Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  I’m not stupid. I don’t believe him for a second. He won’t let me go even if I produce a phone. My legs weaken even though I’m sitting down. I don’t have the phone! He’ll know I called for help! I press my lips together and steel myself.

  “Anna?”

  I go for innocent. “What?”

  “Do we have a phone in here?”

  A shudder rips through me. “Ehm… no.” My eyes flicker to his and then away.

  “And why is that?”

  “It was broken. I mean, it didn’t connect.” Damn! “The battery—” I swallow. “—had died.” I stumble on every word, and with every explanation I stutter. I hear how implausible it sounds.

  He doesn’t blink and doesn’t look all that surprised. Deceptively calm, he asks, “So, which was it?”

  “Battery,” I blurt out. “It was dead.” At least it was half-true.

  His hand strikes out with the speed of lightning and reaches for my throat. I scream hoarsely when he clamps it around my wounded windpipe. My pulse beats hard against his palm and I clutch my fingers around his hand to try to pry it off as I hungrily suck in the little air I can get.

  “Did you use the phone, Anna?” he snarls in my face. “We weren’t finished, my partner wasn’t done. Did you fucking call the cops?”

  A tear slides down my cheek as I shake my head. “No,” I mouth.

  Eric presses me tighter to the wall. With his jaw clenched and death in his eyes, he moves closer, snarling in my ear, “Did. You. Use. The. Phone?”

  I’m dead if I admit it. All I can do is deny. I claw at his hands. I need more air than he allows me. “Breathe…” I croak.

  He eases a little on the pressure. “I’ll let you go if you tell me the truth, hon,” he whispers, his voice cajoling, sounding much too calm, as if he does this every day.

  Maybe he does. My head spins. I haven’t completely accepted that this man is a murderer. I still hold some stupid belief that we connected but being pressed against a chilled steel wall in an abandoned elevator, with Eric’s hands once more around my neck, makes me question my judgment. Maybe he really is nothing but a cold-blooded murderer?

  Then you are in trouble now, Anna Raymond.

  I yelp as he shakes me again. “No,” I whisper. “No.” I beg him wordlessly to let me breathe.

  “No, you won’t tell me the truth? Or no, you didn’t use the phone?”

  I shake my head as I swallow compulsively against his palm. Regarding me for a few seconds, he then lets me go as abruptly as he attacked me. He stands and smoothes out some invisible wrinkles on his jacket.

  Inhaling a deep and painful gasp, I stagger to my feet, wondering when, and how, this dance with death will end. My eyes dart up to meet his as he speaks.

  “Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t.” He looks indifferent, but I have a strong feeling he let me off easy. Too easy.

  I fight the tingling worry in my chest and try not to waver as I meet his cold stare. “I didn’t, Eric.” And God, do I hope he’ll be satisfied with that.

  He scowls and takes a step back. “I believe you. For now. Can’t do much about it, anyway, now can I?” Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans against the wall on the opposite side and studies me in silence. I shudder. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. Is he plotting my death? I don’t trust for shit that he’d let me go if we get out of here.

  If. Am I thinking if? I mean when.

  I sink down and hug my knees to my chest. The fighting warmed me, but now when we have calmed down, the chill creeps into my bones again. I locate my shoes and put them on. Rubbing my chilled arms, I shuffle to the side to make as much space as possible between us. Futile, of course. No matter where I am, he’s always only a couple of steps away, an arm’s length at best. I study him out of the corner of my eye as my thoughts wander. If I’d never heard that bang, then my father would be safe. If I hadn’t collided with Mr. Myles, he would be dead now, but both my father and I would be safe. If I hadn’t fought Eric… I’d be dead.

  My heart sinks. Dad! What’s going to happen to him? Is there a murderer on his way to Dad’s house, itching to bring out his knife? I have to know.

  “Eric,” I blurt out.

  He looks utterly uninterested. “Yeah.” Only his eyes move as he glances down at me.

  “What about my dad?” My throat turns to sand as I wait for his answer.

  “What about him?”

  “Are you... Is he… I mean—” I press my lips together, not sure how to continue.

  Eric smirks wickedly. “What a great way for you to take your mind off your little claustrophobic nightmare.”

  “Please,” I beg. “Just answer the question.”

  He frowns. “What was the question? I didn’t quite get it.”

  I jump to my feet, clenching my fists so as not to go at him physically. “Will he be all right?” Holding my breath, I wait for his response, trying to gauge from his facial expression whether he’ll tell me the truth or not.

  Please!

  Eric looks as blank as ever and shrugs, raising his eyebrows before he goes back to studying the wall before him.

  I tighten my fists and inhale. “Is that man going after my father, or are you just full of shit?”

  “Tit for tat.” He glances at me and grins.

  Before I know it, I’m on him, pushing at his chest so hard he stumbles backward. “Tell me!” My cheeks burn with anger. “I hate you! You’re no hitman! You’re just a scumbag, a lowlife. A snail’s got more backbone than you!”

  An angry blush has crept up on Eric’s cheeks, but at my last words he laughs out loud. “A snail? I’ve been called many things, but a ‘snail’?”

  I slap him hard across that damn smug smile, then I recoil with my heart in my throat. Oh, God! It felt fleetingly good, but now I regret it terribly. Eric takes a step forward. I step back. He takes a step again. I slide to the side. As he raises his arms I yell, “Don’t touch me, I’ll scream!”

  “Ohhh, you’re scaring me. The possibility that someone would come to your rescue is just overwhelming!”

  I slap his hands off me, but he lifts them again, gripping my upper arms. He smirks and seems to think this is funny. I yank free and slam my forehead onto his nose. To my brief satisfaction he doesn’t look that amused anymore, drops of red trickling down his lips. Then I see stars as he smacks my head against the wall. I scream and twist, and with all the force I can muster, I shove my feet hard against the surface behind me, pushing us both to the other side. We land in a messy heap as the elevator cage rocks. I try to push up, but he holds me tight, his arms around my back in a crushing grip.

  “Where’re you going?” he pants in my ear. “What’s the rush, baby?”

  “Let me go,” I snarl through clenched teeth. My left palm stings, my throat aches and every swallow makes tears swim in my eyes. A new spike of fear stabs my heart at the leery tone of his voice. I try to find my limbs to get up and away from him. His closeness chokes me even more than his hands ever did.

  “Oh, Anna—” he whispers in my ear, giving me goosebumps all over, “it’s you who seems to want to end up one on one with me all the time.”

  I yank in his hold, trying to break free.

  “Been too long without a man, sweetheart?”

  I freeze. A tear forms in the corner of my eye. That’s below the belt. He knows what I’ve been through. Even though I never told him the whole truth back when we rode the elevator together, a mere few hours ago, I saw it in his eyes. He’s not a stupid man, and he knows. When he found out, there was even an expression of sympathy on his face. But what did I expect? He’s done nothing so far to prove he actually has any semblance of a soul.

  “Please, let me go,” I squeak.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I’m quite comfortable here.”

  His arms tighten around me and his every breath reverberates through my chest, just as my frantically beating heart must pound through his. I jerk my knee up, not getting much speed w
ith the angle I’m in, but the aim is good enough. Scraping it against the floor, I cry out as pain sears through my leg. Obviously, it’s nothing compared to what Eric feels as I connect with his crotch. I did learn some useful things since the rape, and I’ve been dead set on never allowing a man to control me again.

  Eric

  Bitch! I’ll fucking kill her! Nauseating pain shoots from my balls, all the way up to my scalp. She didn’t hit with a lot of force, but my balls were already tender from before. I groan and cup my groin, rocking back and forth, riding through the agony, fury rising in me like a volcano ready to explode.

  Anna twists and flails and darts to her feet, and in that moment the light goes out. Colored dots dance before my eyes. I imagine patterns of light, but in reality, I’ve never seen anything as black in my life.

  “What the fuck now?” I search the empty air, trying to find something I recognize and that I can hold on to. It feels as if something will take a swipe at me at any time. Above me Anna whimpers. Getting a sense of direction, I strike out, get ahold of her leg and yank hard. She stumbles and falls before me, crying out.

  “I’m not done with you yet! That hurt!” I snarl. “If you kick me in the balls one more time, I’ll fucking beat you to death!”

  I feel my way up her leg, find her hip. She slaps at my hand and I get ahold of her wrist instead. Perfect. I yank her to me and wrap my arm around her throat. I don’t even know myself what I’m gonna do with her, I don’t think I mean to actually choke her to death, but I do fucking want to scare this hellion into submission.

  She slams her head back, only hitting my chin this time, but I’m caught by surprise and lose my grip. She flails and jerks, trying to wring free as I work on getting this infuriating woman under my control. My hand ends up on a soft round mound of flesh I immediately recognize as a breast.

  “No!” she gasps.

  I have no intention of feeling her up and instead I find her throat again, squeezing my hand around it. She more or less ends up in my lap. Her chest heaves with erratic breaths and she whimpers pathetically.

  “Eric! Stop it, please,” she pleads. “Let me talk.”

  I still, my hand resting on her throat, but without trying to cut her air supply.

  “I’m listening,” I growl.

  “Peace?” she whispers.

  Her pulse beats hard against my palm. It’s almost like magic, holding someone’s life in your hand. It’s been my go-to rush since I was in my teens, and I revel in feeling her slim, delicate throat, and her heated skin under my fingers.

  I lean forward, genuinely curious. “What do you offer?” I whisper in her ear, making her inhale sharply. I smile. I like her like this, subdued, willing to finally obey.

  “I… I’ve got nothing. Except a truce until we get out of here.”

  She swallows hard.

  She’s got no leverage, and she knows it. The question for me is what good it would do me to spend God knows how much time in here with a corpse. Maybe she does have leverage after all, she just doesn’t know it. Brave little thing. Time and time again, she surprises me. I like that.

  Feeling her female form pressed up against my chest, my cock stirs. Well, to be honest, there is one thing she could get away with offering, but I highly doubt she will, and I have no intention of taking it. Even I have limits. I think of what Christian said and a shudder runs through me, wondering if he raped that girl. What a fucking dick, losing control like that.

  “Negotiation skills,” I mutter and let her go.

  She sits on my lap a few more moments, maybe stunned by the sudden turn of events, but then she jerks and scrambles off me in a flash.

  I stretch out my legs and run a hand through my hair, sighing. To say that this sucks is the understatement of my life. Anna keeps shuffling, accidentally brushing my leg.

  “Sorry!” Her teeth chatter, and she keeps moving around. “God, it’s cold!” she finally whimpers.

  I let out a deep sigh and shrug out of my jacket, reaching for her until I find her hand and push the garment to her.

  “What is it?” There’s a tremble in her voice. For some reason it annoys me.

  “Goddamnit, Anna. It’s only my jacket. Put it on you before you freeze to death.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” I sneer.

  “Why are you being nice all of a sudden?”

  “It’s not being ‘nice’. It’s preventing you from whining about being cold the whole damn night.”

  She’s silent a few moments. “Thank you,” she finally breathes.

  I roll my eyes and suppress the shudder that runs through me. Great, now I’m gonna be cold instead. What a fucking misguided gentleman I turned out to be.

  Chapter 10

  Anna

  My nose is my most sensitive organ. I’m always affected by scents, good and bad. Wrapped in the suit jacket of Eric Reed, a rich cologne with hints of sandalwood, and something earthy wafts up, reaching my nostrils, and I don’t stand a chance.

  Oh God. I try to breathe through my mouth, but it’s hopeless. His rich scent seduces me into a deceptive calm. It’s like poison, and I don’t have an antidote. Pulling up my knees inside the jacket, I’m still grateful for the warmth it provides. I can’t blame him for how he smells.

  You’re losing it, Anna.

  Shaking my head at my own stupidity, I clench my hands and gasp when the soreness in my left palm makes itself known. I touch it tentatively. A little splinter of wood embedded itself there when I tumbled all over the floor earlier and it hurts like hell. I wince when I pick at the wound. To my right, Eric stirs.

  “What are you doing?”

  “No, it’s nothing. I’m just sore… all over. I felt it when I moved.” I swallow. Sitting next to the man, no the killer, who is the cause of all my wounds and bruises, make me uneasy talking about it. To say the least.

  “Mmm,” he mutters.

  He doesn’t say anything else, and I continue to dig into my wounded palm. Each new attempt makes me grimace with pain, and it hurts enough to make me hesitate to use more force. Because of the warm jacket, some of the numbing cold has left me, but my teeth still chatter from time to time. It’s not as much the cold anymore as the remains of the shock of what I witnessed, and the fight, and nearly getting killed, combined with Eric’s alarming presence, the silence, the narrow space and the darkness. It builds in me and tears well up again. I swallow over and over. I don’t want to cry in front of him. Then the thought strikes me hard. We can die in here. It’s Friday. Three days before Christmas. No one will come here until Tuesday. I rest my forehead against my knees, a feeling of defeat washing over me.

  How did I live my life when I had the chance? If this is how it ends, then how haven’t I ruined it myself before I even ended up here? I’ve done so many wrongs.

  I isolated myself and never let anyone close, not since the rape.

  Countless nights I’ve wandered my apartment, trying to still my beating heart, reliving the horrible few minutes that tore me apart, body and soul, dwelling on it instead of moving on. My whole being has been frozen in that moment, and I haven’t known how to get out.

  It’s not like I’ve had an actual death wish, but I haven’t had much of a will to live either. Now it might be too late for second chances.

  I sigh again and hug my knees tighter as I listen to his calm breathing, wondering what he’s thinking right now. Does he also think about death? My death?

  As I sit there, scratching my palm, the depressing thoughts of my life get the better of me and I can’t hold back the tears anymore. I steel myself. I don’t want to cry in front of him and I hold my breath, but a sob escapes my lips anyway.

  He sighs. “What is it now? Is it the dark? Claustrophobia?” He sounds calm, his voice soft, but there’s still a slight taunt to it.

  “No. It’s my palm. It hurts, I think I’m bleeding. I hit something on the floor before when—” I snap my mouth shut. Better not remind him.


  “Don’t bleed on my jacket.”

  “Well, that’s just fine. That’s so you! Only thinking about yourself and never someone else.”

  “Did anything I’ve done give you another impression?”

  “I’ve seen you friendly,” I quip.

  He barks out a short laugh. “That was play, Anna. I had to get you hooked, and it was fun to see how far I could push the little prude.”

  I’m no… “You can call it whatever you want,” I scowl. “You were disappointed when I turned you down.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t have cared less.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Whatever what?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, Anna. I know how much you’ve longed for some company. How much you’ve dreamed of having someone close again. Even for one little moment.” His voice is soft as silk. “You were so easy to snare and pull in, inch by inch.”

  It hurts. He’s right. He did pull me in. Effortlessly. He fooled me completely.

  “You’re wrong,” I mutter, steeling myself from the ache that erupts in my chest. “You don’t know me.”

  “Oh, I beg to differ. It wasn’t hard to see how desperate you were for someone to see you. How much you needed for someone to give you even a sliver of attention.”

  “Shut up. Shut up!” I grit my teeth, clenching my jaws, preventing the things I really want to scream. We might have a temporary truce, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to rain insults over him. My heart slams in my chest and my cheeks heat up.

  “Hit a nerve?” he asks, his voice amused.

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  I yelp as I put my hands to the floor to move further away from him and recoil from the sudden stab of pain.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?”

  What do you care?

  “I think a splinter got stuck there before. When we… you know.”

  “Let me take a look.”

  “A look? What? You see in the dark? Tell me if you do, because I’m blind in here and it’s driving me nuts.”