. I know it is the truth, that I want Natasha by my side forever. I do not understand these feelings that she gives me. I may have some friends, but I am a hardened man, living a professional criminal’s life. This is not like me. It is all new. I can’t get the words onto my tongue to say them to Natasha. I don't even think I understand the words that go through my head half the time when I am around her. This is why I can't let her leave. I can’t let her leave me without finding a way to let her know how I feel, whatever way it is that I feel.
My gun is still out and pointed at this man, and I ask Natasha quietly for his name. I want to know the name of this man, so I can track his every move if I have to, so I know exactly who I am killing if I ever see him near her again.
“Rusev,” she tells me with venom still in her voice. She hates him. I don't know why just yet, but if she hates him, then so do I. And maybe that in and of itself will endear me to her.
She is not going to leave me. I don't know how I am going to do this and make this right, but she will belong to me.
Natasha Kolosov will belong to me forever.
“Stay the fuck away from my girl, Rusev,” I tell him before grabbing her hand. I immediately lead her out to the car without looking back. We don't need this sporty right now, and if I stay, someone will end up dead, and I know it. I am too angry.
As we get in the car I try to breathe. I am furious at Rusev for trying to do that, humiliate me and Natasha in front of everyone. I feel a burning hatred for the fact that he has hurt her, and I wasn't there to stop it before he did. I also feel a little mad at Natasha for not telling me who she was even after she got so angry at me for the same thing. There is another secret that has been revealed between us.
She could have shared this little tidbit with me at any point, before or after I killed her uncle. It may not be a conversation starter but being the daughter of Sergei Kolosov is pretty fucking important information, especially to a Clan leader like me. “So, you’re a Kolosov,” I say matter of factly, no ire or vitriol in my voice. I don't want to scare her away now that I am sorting all these things out in my head and heart when it comes to her. She nods, looking out the window and away from me. I can’t tell if this time it has to do with me directly, or for the man I shot with all the prying eyes watching. “You are Sergei Kolosov’s daughter. I don't think I ever would have guessed that,” I mumble to myself, though she probably hears me.
“Take us back home,” I tell the driver, and he nods before I slide the privacy screen up so that it is like it’s just Nata
sha and me. I need these few minutes alone with her, near, before we go back inside my house and things go back to the way they were before we left.
I wrap my arm around her lower back, making sure she stays close to me and knows I am here for her if she decides to say anything, if she needs to talk about what happened or who that man was. I begin to stroke her upper thigh gently with my fingertips. I get back to the gentleness we had with each other before. Maybe I have been part of the problem.
I want Natasha to know that I care, that I didn't just shoot Rusev to prove something to the crowd or for my own selfish wants. I did it for her. I can’t seem to verbalize it. I need a lot of work in that department, it seems.
I know I don't want her to live in fear of me, or to be afraid right now, whether it be of me or the fact that this sick Rusev guy might come back around at some point because of what both of us did to him. I will always protect her, even when she doesn't like what I have to do to keep her safe.
I don’t say a word to her during the car ride, though. I need to get in my thoughts and analyze our situation. A different approach needs to be taken if I am not going to lose her. It seems there is so little I know about her than I previously thought. I need to get back to that, back to getting to know Natasha, the spitfire redhead who has more connections than I imagined.
There are so many advantages to getting on her good side. I would win two prizes in one; her body and heart forever, as well as the alliance of her father, which is not a bad man to have on my side. He is ruthless and does sick and scary business, don’t get me wrong, but he will also kill for his allies. He will come running. The Clans could use that right now, especially when there is still a slight chance that Jan was not our guy and a war could come to us. The pieces aren’t adding up, both Ion and I are seeing that.
I look over at Natasha as we get close to the house, and I see she is more relaxed, looking thoughtful like I am. I hope that I am a good part of those thoughts, that maybe what has happened between us tonight and the comfort I am trying to give her might change her mind and open her back up to me in one way or another.
My palm splays out onto her thigh, and I just hold it there, pretending that it means she is already mine, that she has already pledged herself to me in every way.
Chapter 13
She hid her heart behind a wall in which only a real man could climb. - R. H. Sin
Natasha
Anton has not spoken to me since the car started rolling its way towards his house. His hand is wrapped around my back, and he is stroking my thigh. I am not sure whether I should be taking comfort in this or not. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy watching Rusev in pain as he fell to the floor with a shot in each knee, but it didn't leave me any less confused than I was before we got to the party. I liked the kiss we shared. It was impossible not to, and I liked the way he protected me and the way he held me in this car, but I don't know what it means.
I don't know what I want it to mean, if I want it to mean anything.
We pull up into the parking garage which houses the high rise I have been captive in for several days, weeks, how long has it been? I have honestly lost the exact count. All these rooms and money, and there is no calendar.
The minute the car stops, Anton lets go of me. He opens the door and jumps out like he is trying to escape a fire. I have no idea why he tore out on me, but I see one of his goons come up to the open door, offering his hand to me like a gentleman. He is forced to be one, but I am grateful nonetheless. This dress is not easy to walk in and get up and down in. Not only is it see through, but it is so damn tight I am surprised I have made it this long.
I sigh and take the goon’s hand and let him lift me up to my feet effortlessly. He is one of the bigger ones. I should fear a man like this, but I am not. All the goons do one thing; they serve Anton. If he doesn't order it, they won't do it. They would never dare touch me because they fear his wrath.
I walk in these high heels and ridiculously pompous dress to the inside elevator with the goons. I go straight to my bedroom because I want to get out of this, but I realize calling it my bedroom is also just as ridiculous as this dress.
When I first got here, I had insisted I would not sleep with Anton, that I needed time and space. I had actually never planned on there being a time when I didn’t. I don’t know when Anton realized it, if he always knew, but it began just a few days after I got here. He would come to me at night, while I was sleeping and curl up to me. Falling asleep in the very bed that’s supposed to be mine.
I wake up to him in my bed every morning now, which I have gotten used to but said nothing about. He is not forcing anything else on me, so I leave it alone.
I finally get this dress tugged off and go straight into the shower, turning on the water, only to be instantly scalded on my cheek with the hot water. I suck in a deep breath and move out from under it, wondering if the pain is because he peeled off a layer of skin with that slap.
I sigh and let the water run all over my body, doing my best to protect the cheek. It was throbbing when it first happened, and when we left the party. It has stopped now, but it still hurts, and I wonder if the adrenaline from getting my point across to Rusev is what has kept me from noticing just how bad it is until this moment. But I can't regret anything I did to him, anything I said. It was the right thing to do.
I grab the bar of rainforest scented soap and began to lather up my body in it, letting the smell soothe me and lull me into a more relaxed state. I never expected to run into Rusev again any time soon, but I am proud of myself for the way I handled the situation. I would never have had the guts to do something like that before when I was with him and not even half the woman I am now.
It's a little easier now when I think about my uncle. I think I have done him proud by reacting the way I did and showing Rusev he no longer owns me, for deciding no man owns me anymore.
That statement confuses me, though. I am still here in Anton’s house, technically under his control, though I can choose to resist him more, make it harder for him to get me to do what he wants. But the thing is, I feel like I am still here because of how I feel, or how I might feel about Anton. I cried over him, over the possible loss of the idea of him. Maybe I do want to get to know him and let him in again, bit by bit, if he proves to be worthy. The problem is, I can never tell with him what is real and what is an act. I am going to have to get to the bottom of this.
I rinse off the soap and shampoo savoring the last few moments in the warm shower before I have to return to reality. I get out and pull one of the nicest towels I have ever come across to my body and dry myself, the softness gives a bit of mercy to my otherwise in pain face and hand. I get the feeling it is only going to get worse as the night goes on and all the shock wears off.
I walk into the bedroom, surprised that I do not see Anton waiting for me to say something or try to convince me to do something else for him.
I reach for a clip, and I twist my hair on the top of my head and pin it there trying to keep it out of the way. I hate the feel of wet hair against my neck. I pull on a pair of silk shorts and a matching top, a fitting lavender color that compliments my complexion and hair.
I have to go downstairs, I realize this, and I prepare myself for anything, such as running into Anton and having to endure another conversation or fight with him. I find the medicine cabinet in the kitchen and pull out the Ibuprofen, knowing the swelling of my cheek is getting worse by the minute. It means the pain will also get worse, and that the last thing I need. I am sick of pain.
I pop the pills in my mouth and down them with some cold water from the filtered tap before I go to the freezer and open it, searching for something that will help me. There is frozen pizza and other frozen meals in there… how nutritious… and then I see it. A bag of peas! Perfect! I grab the cold bag and press it to my cheek with a satisfied and relieved sigh. It stings at first, but it begins to help with the swelling and numbs some of the pain. It’s just what I need.
My father isn't cold, not to family. He may be a monster by nature, but he should care about what happens to me, his daughter. But there is always a possibility that in this one case, Rusev was right about the reason my father has not reached out. Maybe he doesn’t care about what’s happened to me. Maybe he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me at all. It’s not like he ever deserved the father of the year award or anything.
I gasp and jump, almost falling over as an unexpected arm snakes around my waist. He catches me, and I know it is Anton even without looking to see. He has this habit of sneaking up on me like this a little too often for my liking.
“Relax, it’s just me,” he says, a little too late. It would have been nice to have the warning before. His lips land on the back of my neck, and it causes a chill to run down my spine. Why does he have to know my weakness? The neck gets me every time. “Are you alright?” he asks me in a low voice, and I nod my head.
“You need to be verbal. I need to hear you say it out loud.” Anton growls suddenly. I didn't expect this level of worry once we were behind closed door.
“I am fine,” I tell him, hopefully satisfying him before he begins to worry too much.
Anton turns me around and gets me down from the chair, having more strength than he looks like he has. I guess I am so used to his goons and how gargantuan they are even compared to Anton’s height.
He presses me into the marble island, and his hand slides over mine, the one that is holding the bag of peas to my injured cheek. He is now helping to support it. I can feel the tension between us, a tension I know all too well. My eyes are on his, but neither of us is speaking or making a move. Is he assessing my reaction?
The Trade Page 8
