by Vivien Vale
“Be quiet, krasivoya,” he growls. “This is first thing you must learn. You obey husband. Respect me. Good Russian wife does this.”
I still can’t stop laughing.
“You absolute dick,” I finally squeeze a word out through laughter. Oh shit, my eyes are watering, and I can’t wipe them with tied hands. “You do know that marriage—at least in this country—has to be consented to by both parties? How the fuck do you expect to get away with this?”
“This is why I take you to Russia, sweet girl! I have cousin who marry us, no problem. He also get all papers you need to live in Russia as my wife. Then we go and we live, ja? We drink vodka, make the babies.”
He has a dull, dreamy look on his face. All of that sounds quite scary, actually. Surely this can’t happen in this day and age…can it?
“I’ll fight you.” I’m staring at him with the full impact of my rage. I can’t even raise my voice—I’m that angry. “I will fight you every single fucking day.”
He pulls up at a red light and leans over to grip my knee again. He grips me fiercely, just a few fingers digging into my knee, but it really hurts. His hands are strong.
He looks deep into my eyes, and I am intimidated—he is giving off one nasty vibe.
“That is why I break you first, lovely creature,” he growls it through his teeth, and I can smell the vodka again. Oh, it’s disgusting. Horrid breath leering all over my face and cold, angry eyes.
“I do not want to hurt you, sweet thing...” He moves back and starts moving forward again. “But I will break you. If you are too nasty, we have to go straight to hard break. Do you know what that means?”
I shake my head, starting to feel tired and really fucking scared.
“Most girls, soft break works fine. Bit of threat, intimidation, within a short time, they make good wives. Some girls, though, they won’t give up. Too much spirit. They have to be tied down at all times. If you cannot be trusted to move around while bound, then we have to tie you to bed.”
He leers over, feral grin sneaking across his face as he thinks about it. “And then krasivoya, I fuck you silly. Every fucking hour, as hard as I can, until your spirit is gone. I can have my brothers help. We can sell rides on you to poor men on the street.
“None of that matter at all, because you rise from bed a new woman. My bride. Old bitch Stella gone. Dead. Nice, quiet wife. You see?”
Okay. Now I’m not laughing anymore.
Now, I’m fucking crying, I can’t help it, tears are pouring down my face.
Not because I’m sad or scared.
No, right now I’m so fucking enraged, I can’t see straight.
“You just try it,” I snarl. “You just fucking try it! The guy who bought me? He’s ex-military, black ops-trained. He will find me! He will! He will fuck you up, you psycho prick!”
He laughs, “And where is he now, sweet thing? Where is this military man? If he that good, how come he not track us down yet? Huh? I think you lie, pretty one.”
“Think what you like,” I hiss at him, “He will come for me. If I’m not harmed, he may even let you go. If anything happens to me, he will kill you.”
Psycho grunts and starts whistling.
I glare out the window. I haven’t even spoken to Michael in nearly a whole day. I don’t even know where he went.
My chest feels empty and sharp, as I think of how everything that happened between us might have meant nothing to him. The thought of never seeing him again is almost as bad as the thought that he won’t come for me.
That he won’t even notice I’m gone.
Chapter 19
Michael
The engine has barely started to cool as I slam into my car and get her revving up again. As I push my foot hard to the floor and peel out of the underground, I slap my phone into the cradle and wake the screen.
“You hear me, chief?”
The phone flashes obligingly, “I hear you, doc. Any favor under the sun for you. I almost bought my ticket that night, but I’m out here catching crime because of you.”
I can’t stifle my laugh. “Yeah, well, I think you do better at this than as target practice. Where are they?”
“We have units closing in. I’ll send it to your GPS. The roads are blocked, thanks to our pal, the mayor.”
Another laugh from me. Quite a bit harder this time. “Yeah, well, he owes me. His wang was six different colors after Bangkok.”
My pal the police chief guffaws back at me. “Yet another story that we can’t share. Well, not outside the poker ring anyway.”
“I told you I’ll take your money anytime you want to give it to me. You got those details?”
“Sending it now, doc.”
My phone flashes, and as I tear the car around the turns in the almost deserted streets, I take in the flashing display. The map shows a helpful green line…from me to Stella.
I push the car even harder, roaring through the streets.
I only feel like this in surgery. Like the world is in my hands, and I’m going to remake it. There is literally nothing I can’t do.
I am going to punish this fucker.
One eye on the phone screen and one on the road, I push the car. I am now within the road block, and the streets are empty. My phone crackles.
“You there, doc?”
I smile. “I never thought I’d hear that voice again. Didn’t you become a mercenary?”
“Not on a public channel, anyway. I’m in sniping position. The old lady’s doing fine, by the way.”
This old war dog is a softie little momma’s boy, not that he would let his buddies know that. They guy cried like a child when I came out of surgery and told him his mom would be fine.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I’m above the police road block. I can see you on the scope. You’re almost behind him. Take the next right.”
“On it.” I swerve the car as my GPS pings.
“I can’t fire. There’s no clear shot. He’s driving like a wild man. I might hit her.”
“You can see her? Is she okay?” I hear the edge in my own voice.
Terror. Heard it so many times in the hospital. Never understood it.
Until now.
“She seems fine. Even if I can get a clear shot at him, he might spin the car. Catch up to them. Squeeze him in. The road block is right in front of you.”
“I see it.”
I do. I can see the whirling red and blue out ahead. Not far in front of me is the car.
Hot little sports car, very fast, but it doesn’t have the power to compete with my car, which I prove by slamming my foot down again, the car growling as the nose comes up level with the bumper.
“Can you hear me, chief?” I stab the phone, switching channels.
“I hear you, doc.”
“He’s not slowing down.”
“I can see that. We aren’t going anywhere, doc. We have heavy vehicles and spikes down. He’s fucked.”
“But what if—”
Just then, the psycho floors it, pointing the nose of his shitty little car to the left. I swerve, trying to get my own car under control, but she’s somewhat heavier than psycho kidnapper’s piece of crap.
Just as I start to even out, the fucker pulls his car the opposite direction. I hear the hum of the sissy little engine as he floors it. Shit!
The piece of shit little car goes straight over the spikes and swerves madly around the road block. I follow, recklessly pushing the car and hitting a few spikes as I follow him around the road block.
The bridge! Fuck!
He loses control of the car, and I can see him fighting against it as I do the same. I put my foot down as the motherfucker comes out of serious spin and floors it.
Right at the bridge rail.
Stella must be screaming. All I can discern of her through the window of the car is a flash of frightened eyes and a sweep of gold hair.
But then her voice rings out across the night, and I feel an utte
r calm slide over me as I feel the wheel slip between my fingers and as I, with complete satisfaction, slam my foot to the floor.
Understanding causality, cause, and effect, as well as an ability to follow events through to a natural conclusion make me an excellent surgeon. These intellectual skills also tell me that I am going to hit that shitty little sports car right on the driver’s side.
He can’t see it—he can’t even see the fucking rail he’s about to drive over. My engine roars as I bear down on them. I see his eyes whip towards me as he suddenly realizes his predicament.
I watch as my beast absolutely wrecks the fuck out of the other car. The impact is hell, but I’m braced for it, foot down, hands gripping the wheel. I keep shoving until my car finally revs out and clunks, smoke pouring from under the hood.
I push out my mangled door and run around the other car. I grabbing the twisted metal on the passenger’s side and tear it open with all my strength.
All this, and now, I’m afraid to look.
“Michael!” she gasps.
Then her arms are around my neck, the sweet skin of her neck against my lips, her hair flowing all around me.
“Stella.” It comes out like a prayer.
Then my arms around her, cradling her, stroking her.
“I thought I would never see you again!” she sobs into my neck. I push her back, look into her eyes, wipe a tear with my thumb.
“Baby, I’m always gonna come for you. I’m never gonna leave you alone ever again.”
Tearful, fierce Stella touches my face. “I love you, Michael. I really fucking do, you know that?”
The sirens and the lights draw near. All the good fellas of the city are here to clean up the mess. I’m looking into her eyes, and I know it’s true.
A massive smile breaks over my face. I have never felt so free.
“Stella… I love you, too.”
She sinks in to me, and I wrap my arms around her, breathing in her scent. “And I always will.”
Chapter 20
Stella
We come to a stop outside of the hotel. It’s the nicest Michael could find on such short notice—complimentary robes but no slippers.
Admittedly, I was a little worried about it, but it looks great from where I’m sitting.
Which, of course, is as close to Michael as I can possibly get.
I haven’t been able to stop touching him since he saved me.
I might never be able to stop touching him again.
He saved me.
I’m already trying to figure out ways that I can be near him for the rest of our lives. Maybe I’ll just become a doctor. No, scratch that, a surgeon. That way I can be with him even when he’s operating.
Michael moves to get out of the car, and I realize for the first time that I’ve been holding onto him a bit too hard. My nails have left imprints in his arm.
I love him even more for not saying anything about it.
I reach for my door handle, and he shoots me one of his serious looks.
“Don’t move.” he says, getting out and shutting his door behind him.
In a flash, he’s on my side of the car, opening the door and smiling down at me.
“You’ve done enough for one day,” he says.
“Me? You saved me!” I reply as he scoops me into his arms.
“It was nothing.”
“Michael,” I use my most serious voice, driving him to look me fully in my eyes, “you fucking saved me. It was not nothing.”
I swear I can almost see him blush.
Almost.
He carries me through the massive doors to the hotel, careful not to bump my head. I feel like a princess. Not that I’d tell him that.
He certainly doesn’t need any more reasons to call me princess.
I nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck, for the moment just content to be held by him.
The clerk at the counter probably thinks we’re newlyweds.
Is that really so far from the truth, though?
I mean, unofficially, I am 0his bride. Just of the mail order variety, is all.
I decide to keep those thoughts to myself.
“Checking in?” the clerk asks, customer service smile firmly in place.
“Yes. Michael Kirkwood.”
“Okay,” he replies, typing incredibly fast into his computer, “and this is Mrs. Kirkwood?”
“Yes.” Michael says, without missing a beat.
I smile broadly against his neck.
I never thought of myself as the type to take a man’s last name. I mean, my name’s pretty fucking great, why would I ever change it?
Now, though, I’m really liking the sound of it.
Mrs. Kirkwood.
I could get used to that.
I try it out in my head the entire elevator ride,
Dr. and Mrs. Kirkwood. Or, if my plan from earlier works out, Dr. and Dr. Kirkwood.
That last one makes me laugh.
Michael carries me all the way to the room, even opening the door one-handed. My feet don’t touch the floor until we’re safely in front of the bed.
Even then, I hesitate to let go, somehow afraid that if I do, I’ll realize that this was all my imagination. That I’m really still in that car. Still with him.
Michael gently unhooks my arms from his neck, guiding me into a sitting position on the bed.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He kneels in front of me and brushes his hand softly across my temple, over the cut that I got in the crash.
“You’re so beautiful.” he whispers, leaning forward to claim my mouth with his own.
His kiss is softer than I’ve ever felt from him, and yet somehow still more.
It’s a kiss full of relief and promise.
And love.
I kiss him back, my own promise.
He half-stands, leaning into me so that I lie on my back, him above me.
His kiss travels from my lips, making its way down my neck, past the torn silk of my dress.
Another one-of-a-kind garment ruined. At this rate, I’ll never be allowed to wear luxury designer again.
But considering the state of undress I’m planning on being in for as long as Michael will have me…maybe I won’t even mind.
I feel his hand on my breast, his thumb rubbing against my nipple.
His other hand finds the hem of my dress, slowly sliding it up and over my thighs.
I lift my hips from the bed, needing to feel his stiffness.
He’s rock hard against me.
“Michael.” I moan, grinding myself into him. “Give it to me.”
“Not yet.” he answers, torturing me.
He slides down onto the floor, head now between my knees, and grabs my thong on either side. I hear the flimsy fabric tear in his grip, feel the cool air that washes over me in its absence.
He spreads my legs gently, like he’s afraid of hurting me.
I guess I don’t blame him. Looking down, I can see more than a few bruises forming…
Still, though, I wouldn’t be opposed to him giving me a few more.
I’m about to tell him so, when I feel his mouth against me, banishing the words from my lips.
Fuck.
He drives his tongue into me like a man who’s lost all control. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me fiercely, possessively.
I hear him moan, and I let out a cry of my own, hips again rising off the bed toward him.
I reach down with both hands, gripping his hair desperately between my fingers.
His tongue slides over my clit, and I ache with pleasure.
It flicks roughly across me, and I moan louder.
His fingers slip into me, and I feel claimed.
His.
I’m his.
And he is mine.
My every nerve screams out at me. A symphony of sensations. Even the aches in my battered body seem like bliss.
His fingers drive deeper in
to me, and I push against them, fucking them the way I want to fuck him.
My hands are pulling insanely at his hair, my hips moving faster by the second.
His tongue moves along with me, matching my every need.
I feel my orgasm building, waves of pure electricity that seem to form in my stomach before exploding.
I scream, tightening around his fingers.
When I come, fucking angels sing.
Molten lava erupts.
The heavens weep.
I am rocketed off into an ecstasy purer than I imagined possible.
I scream his name the entire time.
After, I find myself once again in his arms, now my absolute most favorite place to be.
I’m so content here, I actually feel high. My breath comes in as gasps and leaves as laughter.
I have never felt so completely satisfied in my life. I doubt that anyone has.
I find his mouth, kissing him hard, reminding him that he is mine. That I am his.
Mrs. Kirkwood, I think.
Yeah. I like the sound of that.
Chapter 21
Michael
A cool breeze across my naked chest stirs me, and the first thing I feel is the aching all over. I groan as I roll over, dozens of bruises, wrecked muscles, and joints screaming at me.
Sometimes it sucks to be a doctor. You know exactly everything that’s wrong with you, and exactly how long it’ll take to heal.
I lie on my right side, stretching out in the massive bed. I think we might be in the honeymoon suite—I honestly don’t remember.
I know there were cops, questions, and hospitals, but when and where and in what order, it’s all a blur.
I just wanted to get my woman alone. I remember hurling a gold card at some young dick behind a counter…taking off my filthy clothes and falling into bed between Stella’s thighs.
There’s a ripped piece of fabric laying on the floor that vaguely resembles the remains of a thong.
Coupled with the taste of Stella’s pussy still lingering on my tongue…I must have enjoyed myself there, too.
I lie still, watching her. Her eyelids flutter, just a touch, and her gorgeous lips curve in a dream-smile. Her fingers shift, just a little, and I smile, wondering what she’s dreaming about.
