by Bella King
I jerk my head up, pulling my wobbly body into a sitting position. Holding the paper with two hands, I unfold it, squinting as the words on the page dance across my vision. It’s so hard to read while I’m drunk.
I hold the paper closer.
Meet me at the backdoor at five.
That’s all it has written on it. I flip the paper over, but it’s blank. I assume it’s from the same guard who I talked to earlier by the door. I don’t even know what time it is now, but I’m pretty sure it’s before five.
I hop off the bed and stumble to the dresser in search of something to wear. I may be intoxicated, but I haven’t lost my mind entirely. I still want to be presentable. Who knows, this could be the moment in which I escape this place.
However unlikely, I still get fully dressed and run to the analog clock in the hallway, banging my shoulder against the wall to stop myself. My legs and my brain want to do two different things, but I need to focus on the task at hand.
It takes me a moment to see the hands of the clock. As my eyes concentrate on the time, it becomes clear. It’s ten minutes past five.
“Shit, fuck, shit,” I mutter to myself as I stumble down the stairs to get to the back door. I pray that the guard is still there waiting for me, but I’m afraid that he will have left already. The last time he came, he was in an awfully big hurry.
It’s just my luck that I decide to drink and entire bottle of wine at the worst possible moment when I barely ever get drunk. The world has been working against me for the past week. Maybe this time, I can turn it around.
I get to the backdoor and yank it open without caution, taking a step back with it as it comes open. I’m met by a very surprised guard, but thankfully it’s the one who I want to see.
“I got your note,” I blurted before realizing that he may not have been the one who gave it to me. I need to be more careful.
The guard’s expression changes back to the flat one that occupies every other guard’s face. “Good, but you’re late.”
“I was in the bath,” I say, straightening my back and trying to look sober. I think the red stains on my lips give it away, however.
The guard looks me over and continues. “I can get you out of here tomorrow morning, but you need to make sure that Rurik doesn’t catch you. If you can get him to sleep upstairs, that would be ideal.”
“In my bed?” I ask, recoiling.
“I’m not concerned with where upstairs, just that he won’t be taking the couch like he did last night,” the guard says in a quick whisper.
“I don’t want him in my bed,” I say, unable to reason clearly because of the alcohol.
“That’s beside the point,” the guard snaps. “Do you want to get out of here or not?” He looks irritated.
“Yes, of course,” I say, shaking my head to snap myself out of my drunken state. It’s not helping me.
“Then,” he says, leaning in close. “You need to listen to me and follow what I say. I’m going to tell you something that you’re probably not prepared for, so brace yourself.”
I don’t think I can brace myself any more than I already am. I have both hands on either side of the doorframe, holding me up so that I can appear sober. I’m sure I’m not fooling the guard, but he probably can’t tell just how drunk I am. That wine hit me harder than I thought it would.
“Are you ready for this?” he asks, peering into my eyes like he’s trying to steal my soul.
I’m uncomfortable looking at him, so I look to the side and nod. “Yes, go ahead.”
The guard clears his throat and leans in further, speaking in a soft voice. “Your father isn’t dead.”
Chapter Fourteen
How the hell am I supposed to collect myself before Rurik returns home?
I stuff my face full of whatever food I can get in the fridge, downing two cups of coffee in an attempt to sober up. There’s an awful feeling in my stomach, like nervousness on steroids at the thought of my father being alive for all these years. It seems too good to be true, but the guard outside insisted that it was, and he seemed to know a lot about my father.
I’m a wreck inside, but I’m trying to get myself to the point where I can function normally again. It’s been an hour since I got the news from the guard, tipping me off about the morning plans, and I’m still woozy from the wine I drank in the bathtub.
I have to keep Rurik distracted and happy. With the promise of freedom, I’ll do anything it takes to get that man to fall asleep in my bed tonight. That’s all part of the plan, and I probably won’t get another shot at this.
I feel better already known that I’ve eaten, even it was random cheeses and fruits that were loose in the fridge. It’s better than nothing.
I remember that the bathtub is still on upstairs, endlessly bubbling without anyone in it.
I dash back up to my bedroom and enter the bathroom, turning off the jets and draining the tub. I pick up the empty wine bottle and bring it back down to the kitchen, shoving it deep in the trash so that Rurik doesn’t see that I’ve finished the entire thing today.
Why am I such a mess?
I return upstairs and change my clothes, opting for something nicer so that I don’t look like I threw on the first thing that I saw. I’m wearing a pale-yellow blouse and a pair of black pants. I laugh when I think about how much like a banana I look. Is that a drunk person thing to do?
Probably, which means I need to avoid doing it. I can’t let myself slip tonight. This is my chance to correct what has happened to me and find out if my father really is alive like the guard said he was. Why would he lie to me?
Well, why would Rurik lie to me either? Something isn’t adding up, but I don’t have the time to figure it all out. My number one priority is to escape this mess. After that, I can figure out why Rurik wants to hold me captive and tell me that my father was shot while leading the international mafia.
I’m starting to think that I can’t trust the guard who tipped me off either, but what does he have to gain? At least Rurik claims to have been close to my father, and that’s why he wants to protect me. The guard didn’t give me a reason why he wants to rescue me.
I don’t have time to think of everything that could go wrong, or what everyone’s intentions are. I’m preparing for Rurik to return home so that I can act out my part of the plan.
I pop a painkiller in the bathroom cabinet to kill the inevitable wine hangover before it has the chance to creep in, and I recline on the couch with a tub of vanilla ice cream to watch movies until Rurik returns. It’s not the most graceful that I can be, but it beats being sloppy drunk and asleep in my bed when he gets back from business.
After two hours, I’m starting to feel like my regular self again, and that’s when there is a knock on the front door.
Chapter Fifteen
I spring up from the couch, hurrying to the door and wondering why someone would be knocking. I doubt it’s the guard at this hour, but I don’t know for certain. Rurik has the key to the house, so it can’t be him either.
I peek through the frosted glass window beside the door, but all I can see is a blurry black shape of a man, presumably in a suit. They all wear suits in the mafia, though. That tells me nothing except that it’s not the mailman coming to deliver my regular shipment of junk mail. That’s all I ever got back home, and I don’t miss it.
I have nothing to lose by opening the door, so I click the heavy silver lock open and yank on the heavy door.
“It took you long enough,” Rurik growls, charging into the house and nearly pushing me over in the process.
“Rurik,” I say in surprise, stumbling back.
“I need a drink,” he says, not even glancing at me before charging into the kitchen.
I close the door, sniffing the air behind Rurik. He has brought in an odd scent. It smells acrid, like something burnt. I lock the door and rush into the kitchen after him, where I find him already pouring a honey-colored spirit into a thick crystal whiskey glass.
> “Is everything okay?” I ask as he pounds back the drink.
Rurik wrinkles his nose and wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket. “Someone took my keys.”
“Are you sure you didn’t misplace them?” I ask, stepping toward him cautiously. He looks awfully bothered for having only lost his keys.
“I don’t misplace things,” he says, pouring another ounce of liquid into his glass and placing the cork lid back on the stout bottle.
“Why would someone take the key?” I ask, immediately thinking of the guard. Was this all part of the plan? I didn’t think that the guard would need the key if I was going to come to the back door tomorrow morning.
“I’m not sure,” Rurik says, lifting his head up and staring me directly in the eyes. He looks tired and irritable. “I don’t think you should stay here. We may have been compromised.”
“Compromised?” I ask innocently. I know damn well that we’ve been compromised. There’s a guard lurking around the house trying to rescue me. I’m just surprised that Rurik has realized this so quickly. I can’t say he’s not diligent.
Rurik takes his glass from the counter and walks around the island, stepping up to me. I can smell the odd scent coming from his suit the moment he gets within a few feet of me. I’m trying to figure out what it is, but nothing comes to mind.
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” he says, eyes flickering down to the necklace I have on.
I instinctively move my hand up to it. I’m extremely protective of the only thing I have left from my father. I don’t like the interest Rurik has just taken in it. I don’t understand this man, but I don’t want him to take anything else from me.
Rurik notices my defensiveness and takes a step back, looking away from me as he continues to speak. “You’re not going to be safe here, but I don’t have anywhere for you to go yet. I thought we would be fine at the house. Clearly,” he says, looking at me again. “I was wrong.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, my heart beginning to thump quicker in my chest. Does he know something that he’s not letting on? Has he discovered what I’m conspiring to do?
Rurik takes a sip of his drink, slower and more calmly this time. “I had a run-in with some of them,” he says, speaking the last word with disdain, as though it left a foul taste in his mouth. He takes another sip of his drink to wash it out. “There was a hit on one of our storage facilities in a few miles from here.”
“You were attacked?” I ask, a bit worried. As suspicious as I am of Rurik, I don’t want any harm to come to him. I’m not that sort of person, or so I tell myself. Maybe it’s just because he’s attractive.
“We certainly were. There was a shootout, and then they were gone,” he says, shaking his head. “I believe someone is feeding them information from the inside. This is exactly how your father got killed.”
Rurik looks distressed, as though he’s also worried about ended up dead like he claims my father to be. His fear seems genuine, which confuses me. If this is all an act, then he shouldn’t be worried like he is.
I want to offer him some advice or helpful words, but I don’t have anything to say to him. I’m not involved with the mafia. I have no idea what’s really going on.
“Violet, could you give me a massage tonight?” Rurik asks, looking toward me again with just the slightest hint of a smile on his face.
“I don’t know,” I say, folding my arms, but then I remember what the guard said. I have to get Rurik into my bed tonight. Maybe he’ll fall asleep while I give him a massage, and that’ll be the end of things. “Well,” I add. “If you really need one, I guess I might be able to.”
“Good, I wasn’t going to give you a choice anyway,” Rurik replies, placing his drink on the island behind him. “I need to shower first. I smell like gunpowder.”
That’s what that smell is. I had smelled it before on my father a few times, but I had no idea what to think of it. Gunpowder. Does that mean that my father really was part of the mafia? I’m not willing to accept that as the truth yet. There’s more to all of this that I don’t know.
“Let’s meet back here in thirty minutes. You can give me a massage me on the couch,” Rurik says, turning away toward the door.
“Wait,” I blurt, holding out my hand as if to stop him.
Rurik pauses, turning his head to me and raising an eyebrow.
I blush furiously, knowing that what I’m about to say is going to be taken in the wrong way, but there’s not a lot that I can do about it. “I, uh,” I say, trying to get a grip on myself. “Maybe we should do it in the bedroom.”
Stupid. Fuck, I sound so stupid.
Rurik smiles. “That sounds like a good idea.”
“Just the massage, you know, because the bed is a better place for it,” I say, scrambling to make it sound less sexual. The only thing I’ve succeeded in doing is making it sound even more sexual.
Rurik nods. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour. Make yourself comfortable.” And with those words, he leaves me alone in the kitchen to blush like a tomato in the sun.
Chapter Sixteen
I find oil in the bathroom cabinet. It’s lavender scented and perfect to use on Rurik for a massage. I figure that if I’m going to do this, that I might as well commit all the way. It’s not going to hurt me to relax along with him.
There’s an air of anticipation floating in the room as I prepare myself for Rurik. I can’t help but think I’ve invited sex into the room, even though I didn’t say a word about it. It was assumed, no doubt, because Rurik is attracted to me.
I must admit that Rurik has a dark allure to him, and he knows that. It’s the only reason I’ve agreed to give him a massage amidst all that has happened. If I hadn’t been attracted to him, then I would have found another way to get him to sleep in my bed tonight.
Rurik has to believe that I’m doing this because I’m into him. I can’t let on that I have an ulterior motive, so I prepare accordingly. I remove my clothing and opt for the pink silk robe that he gave me when I was first captured. That ought to do the trick.
I put my hair up in a tight bun atop my head and start smoothing out the bed, making sure everything is ideal for Rurik to fall asleep. I don’t have to sleep in the bed with him, but it might be better if I did, just so he won’t wake up wondering where I am in the middle of the night.
I’ll be walking a thin line between doing something dangerous with him and keeping my wits about me. I’m not altogether certain that this won’t end up being a sexual encounter, but anything is better than being trapped here for the next ten years. If Rurik really does intend to move me to a different location tomorrow, then tonight might be my only chance to escape from him.
I fluff up the pillows on the bed, making sure they look very comfortable. At this point, I’m perfectly sober and not all that tired, but I suspect Rurik is feeling drowsy. This bed must put him to sleep in an instant, or I might fail at getting him to stay here.
I turn on the lamp beside the bed and leave the overhead light in the room off. There is a pleasant yellow glow in the room now, dim enough to fall asleep with. I slink downstairs and grab a glass of water for him to drink, returning to the bedroom with it. Everything is prepared for his arrival.
“I’m impressed,” I hear a deep voice say from the doorway as I place the water down on the bedside table next to the lavender massage oil.
I turn my head to see Rurik wearing nothing but a towel around his slender hips. I have to muster up all the self-control in me to keep my jaw from dropping at the sight of his divine figure. He defines perfection, with endless muscles to explore and tattoos running across his torso.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his eyes glowing blue like the sapphire that adorns his finger in the dim light as he steps toward the bed, his towel coming loose from his hips.
My heart skips a beat as his towel slides down, revealing the sharp V where his legs meet his pelvis. I turn away as his towel falls so that I can’t see his cock. I’m tempted to
look, but I know that it will only get me into trouble.
“I’m ready once you get on the bed,” I say, trying to keep my voice from quivering.
The bed creaks as Rurik climbs onto it, putting his full weight on the mattress. Just hearing his naked body touching the sheets that I sleep in makes me aroused. This is not a good sign. I’m not supposed to be aroused by the man who kidnapped me.
The creaking stops and I hear Rurik’s husky breathing as he lays still on the bed. I’m still afraid to turn around, in case he’s lying on his back with his prick straight up in the air.
“Are you on your stomach?” I ask.
He chuckles. “Turn around and find out.”
I hesitate, but I figure I’m not going to get very far by playing games. I take a deep breath and turn, fully expecting him to be lying in front of me with his private bits in full view. I’m relieved to find that he is on his stomach, with his ass covered in the white bedsheet.
“Are you comfortable?” I ask, looking over his body and soaking it all in before I begin.
Rurik looks at my legs, his eyes dancing along with bare thighs. The pink robe doesn’t hide much from his view, especially not when his head is resting low enough to potentially see up my robe. He smiles. “I’m very comfortable,” he says, his voice a low purr.
“Good,” I say, nervous about touching him so intimately. It’s not that I won’t enjoy it. Touching a man like him is quite delightful. I’m simply overwhelmed by everything that he is. I’ve never given a massage to a supposed Russian mafia boss before, and certainly no man that looks quite as fit as Rurik Petrov does.
“Climb up and get my shoulders first,” Rurik says, his words sounding more like a command than a suggestion.
I bite my lip, taking a step to the bed as Rurik watches me. I feel like there are a thousand eyes on me, but it’s just the two glowing blue ones that belong to Rurik. I continuously question what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, but there’s no turning back now.
