by Nicole Fox
It’s fucking insane. That’s what it is.
I don’t get this girl, but part of me wants to. That’s what’s making this harder for me. I could kill her and be done with her. I wouldn’t have to worry about her snitching later on down the road. The only problem is, it feels like a sin. Like killing a dove. She’s a tiny thing, probably doesn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds. It wouldn’t take more than a few good hits to take her out.
But I don’t hurt women. I don’t kill women. That’s what makes this shit complicated. The logical, emotionless side says to make it quick and painless. A pillow over her head tonight. A lethal dose of something I keep in my glove compartment. Even just a bullet between the eyes. All swift, but all brutal. And yet, when it comes to Lucy, just looking at her in the wrong way feels too cruel.
Goddammit.
She interrupts my thoughts when she turns around and says, “I’m tired.”
I glance at the clock. It’s almost eleven at night. It’s been a long fucking day, but I’ve been in clean-up mode. I haven’t even noticed how exhausted I am. “You can have the bed,” I say, standing up.
“Are you sure? There’s a lot of room,” she offers.
Sharing a bed with her is too dangerous. If one brush of her fingertips could tempt me into letting down my guard, what would having her little frame beside me do? I don’t even want to think about it.
“I’m sure. But I have to tie your feet to the bed.”
She looks at me in shock. “What?”
“You heard me. You could still run, and if you do that, I’m going to have to break my rule about hurting women. If you’re tied to the bed, you can’t run, and I won’t have to hurt you.”
“Roman, please ...”
The softness in her voice is like a mousetrap. “No. Either you sleep tied to the bed or tied to the bathroom sink. Take your pick.”
Like a bratty child, she crosses her arms over her chest and looks at the bathroom. Deciding it’s in her best efforts not to fight with me, she turns off the television. “Fine,” she grunts. “I’ll sleep on the bed.”
I pull the blankets aside and grab a long piece of rope, waiting for her to get settled down before I wrap it around her ankle. She doesn’t fight me. Instead, she watches silently. I consider tying it tight, but decide against that. Maybe it’s the sadness on her face. Maybe I’m just feeling generous. Either way, I give her a bit of wiggle room this time. After I’m done, Lucy pulls the covers over herself and lies back.
I grab a pillow from the other side of the bed and lie on the floor beside her. When I pull the hood of my jacket over my eyes, the world goes dark.
***
Trying to fall asleep is easier said than done. Between the horns honking outside, the sound of our neighbors fucking, and Lucy’s soft breathing, it’s impossible. I try to ignore it all, but it’s incessant. She’s not asleep. I’m not asleep.
“Go to sleep.”
The bed squeaks as she rolls over. “I can’t.”
“Try harder.”
“It’s kind of been a hard day for me,” she says snippily. “I don’t normally get kidnapped and tied to beds before I sleep.”
Frustrated, I pull the hoodie over my face and look up at her. Her nose is scrunched and her eyebrows are turned down, unhappy. The fact that she looks cute even like this pisses me off. I want to tell her to stop. Stop looking like that. Stop confusing me.
“You shouldn’t have been walking through the alleys then,” I reply.
Anger flashes on her face. “Says the murderer!”
She’s impossible. I try to sleep again, but I can’t. In the bathroom, I fill up my bottle of water and take a long drink, trying to clear my head. I’ll just have to wait her out. I’m clearly not going to be able to sleep before her, so there’s no point in trying now. When I return to the bathroom, I start to lie down again. Then I notice my knife sitting on the nightstand.
It wouldn’t be a problem if it were facedown. I always keep it that way. Some dumb, superstitious shit my dad told me years ago. When I left the hotel room, it was facedown. Now the brand name is visible, flipped the other way.
She must have touched it when I stepped out to take Mr. X’s call.
Instantly, I’m livid. Here I was, thinking she was a good girl. That she didn’t run away because she was pure, because there was something between us. What a crock of shit. All this time, she had my knife. Was she going to use it on me? Did she think she could overtake me?
“You touched my knife,” I say in a low voice. It takes everything not to yell at her.
“What?”
“Don’t play stupid. You touched my knife when I was outside in the hall. Were you going to kill me, Lucy?”
She rolls over again, turning those eyes towards me. The same as before, I can see her lie as it leaves her lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Roman—”
I’m on top of her in a flash. I grab her throat and push her into the mattress. Her eyes bulge, practically out of her head. I’ve had enough of her lies for one night. I thought that I could trust her, but all along, she was feeding me nothing but bullshit. Her grandmother probably doesn’t even exist. That must’ve been some kind of lie, too. A way to get me to let down my guard. Make me trust her. Not any fucking more.
I squeeze her throat harder than I should. “Don’t fucking lie to me again,” I warn her. “You lie again and I’ll have to break my own rules, and when I do, I won’t feel bad about it. Do you understand me?”
Her nod is quick and panicked. “Yes,” she forces out. My grip loosens just enough to let her speak easier.
I take a moment to calm down before I ask my next question. “Did you touch my knife?”
“Yes.”
“Were you going to use it on me?”
There’s a moment of hesitation before she nods. “Yes.”
My stomach sinks. I trusted her, after everything. She didn’t scream. She didn’t fight. It wasn’t because she was cooperating. She was waiting for me to let my guard down so she could stab me. I’m a fucking idiot for thinking that she wouldn’t. I’ve been trained to expect the worst from people. To never turn my back on someone. At any moment, they could strike. And Lucy’s proved that point completely.
It takes all my strength not to squeeze her neck and punish her for her plans. But I can’t just yet. I have to know why she would do this. When I ask, she swallows hard.
“I ... I overheard you on the phone out in the hall,” she confesses. “I grabbed the knife and listened in on your call. I couldn’t hear much, but I heard you mention a man. I recognized his voice, and I decided that it was better not to hurt you.”
“What name? Konstantin?”
She nods. “I know that man. More than I ever wanted to.”
“How?” She looks away, and I can tell that she’s debating whether she should tell me or not. I add more pressure to her throat and she snaps back into focus.
“He killed my parents. When I was a girl, my parents died in a house fire. The wiring inside wasn’t up to code. The house caught on fire, and it burned them alive inside. I watched them wheel my parents out in body bags. And as a child, I thought people that did bad things paid the price for them.”
Tears well in her eyes, and I watch as they run down her cheeks.
“But Konstantin didn’t get what he deserved. Nobody pressed charges. Nobody made a big deal out of it. My parents got swept under the rug like they were nothing. And all these years, I’ve wanted to hurt him. I’ve wanted to tell him that what he did to my parents wasn’t just unfortunate. It was neglect. His neglect is what killed them. He would’ve gotten away with it had I died in the fire, but I didn’t. And now I have to make him pay.”
The idea of this little thing taking on someone with ties to a Russian mob is almost funny. She could barely take on Konstantin, let alone all the men she’d have to get through to reach him. But I don’t laugh in her face. I can see that she’s hurt. I can see th
e anguish in her. It’s like looking at a mirror.
The death of my family brought on the same emotions. For years, I didn’t know what to do. All I had was the anger inside of me, a fire that wouldn’t die down. I wanted to hurt everyone I could. I wanted to tear apart the people behind their deaths. And when I finally did, I felt that sense of peace. It was hollow, but it was peaceful knowing that the right people had paid for their crimes against my family.
The part of me that hasn’t recovered from being orphaned wants to let her go. I want to encourage her to seek her revenge. Make the motherfucker pay. She has the passion I had, the drive to right Konstantin’s wrongs.
But I’m not stupid. I know she’d never get far. She’s innocent; fucked up by the world, but still holding onto her virtue. Riling her up and sending her in his direction is a surefire way to get her killed, and I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. Even if she was planning on stabbing me and leaving me for dead.
“Please, Roman,” she says. “I need this. You’re the only person I know that can help me. You’re a trained killer.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Let me help you! I’ve spent so long researching Konstantin. I’ve grown up my whole life watching him. I probably know more about him than your boss does.”
I want to argue, but she’s probably right. Mr. X kept his call short and sweet. He gave me a name, a bit of background information, and that was it. It was clear that this man has been putting his nose where it doesn’t belong, and it’s my job to put a stop to that. Whatever Lucy knows might actually be useful.
Too bad there’s no way in hell I’m letting her tag along.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not going to do that.”
This situation with Lucy is already complicated enough. Spending any more time with her would only be a distraction, and that’s the last fucking thing I need. I’ve already made a mess of one job thanks to her. Adding her to another would have the same results.
On top of that, I can already tell that being around her clouds my judgment. When I’m with Lucy, I let my guard down. I’m not always looking for danger. Nabbing the razor was good in hindsight, but she still managed to get ahold of my knife. It’s sloppy. Being around her makes me sloppy, and that’s not what X tolerates. In my line of work, one moment of sloppiness is enough to get you killed.
Her eyes are still aimed up at me. “Roman ...” Her voice is on the verge of tears, but I keep my resolve. I’m not going to let her fuck up another job of mine, all for a moment of revenge.
There’s also the fact that the way she says my name, so sad and soft and delicate, makes me hard as a fucking rock. She’s putting a spell on me, and I can’t tolerate that kind of distraction. I turn away and breathe, trying to reassert control over my body. It takes a few moments before I’m calm again.
When I don’t give her an answer, she turns her head and I watch the tears run over her nose. Even in the dim light, I can see the freckles. Something tells me to reach out and wipe her eyes, but I don’t. I won’t. I can’t.
Both of us fall silent. All I hear is her steady breathing. That’s when I realize what I’m doing. Still straddling her. Still pinning her to the bed. I try not to let my mind get away from me, but the thoughts are hard to stop. I imagine what it would feel like to straddle her for real. To part her legs and slip inside. If the touch of her fingers fucked with me that much, what would being inside of her do to me?
When I feel my cock stir to life again, I clear my throat and climb off. Better safe than confusing myself anymore. She looks defeated, pouting like a child. She’ll get used to it. In the morning, I’ll drop her off.
It’s not the smartest idea, but I can’t keep her around any longer. I’ve already fucked up showing her my face and telling her my name. Letting her go could be just as idiotic, but I need to be rid of her. Only then can I get my head back in the game. I have a new assignment that I need to worry about, and taking care of Lucy is not part of the job description.
***
For the rest of the night, Lucy doesn’t saw a word to me. She rolls over and pulls the covers up high. I wait quietly, until finally I hear her breathing begin to slow. Her body relaxes, and finally she falls asleep.
Exhausted, I pull my hood over my eyes for what I hope is the last time. This is all too fucking much. Thankfully, after a few minutes of listening to Lucy, I finally fall asleep too.
But my dreams are a confusing mess.
Chapter Seven
Lucy
I dream about Roman.
It’s the only dream I have, but it’s vivid. He’s on top of me again, that passion still burning in his eyes, but something about it is different. He’s not furious that I considered knifing him when he least expected it. Instead, he looks at me with a different kind of intensity, something I’ve only experienced once before. He could hurt me, but instead, his hands loosen their grip on my wrists and begin sliding down my sides.
I stiffen for a moment, my breath catching in my throat. It’s wrong to admit, but the sensation of his touch is delicious. He’s a loaded gun, capable of causing harm to anyone around, but in this moment, the safety is on.
For now.
His hands continue the journey lower, but when they reach the hem of my shirt, he slides them higher, rough fingertips against my soft skin. The combination forces goose bumps in their wake, tiny trails that he leaves up and down my body.
One hand returns to my throat, but instead of squeezing hard, threatening me, it feels like a gentle reminder. He’s the one in control. I’m the one tied to the bed, vulnerable to his every whim and desire. He could just as easily hurt me as bring me pleasure, and that flip of the coin is what makes me grow wetter.
In the moment, I want him more than I’ve wanted anything before. I want to feel his calloused hands all over me, claiming me, giving into his desires. The look on his face tells me he’s struggling, torn between whether he wants to give in or pull away. I see the wrinkles in his forehead and the indecisiveness in his eyes, and I know.
I don’t want him to stop. I can’t let him stop.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice barely loud enough for me to hear it. “I need you, Roman.”
It’s as if a dam has broken. He leans forward and presses his lips to mine. Overcome, I taste the mint on his tongue and smell the soap on his skin and any fight left in me disappears entirely. I’m not angry that he kidnapped me. I’m not scared that we’re in this hotel room. I don’t even consider the fact that he knows who Abram Konstantin is.
All I’m conscious of is this desire buried deep inside me that’s finally beginning to wake up from its slumber. I let it flow through me, brushing my tongue against Roman’s, whimpering at the rough stubble on his chin. He fits against me so perfectly, his towering, looming frame dwarfing my own. When he breaks the kiss and attacks my neck with nipping, teasing bites, I choke on a cry of pleasure. I’m writhing against him, raising my hips to close the gap between us.
I feel the bulge in his pants and I’m on fire again, consumed by a need I haven’t felt in months, if not years. I need this more than anything. More than I need to hurt Konstantin. More than I need to take care of Nana. Right now, the one thing on my mind is being closer to Roman. Feeling his weight press down on me, and when he eventually undoes the fly of his pants, feeling him fill me.
When he pulls away to look at me, I feel my heart beat faster than before. His lips glisten, wet from our kiss, and if my hands were free, I’d pull him down and kiss him again. Rather than saying anything, Roman slips a hand between us and I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper. The look shining in his eyes tells me exactly what’s coming next.
Pounding.
There’s a pounding at the door that ruins my dream. I sit up in one quick movement, my head spinning. It’s not the kind of knocking that housekeeping uses. It’s a forceful knock, authoritative. I turn to the floor where Roman went to sleep and find him loo
king between me and the door.
“Open up,” the booming voice on the other side of the door orders. “This is the police.”
For a moment, I feel my heart leap. This is what I’ve wanted for the past twelve hours. I don’t know what’s going on, but if I wanted to, I could scream and make all of my problems disappear. The officer outside would save me from Roman.
I’ve been saved.
But a second later, I realize that I can’t go.
Running away would stamp out any chance I have of finding where Konstantin is. Roman couldn’t help me stop him. If I turn Roman over to the authorities, it just means that my opportunity to make Konstantin feel what I felt is gone once more. I may never get another chance like this. When I look back at Roman again, he’s staring at me, practically daring me to say a word.
“Untie me,” I say.
“What?”
“Now,” I hiss.
If I were him, I wouldn’t trust me either. He doesn’t know my intentions or what I plan on doing, and in the kind of business he works in, trust doesn’t seem to be given so generously. Still, I need him to do exactly that. I frantically gesture to my feet, pleading with him. Reluctantly, he undoes the ties. I rub my ankles for a second, then hop up from the bed and shimmy out of my pants.
Roman gives me a curious look, but I ignore him.
When I reach the door, I twist it open just a crack and look up at the officer behind the door. Poking out around him, I see the small beady eyes of a man in his late fifties. He clears his throat.
“Sorry to disturb you, miss, but there was a missing persons report filed for a Lucy Walker. I’m the manager. I wanted to make sure that everything is okay.”
The officer nods in agreement, tilting to the side to look behind me. I keep the door closed just enough so that Roman is hidden. “I’m Lucy Walker,” I say, feigning confusion. “And I’m certainly not missing.” My laugh sounds forced, but the two men don’t question it.
“It says here that your grandmother and coworker came into the station. They hadn’t heard from you in twenty-four hours. You were last seen walking into an alley, and security footage across the street witnessed one man leaving in a car. He later checked into this hotel,” the officer reports.
