by B. B. Hamel
I worked hard to distance myself from those people. I knew the MacKenna family was deeply connected with drugs and politics and prostitution—I knew they were bad people. But I’d never really been in that world, and when it encroached in my own life, I got the hell out of there as soon as I could.
I knew what it meant for me if I stayed.
Mafia princess. Bought and sold. Arm candy for some high-ranking Don.
I didn’t want that. Couldn’t want it, not after what happened.
So I got the hell out.
“I believe you,” he said and lifted his weird green juice to his lips.
“I don’t care if you do or not. I’m telling the truth.”
“Do you know what your father’s been up to in the last three years since you left?”
“No, and I don’t want to know.”
“You’re not even a little curious.”
“Not even a little bit. And I’m not joking. I don’t want to hear anything else about him.”
He nodded slowly as if I just passed some kind of test. “Then I won’t go into details, but you should know that your father’s people have been pushing down past Boston for years now. They’ve been causing a lot of problems.”
“Sorry to hear it. My dad’s an asshole.”
“You have no idea.”
“Actually, I do. I ran away and hid out in Sea Isle for three years, remember?” I pushed my chair back and stood again. This time, I didn’t care how much he threatened me, I wasn’t having this conversation anymore.
Talking about my dad sent me back to that time, and I really, really didn’t want to go there. Bad enough that I had to endure a two-hour car ride. Bad enough I was stuck in his rich bachelor pad slash nuclear fallout bunker.
I wasn’t going to get sucked back into my old life. Not for anything.
Because every time I thought back to my dad and Boston, I remembered what happened to me, and I couldn’t handle it. I survived by avoiding and ignoring, by pushing it away and pretending like I was totally fine and noting bad happened.
I wasn’t going to let Roman ruin my years and years of avoidance.
But instead of commanding me around like a child, he stood up and drifted toward me. I backed away until I bumped up against the arm of a nearby couch.
He stopped inches in front of me, radiating command and control and an intense desire that made my chest seize.
“I hope you’re not lying to me,” he said, his voice a subtle whisper, low and throaty and gorgeous enough to send a little chill along my fingers. Even if he was calling my character into question. “Because if you are, I promise that your punishment will fit the crime.”
“What are you going to do? Ball gag me?”
“That’s a nice idea. I’ll have Roza order a few.”
“I was joking.”
“I’m not.” He leaned closer and ran one finger down my cheek, along my jaw, over my lower lip, then down my throat. I tried not to gasp for breath as the tingling he left in its wake threatened to send me descending into a fit of pure ecstasy.
All from one finger.
“I’m going to protect you Cassie. Even though I think you’re going to be a problem, I still don’t believe that you should be punished for who you are and what you happened to witness. But understand that if you’re not telling me the truth, that if you are still involved with your father and anyone else in the MacKenna family, I will find out and I will take action.”
“Take action. Like you took action last night?”
“No. I won’t kill you. But I will make you suffer in a very particular way.” He came closer. I wanted to scream, to shove him away. What the hell was wrong with this man?
Even his threat of torture sent a wave of longing through my core.
“I’m not interested in whatever serial killer games you like to play.”
His hand lingered against my hip. “I don’t play games. I’ll tease you, but it’s not a game to me.”
“Why don’t you just take me home if you don’t trust me? That’ll be easier for both of us.”
“Because I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”
I stared into his eyes then looked at his lips and god, his fill of me, his fill, like he was hungry and I was the real treat here, I was the meal, the dessert, the everything. I tilted my chin up and my lips opened and I wanted it, god I wanted it, as he came closer, his breath warm, his smell encompassing and intense and heady, and I was dizzy then he pressed his lips against mine, and dizzier still when I shoved myself hard against him and let his lips take mine.
His hands wrapped around my back and pressed me against his hard body.
My skin reacted like lightning, like I stuck my tongue in an electric socket. He nibbled my lower lip, teased my tongue, invaded my mouth. His kiss took me, even if I wanted to resist at the same time, if all my warning bells were ringing, the sirens screaming, every inch of me saying I should run, this man was a predator, a killer, and he just threatened to hurt me if I lied to him—
And I still returned that kiss with a shocking desire.
Shocking, because I hadn’t experienced anything like it in a long time.
I denied myself this pleasure. I was like a monk on a mountainside living a life of acetic religious fervor. I didn’t believe I could have physical pleasure anymore, not after that man—
The knife sliding across my belly and hot blood dripping from between my fingers as I screamed in agony—
The memory was a thunderbolt in my skull. I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. I was his, Roman’s thing, and he kept me pinned against him, his mouth moving on mine, his tongue teasing me back to life, that kiss, his taste, his arms, everything about him drawing me back from that horrible memory and into the present moment, into this kiss.
He took me like I was his to taste and it felt so good I nearly forgot who I was.
For one long moment, my past blanked out, all that anxiety and uncertainty, it disappeared, and there was only Roman.
He bit my lower lip hard before pulling back.
“What happened to you there?” he whispered, his forehead against mine. “You almost stopped me.”
“I’m sorry, I just—“ I closed my eyes. “I haven’t been intimate with anyone in a long time.”
“Intimate.” He moved back, tilted my chin up. I met his gaze.
It burned into me with a hot desire that made my feet go numb.
He said, “Is that what you think we are? Intimate?”
I shook my head, the barest of motion. “I don’t know what we are.”
“We haven’t begun to get intimate, my kukolka.”
“You keep using that word. What does it mean?”
A wicked smile. I was beginning to see that his grins meant both pleasure and pain for me. “Ask someone else.” And he released me then like he was ripping his hands from ice. “I have an appointment. I trust you can amuse yourself for a while?”
His harsh attitude knocked me back to earth—a little bit, at least.
“I think I can handle that.”
“Good. Don’t get into trouble. If a door’s locked then it’s off limits.” He turned and strode away. I watched him go and when he disappeared around a corner, I sank back onto a couch like I was melting into a lake.
What was wrong with that man?
And why the hell did I like it?
I thought it’d been a long time since I felt anything like that level of need and sinful want deep in my core—
But no, that wasn’t right.
I’d never, ever felt anything like it.
Not remotely close.
Not before that incident, and definitely not since.
Winter would be proud of me.
If I could even tell her.
I sighed, stretched like a cat, and wondered exactly how Roman would punish me if he knew that I told my best friend all about him.
10
Cassie
The heady rush of that ki
ss slowly dissipated as the hours dragged past and I was left all alone.
The novelty of the rich bunker quickly wore off.
I was very aware of being underground.
Swallowed. Buried.
The air was recycled. The place hummed constantly, even with all the appliances turned off—the air conditioning system ran all the time, bringing fresh air in and pulling old air out.
It smelled like pine needles and the bite of plastic left in the hot sun for too long.
I lounged around the living room for a while. I flipped through the TV—of course he got all the channels, why wouldn’t a bunker need absolutely everything, at least you should enjoy the apocalypse—but got tired of that. I drifted back to my room, looked at the closet, took a shower, tried on some clothes, and eventually settled into a pair of tight Lululemon Yoga Pants and a pale white Gucci crop top—about as basic as it got, but whatever. I finished the ensemble with a pair of white Crocs.
I looked absolutely fly.
So I went exploring.
The hallway was full of doors. I tried a few, but most of them were locked. I found a game room with a full bar and a pool table, a weight room that looked like it’d been used recently, and what looked like a tiny little movie theater. There was another elevator at the end of the hall, but it didn’t do anything when I pressed the call button.
All in all, it was a beautiful prison, but still a prison.
As I drifted back to the kitchen, I heard a ding in the main room. I caught Roza as she stepped into the living room, looking fresh and breezy like the last time I saw her. She practically glowed, her skin so healthy that it was practically the embodiment of Roman’s green drinks, her hair thick and lustrous, her smile bright and genuine.
She greeted me with a hug. She reminded me a lot of Winter that way.
“It’s good to see you again. I have to admit, I’m really surprised he brought you here.”
“Really? Is this like, a big deal?”
“The biggest.” She leaned in, waggled her eyebrows. “Roman never brings people here.”
“Come on. Really?”
“It’s his private residence. His Fortress of Solitude.”
“More like a creepy bomb shelter.”
“That too.” She grinned and slipped her hand through my arm. She clutched a phone and a file folder in the other. “Seriously, this is really cool, having you around. Normally I’m stuck with Erick and all the other macho meathead idiots for company, and they can get kind of boring.”
“Erick’s his bodyguard, right?”
“Bodyguard, fixer, best friend, all of the above. He’s real spooky, but he’s a good guy.”
“Spooky, how?”
She led me over to the couches that were artfully arranged in front of a fireplace, sat me down, then walked over and pressed some switches next to the mantel. The flames leapt to life and crackled pleasantly as she fiddled with a dial, adjusting them until it was perfect.
“Oh, the usual. All of Roman’s people are a little creepy. I think he does it on purpose, you know? Cultivates a little bit of danger and mystique.”
“What about you? Are you creepy?”
She laughed lightly, tossed her hair. “Girl, I’m the creepiest of them all. Now, can we talk about what you’re wearing?”
I grinned, gestured down at myself. “Something wrong?”
“You look like a 90s disaster. But it actually kind of works, so good for you.”
“I feel like a beautiful princess.” I hesitated and glanced back at the kitchen table. I could feel his lips against mine still. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“That’s what I’m here for. Ask away.”
“He keeps calling me something.” I cleared my throat, already embarrassed. “Kukolka? I think I’m mangling it. That’s Russian, right?”
Her grin was absolutely vicious. I felt like burrowing into the leather and living the rest of my life as a mole person. A couch mole person.
“You really want to know what it means?”
“Yes, please. Don’t make me feel even more awkward.”
“It’s Russian for ‘little doll.’ It’s actually a term of endearment. Sort of intense though.”
I sighed and leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling.
My little doll. That’s what he kept calling me.
Oh god, what the hell did I get myself into?
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Does it? Because I’m way out of my depth here. Like I said, Roman never, ever brings anyone to this place. And he sure as hell doesn’t call women kukolka. You sure he didn’t say something else?”
“I’m very sure. He wouldn’t tell me what it meant.”
“Figures. He likes to be mysterious, that one.” Roza sat down on the couch next to me, leaving a polite cushion between us, and cleared her throat. She sat with perfect posture, like a beauty queen on stage. “So, I’m not just here for pleasure, although believe me, I’m very happy you’re here.”
“What’s wrong?” I felt a little pit of dread open up. “He’s not kicking me out already, is he? I can’t do another car ride.”
“No, of course not. But I do need you to sign something for me.” She opened the folder and turned it around. The contract was printed in tiny little letters and was exactly eight pages long, front and back.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s a standard non-disclosure agreement. Basically it says that if you ever mention this place to anyone, ever, for any reason, he will kill you.” She grinned and winked. “In court, of course. But really, he ‘ll probably kill you in real life too. I insist on the legal stuff. Covers all the bases, you know?”
I groaned. “Is it bad if I mentioned him already? Sort of, anyway, not exactly. To my best friend.”
“How much detail did you give her?”
“Not much.”
“Then try and keep it on the downlow from here on out.” She flipped to the last page, shoved a pen at me. “Sign.”
“Does he know you’re doing this?” I took the pen and hesitated.”
“Oh, god no, not at all. He’d probably drown me in the bath if he found out, but I’ve been protecting Roman for a long time now, and I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. So please, write your name on the damn line and stop asking so many questions.”
I stared at her and my heart skipped a beat. She looked back at me with a sharp, hard edge. Her happy attitude was gone, replaced by a knife-sharp gaze and the threat of something bad beneath her otherwise pristine exterior.
I liked her a lot, but man, she was scary.
I signed my name.
“Great, now one more.” She slipped the paper up a bit and showed off another several signature lines. Roman’s name was scrawled in a tight script next to Roza’s own loopy signature on top of the line marked witness.
I frowned at her and hesitated, my pen lingering above the line for my name. “What’s this one?” I couldn’t see anything above the signatures.
“Sign the paper, Cassie.” Roza’s voice was dead and dagger sharp.
My heart skipped a beat. God, she was scary when she wanted to be. I didn’t have much of a choice in this situation—I needed Roman’s protection, and if signing some kind of NDA or contract or whatever this was would keep me alive for a little bit longer, I had to play along.
Write my name or end up dead.
Not such a hard choice, really.
I could still hear the gunshot that ripped the night to pieces. Dia’s body slumped on the ground, her pretty hair splayed out around the crown of blood that leaked through the wooden slats.
I signed.
“Fantastic!” Roza perked up as she flipped the folder shut and took the pen back. “Glad that’s out of the way. God, I hate business. So okay, let’s get going, he’s waiting for you.”
“He’s what?”
Roza got to her feet. “Don’t mention the NDA, it’ll only piss him off.” She walked
back toward the elevator. “And seriously, just get in the pool. He’ll like that.”
“Pool?” I got up and followed her. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ll see.” Roza grinned at me, pressed the elevator call button, and stepped back as the doors opened. “This place is absolutely massive. Like completely bonkers. You’ll probably never see it all, but maybe one day. Anyway, let’s get going.”
She stepped into the elevator.
I hesitated. “Where are you taking me?”
“Down.” She patted the wall. “Get in, kukolka.” She grinned at me.
My cheeks were definitely a five as I stepped inside, turned to face the door, and stood there awkwardly and silently as we descended further into Roman’s bunker of nightmares, or pleasure, or both, I wasn’t really sure yet.
11
Cassie
The elevator door opened and the humid smell of chlorine wafted down a short tiled hallway that ended with a single double door.
“He’s right in there.” Roza didn’t make a move.
“You’re not coming?”
“Nope, I got more work to do.”
I hesitated and looked down the hallway. I thought of what she said upstairs—just get in the pool—and felt a little chill in my fingertips.
“I’m not sure I want to see him right now.”
“Though luck, kiddo. The boss wants to talk, so it’s time to go talk. Don’t worry, he’s in a good mood. Swimming always makes him happy.”
“Of course there’s a pool in this underground nightmare.”
“I told you, there’s way more to this place than you realize. Now get in there.” She gave me a gentle nudge.
I stepped off the elevator and sucked in a deep breath. The taste of the pool in the air reminded me of swimming at the YMCA when I was a little girl. My father took me for lessons, and I used to spend hours kicking around on a blue floating paddle board, laughing as Dad backstroked alongside me, grinning that whole time. Afterward, he’d take me into the director’s office and I’d take a piece of candy from a bowl on the man’s desk.
