“What are you doing?” he asks, that deep, dark voice of his so blasé about the whole thing as he stands there watching me. “If you didn’t like the placement of the TV, you could have just asked,” he says, that grizzled man seeming almost amused by me, if I could read anything on his stoic face.
I brush some hair from my eyes, feeling guilty as sin, as if I’m doing something wrong by trying to break out of this prison. I’m scared and I don’t want to piss him off, but at the same time, I’m curious about him. About who he actually is.
I gotta get a grip.
“Yea, well, I never got your number,” I answer back, filled with snark.
“Apologies,” he says dryly and he heads into the kitchen area, toting a large brown paper bag that looks to be packed with boxes. He returns a moment later, the towering brute plucking the TV from my grasp and putting it back where it came from. “You know, smashing out the window would not help you. It is barred, and the streets are many floors below. Nobody could hear your cries,” he explains to me with the air of a patient wiser man, even if he has the look of someone dangerous in that tight fitting sweater and jeans.
“At least I’d be able to enjoy some fresh air,” I say, my arms folded beneath my chest, but it’s all bravado. I feel like a quivering bird held in his palm, just waiting for him to squeeze a little too hard. I’m only alive because of him, or so he says, but this isn’t my life or the life I ever wanted.
He walks past me over by the wall, and taps a thermostat there.
“You can control AC and heat here, don’t worry about the light bill,” he says with a hint of humor to his voice before he heads back into the kitchen.
“Ahh, funny,” I say, some of my normally sarcastic self seeping out. I like it when he banters with me.
I have to walk around the sofa to see him there, taking out plates and serving up some food from the package he brought. Some take out no doubt.
My stomach growls with desire. Since whatever drugs I had made me reject everything in my system, I’ve been starving but too afraid to eat. I sniff the air, catching the various scents of foreign cuisine, and my palm goes to my tummy to quiet it down. Last thing I need is for this guy to know how desperate I am for a bite.
“I couldn’t dream of putting you out with an exorbitant bill, though,” I say, trying to keep things light. Maybe that’s what is needed.
“So considerate.” I notice he’s serving up egg rolls, and that familiar scent comes back to me: Chinese food. “I did not catch any dietary concerns,” he says with that accent of his, “but I thought: everyone likes Chinese.”
He comes out of the kitchen, laying the two paper plates full of food onto the table before retreating back in to pour us both up some water.
I stare after him in disbelief.
“A meal together. How cute,” I grin, but before he’s even returned from the kitchen, I’ve scalded my tongue on the egg roll, and I’m grabbing for the glass of water like a toddler.
So much for playing it cool.
“It is still very fresh,” he says, a caution that comes too late. “They know me there, make it just for me. But this time I had them prepare a little extra,” he gestures to one side of my plate. “You’re a lovely young woman, so I thought perhaps you are a vegetarian or some such, everything on this side is free of meat,” he explains before seating himself down like he was in a mess hall and digging his fork into a piece of meat.
He’s no vegetarian, that’s for sure.
I gulp back the water, but I can already tell I won’t be able to taste anything else on my plate with a burned tongue and I sigh.
“So you’re vying for, like, the most considerate kidnapper award?”
“When one does something, you must always give it your best,” he says in that way of his, drawing out the words with that eastern flavor, and a healthy dose of dry, dark humor. Though the close proximity gives me time to study him, to see the scar on his face, right up along the highest part of his cheekbone. His jawline lightly stubbled with dark hair.
He catches me staring and I quickly avert my eyes. I’ve never been the kind of girl that’s been shy around men, but there’s something about him that makes me feel like a girl again. If I wasn’t his captive, I’d probably have hit on him at a bar or something. He has a rugged charm about him, and I admit that his sense of humor aligns with mine a little too well.
“So you’re single, huh?” I venture a guess, though as soon as the words are out, I wish I hadn’t said them.
He arches a brow, looking about as surprised by the question as I am, but nods his head.
“Da,” he says, and I know enough from movies to realize that means ‘yes’. “A man in my line of work doesn’t make a good husband. A woman deserves more than a man who is out at all hours, life on the line all the time.” He shakes his head slowly as he eats, “No. I tried that long ago, before I entered the Special Forces.”
“Military?” I ask, surprised he’s even answering any of my questions. I take a bite of something I don’t have a name for, but mostly I’m finding myself curious. He hasn’t actually hurt me or put me in any danger, though I know better than to trust him. At least, my brain knows. The rest of my body wants to gobble up everything he tells me.
“Spetsnaz,” he says, nodding his head before downing almost his entire glass of water in a few gulps. “We were like your Navy Seals in a way,” he says, those dark eyes of his searching out mine as he explains things to me like a patient teacher. “We went where soldiers know better than to go. Did things they could not. You understand?” he asks, and he’s waiting. Watching. Wanting to know if I truly do understand.
Is it meant to be taken as a threat?
I try not to flinch under his hard stare, and suck in a deep breath. I will not let this man intimidate me.
“You’re a badass. I get it.”
“So you should understand that you’re safer here with me, than out there,” he says, speaking calmly as he points to the door. “There are men after you, as we speak. I have confirmed it for myself.”
“Listen, I might be cute, but I’m not so cute that anyone’s going to be after me,” I say, masking my fear with sarcastic humor. I don’t know if he’s really being serious, but something in his eyes tell me he is. But I can’t just hide in here the rest of my life.
He laughs at me just a little and continues to eat a moment before speaking.
“By no fault of your own, you have been a part of something ugly. I wish it was not so, but I can’t change what’s already done. Your boss is dead,” he says, that proclamation rather brusque and pointed. “A man like him simply doesn’t die and it go unnoticed, nyet? And it is too important to leave open to question. The kind of questions a surviving witness can raise.”
“I didn’t witness anything!”
“It does not matter,” he says, and I see his thick forearm swell through his sweater as he clenches his fist. “It only matters what they think you witnessed,” he explains to me, his voice getting darker, more serious. “Do you think someone has a congressman killed without wanting to make very sure it never comes back to him, hmm?” he says, his eyes boring into me with their intensity.
It sends a shiver down my spine and I swallow hard.
“I can’t stay here forever. What are you going to do to me?”
“To you?” he asks, eyes wide before he laughs and looks away. “Nothing. But I do not send pretty, young women to their deaths. No matter how dense in the head they’re being,” he says, that patience eked away a little as he puffs up his broad chest and sighs.
“I’m not dense. But how many kidnapped women have you saved that are just totally fine with being your captive, huh?”
He gives a light exasperated sigh and finishes off another generous bite before looking back at me.
“I do not make a habit of this, if it’s what you’re meaning. You are the first. But too much time and money had been sunk into getting the target where he was needed
to be. If I didn’t do the job then, a messier hit would’ve happened as they all left, and you’d be dead instead of complaining,” he says, revealing all that info so calmly.
A storm is brewing within me, emotions surfacing that I didn’t know even lingered beneath my skin. My heart pounds and I stare at the man ahead of me. I know what he meant about what he did. He killed people. He still does.
I’m here, having a quaint little dinner with what is possibly the sexiest killer in the world. Not that I know a lot of killers. Any, actually, before him.
My skin flushes and for a second I feel like I’m going to be sick again, but I swallow it back as I force myself to stand. Tears are stinging my eyes, but I blink them away, fury and terror swirling within me.
“You want me to thank you or something, Mikhail? Is that what this whole dinner business is about?”
He takes one of the napkins in hand, unfurls it and calmly wipes his mouth.
“I do not want your thanks, or your gratitude,” he says, still sitting there at the table. “What I want is for you to sit tight until it is safe for you to go. Or until I figure out where you can go that won’t get you killed,” he says, looking right at me. With those dark eyes of his.
The eyes of a murderer.
He should make me sick. He does make me sick. So why am I so drawn to him and what does that say about me? Normal girls don’t feel drawn to their murdering kidnapper.
I take in another deep breath of air as I continue to stare at him.
“I’m not staying here. If you were supposed to kill me and you didn’t, they’re going to be looking at where you lead them. It’s only a matter of time before they find this place, if they don’t already know of it.”
I have no idea who they are, or if I’m correct, but I’m taking a giant stab in the dark in order to gain my freedom. To plead with him for a way out.
His brows furrow a little and he looks at me.
“Only a handful of men in this city know who did the hit. You’re sitting with one. The others are all well under my influence,” he says with that stoic gaze of his, unflinching and serious. “And furthermore, they do not know about this place. This is my safe house. A place where nobody in my life knows how to get to. Where if everyone in the world turned on me, I could come here and last out a long, long wait. This place,” he says, jabbing his long index finger into the table, “is my insurance. And now it is yours.”
I hate that somehow, he’s making me feel bad for taking this all for granted, and I fidget under his hard stare.
“People... people who hire hitmen don’t just forget about murder witnesses. I’ve seen the movies, you know. The ones where people are sitting and having breakfast twenty years after the fact, and they get a gun in their face. This is never going to leave me.”
His broad jaw sets tight and he looks at the food, taking a deep breath.
“I’ve told them that there were no witnesses. That you must have left the scene before I hit. The local boss is being paranoid, and wants to take you out just in case,” he turns his gaze towards me, staring hard. “But when you don’t show up for a while, and nothing comes of it... You will be forgotten. Business moves on as usual. As it must,” he explains firmly.
I shift forward. This is dumb. I shouldn’t be getting nearer to him. I shouldn’t be placing my hand on his jaw, my fingers caressing him tenderly.
And the worst part is I don’t even know if it’s all just a ploy to get him to let me go, or if I just want to touch him. To know he’s real and to feel that stubble beneath my palm.
“You’re trying to do the right thing,” I say more softly, and I truly believe that’s what he thinks he’s doing. Hell, maybe that is what he’s doing. Maybe, beneath that gruff exterior and hard gaze and that gun on his hip, he really is my knight in shining armor.
My fingers trace back over his jaw, towards that red scar on his face, and I watch as his rugged features contort into a look of curiosity. He’s almost as confused by my actions as I am.
“I am not a school boy to be manipulated,” he says, his voice a little quieter. “I am looking after you, not because I’m out to be the hero. Not because I expect some big thank you.” He reaches up and wraps his hand about my wrist, that grasp of his so tight as he rises up to tower over me again. “I saved you because I wanted to. I’ll keep you alive, because that’s my desire. It is no more complicated or complex than that, and I expect nothing else than for this to end with you alive and well, if cranky.”
My breathing quickens despite myself as my gaze is forced upwards. He’s just a hair’s breadth away from me, and if I leaned forward just a little, my chest would be pressed against his abs. It’s tempting, for all the wrong reasons.
“Why did you desire to save me?” I ask, surprised at how quiet and shaky my voice has become.
He’s still holding my hand, and though I can no longer touch his jaw where he keeps it, I could reach out, touch that broad, hard chest of his if I wanted. If I wasn’t quaking before the towering Russian.
But that question seems to stump him a little, or maybe he’s just not sure if he wants to be honest, because he doesn’t answer right away.
“Because I chose to, that’s all there is to it,” he says, releasing my arm. But even this stoic brute doesn’t do a good job of hiding the truth this time, because I can tell there’s more.
It hangs between us, but I don’t push. Not this time. Not if I hope to have him let me go from my prison cell.
And do what? that voice in the back of my mind nags at me. I want to be free just because I don’t like being trapped, but even I understand the risks if those men are actually after me. But on the outside, there’s people I can go to for help. People I know and trust, like Brad. He has been helping me work my way up in the Congressman’s office, so surely he’d have some information.
“I can’t stay here, Mikhail,” I say softly. I don’t know if it frightens me more to stay with him or leave, but at least on the outside, I’m free.
“But you have to all the same,” he says to me with a tone of finality, stepping around me and going right for the door. “There’s plenty of leftovers, and more food in the cupboards and fridge,” he reminds me, but I don’t care about those things.
“Wait!” I say, and try to follow after him, tugging at the door. But it’s no use, he pulls it shut tight against my resistance, undaunted by my feeble attempts to stop him. And it slams shut. Leaving me alone inside.
“Damn it,” I curse, and I find myself staring at the closed door, picturing him on the other side, filled with a sense of longing that definitely should not exist. I can still feel the imprint of his hand on my wrist, and I touch it tenderly before my heart drops and I return to my bland captivity without the spark of his presence.
4
Mikhail
She’s a pain in the ass.
So why am I putting myself so out for her? I don’t kill women, I tell myself. No different than my sticking up for Nikita years ago.
But that doesn’t mean I have to go out of my way to save her. I could have just dumped her off somewhere with a warning, leave her fate in her hands. But I know a girl like her has no way of understanding the trouble she’s in, or how serious it is. Ditching her in anywhere with a simple warning would have been the same as a death sentence. That’s all.
Why did I just sit and eat dinner with her? That’s a question I can’t answer as easily. I’ve never sat down and ate a meal with Nikita, not in all the years since I helped her upon arrival. When she was emaciated and starving after her trip over, I brought her food and left her to it.
I can’t even remember the last time I actually sat and spoke with a woman casually over dinner. I may not hurt women, but I don’t deal with them either.
Yet this one…
I have to get her out of my life quickly.
5
Alicia
Things were so quiet in my little hideaway-slash-prison that I just cried myself to sl
eep after a news report about the murder of the Congressman, and the search for a missing witness. Me.
That’s why it struck me as so odd I guess, when I awake in the early hours of the morning to the sound of movement. I’m put on edge immediately, because it could be anyone. Maybe it’s my captor come back, or maybe it’s the police. Or worst of all, it might be those mobsters out to eliminate the last witness.
That last possibility is the one that sticks out in my mind so much, and makes my heart thump noisily in my chest, because it’s the stuff my tortured dreams had been made of all night.
I get up, still dressed in the simple silk nightdress I’d found in the closet, my bare feet padding over the hard floor as I make my way out of the room.
I can hear the sounds, but they aren’t coming from inside. It’s like the sound of scuffing, mixed with the sound of a metal. My heart is going haywire, and I creep closer to the door to hear. Light streams in from beneath, along that very narrow crack.
Grunting.
Oh lord, what if there’s a fight happening outside my door right now?
I want to run and hide, but I know if they’re here for me, hiding is only delaying the inevitable. If I’m going to live, I need to run.
But the door is locked…
I reach out with trembling fingers towards that cold metal door knob, and gently wrap my hand about it. I do my best to be quiet, but I’m no pro. I only hope the scuffle outside keeps them distracted as I turn…
And it opens. It’s not locked.
I’m more surprised than thankful at first, but I very slowly open the door and peer out. The light blinds me for a second, but I squint through. Outside is a large brick hallway, and it seems to be empty but for the light spilling out of the room across the hall.
I creep out, my bare feet helping me stay quiet as I look to the elevator at the very end of the hallway. My heart leaping for joy!
But now curiosity is getting the better of me and I peer into the room across the hall. There, my captor awaits.
Saved by the Outlaw: A Bad Boy Romance Page 22
