Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “You can’t become something you already are. Come on now, gimme your hand.”

  Hilarious. I snort, but obey and lift my hand toward his voice, curious about what he’ll do. His fingers are warm on my wrist and it sends goosebumps racing up my arm and a shiver down my spine. Then he gently holds my hand in his as he examines my palm. My poor heart pounds hard. How can he be so warm? He stops over the sore spot where the splinter has embedded itself.

  “Ow!” I gasp.

  “Don’t need to see to discover that one.” He pads the area with his fingertips and then squeezes around it with a steel grip, pinching until I scream.

  “Stop! Please!”

  Right when I start beating at him with my free hand and try to pull out of his hold, he stops and pats my arm. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  “That hurt!” I whimper.

  I blink and squint as the light flickers once before it comes back.

  Eric and I stare at each other, our pupils dilated still and our eyes dark and weary. Then we look down at our hands, mine still in his and realize we’re touching each other. Touching, but not fighting. I think it feels equally awkward to both of us, because we pull our hands back with the speed of light and shoot to our feet.

  “That was—” he stutters and looks at me.

  I don’t let him finish the sentence. “We need to get out of here.”

  I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt, smearing the blood and the dirt as I scan the walls and the ceiling. Suddenly we’re allies, both agreeing that we need to find a way out.

  “Isn’t there a hatch in the ceiling?” I ask.

  He looks up. “It doesn’t look like it.”

  “If you lift me, I can try to push and see if something gives way.”

  He nods.

  Eric

  I’m incredibly stupid. I didn’t consider how intimate it would be to wrap my arms around her waist and hoist her up. My cheek rests against her flat belly, her warmth seeping into me. I close my eyes and inhale her scent, for a moment losing myself in the feel of her soft, feminine curves in my arms. Her whole body shakes as she slams her good hand against the ceiling, examining every corner to no avail. Eventually she slumps in my arms, her breathing erratic. I let her down and we stare at each other a few moments too long. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes wide. I’m not unaffected either. Now that wasn’t awkward at all.

  “It’s no use.” Her voice wavers. “Don’t all elevators have a hatch in the ceiling? They always have one in the movies.”

  I grimace. “Life isn’t like the movies, Anna.”

  “I feel like I’m in one,” she mutters. She stumbles and leans against the wall, protectively crossing her arms over her chest as she regards me warily. Her lips are slightly parted and when she catches me looking, she snaps them closed, clearing her throat.

  “Yeah? Romantic comedy?” I ask.

  She huffs. “Horror.”

  “Slasher?”

  She widens her eyes. “I hope not,” she says faintly.

  Grinning at the expression on her face, I feel deliciously cruel. “Let’s try the door.” I nod toward it and she’s all business again.

  Anna places herself on one side of the doors and I on the other, squeezing our fingertips into the narrow crack between them. With a nod to each other, we then pull for all we’re worth.

  Nothing. Not even a squeak. No promise of us getting out.

  Anna doesn’t take that very well. Her chest heaves and panic fills her eyes. I put a hand on her shoulder to try to ground her and make her snap out of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice me. She pounds at the doors, so hard it must hurt her fists.

  “Help! Can anyone hear me? Help! We’re stuck in the elevator!” Her voice breaks and the last word is nothing but a hoarse rasp. She sobs and falls against the doors.

  “Anna.” I put my hand on her arm and shake her to get her attention.

  She opens her eyes and meets my gaze. She looks so forlorn it feels as if something stabs right through my chest. Her lower lip trembles and her forehead is sweaty. I suppress an urge to hold her. I’m not the touchy-feely kind. I have no intention to start tonight.

  “Sweetheart, it’s no use. Remember how empty it was? And now it’s—” I glance at my wristwatch, “almost ten. There’s no one out there.” I shake my head. “Save your energy.”

  “Ten! It can’t be—” She checks her own, smashed, watch.

  I glance at it. The hands have stopped at nine. So that’s when I slammed her to the floor, I figure. We’ve been in here less than an hour. It feels like a hundred. I’m usually pretty cool with shit that happens, even if it’s unexpected. I’ve had to learn to adapt. Working for Luciano Salvatore since I was seventeen hasn’t always been a breeze. Standing here, though, in the cold, with no idea how we’ll get out, or when, my spirit sinks a little. Worst case, we’re well and truly fucked. I wonder who’ll start gnawing at the other’s bones first.

  Anna paces along the wall opposite me, sometimes glancing in my direction. Her hand keeps darting to her throat. She’s lost her little scarf at some point before we reached the elevator and a ragged white line mars the otherwise perfect skin on the lower left part of her throat. I wonder if she considers herself lucky to have survived, or if it was nothing but a curse. We did have people looking into the employees, to see if someone else had unexpectedly posh living habits indicating they had access to more money than they should have, and if they were involved in the scam. None were, but reading about Anna was nothing but depressing.

  Poor thing. She must be the most unfortunate woman I’ve ever come across. First the rapist, now me. I can’t offer her much consolation, though. I still don’t know if I can let her live. Probably not. She can identify both me and Christian. Outing us can lead an investigation to Salvatore. He’ll order her execution if he finds out.

  I glance at her again. She stares emptily at her feet. I sigh. What a mess.

  Anna

  A raw sob of sorrow and fright rises in my chest. I turn away, suffocating it, not wanting him to see how vulnerable I am and how this entrapment affects me. I’m normally better than this at lying, quenching my feelings, putting up the always cheerful facade.

  I don’t know if I can do it anymore. Would Eric really care if I allowed myself to sink? Would it annoy him? Amuse him? Or would he even give a damn?

  We stand in silence. We’re in opposite corners of the elevator, and it might as well be opposite corners of the world. I don’t know what goes on in his mind. Sometimes I shift and he glances at me and then back to nothingness. Sometimes I startle when he moves.

  Time seems to stop. The only sounds are the worrying creaking from the wires above us in the shaft, and an irregular whining noise from far off in a distance. Maybe it’s the wind? I can’t tell, but whatever it is, it makes me feel even more desolate, as if I’m at the edge of the universe. Alone and abandoned by the world.

  Alone. I taste the word and know I don’t want to be alone right now. I prefer his presence far more than being on my own in the elevator.

  I’ve been alone for so long. Every night when I’ve woken up in pain, pacing my small apartment, trying to get the memories to stop biting, trying to banish the nightmares, I’ve been alone. I’m never letting anyone close anymore. Eric has come closer than most people ever get. Strangely enough, I don’t mind it as much as I did only a little while back.

  I wouldn’t have let him in of course, in normal circumstances, not past that first coffee. It turned into a second only because he pursued it. Even if I revealed more about myself to this man than to even my family, I still would have cut it there. But he forced his way in. First by kindness, then by violence. My will has been a mere breeze to the tornado that is Eric’s intoxicating power. He appears harmless enough now. Slumped against the wall with his hands in his pockets, he looks relaxed in his black pants, his white shirt and the immaculate black vest. Only his tie hangs askew.

  His presence bo
th tugs at me and repels me.

  How does he do it? How does he stay so calm when my heart flutters with known and unknown fears? What does he do when he isn’t chasing stupid girls who witnessed something they shouldn’t have? Where does he come from and where does he plan to go next? If there even is a ‘next’. If we’re ever getting out.

  I’ve never met a flesh-and-blood professional criminal before. A murderer. The little hairs at my nape rise as a shiver runs down my spine. There has to be so much more to him than meets the eye. Well of course there is. I’ve only seen a fraction. He isn’t a machine. He must have weaknesses, people he cares about. Or used to care about, I realize with a shudder. Past tense. What turned him into a person who can mercilessly kill other humans? What losses were there to the little boy he once was? I shake my head.

  Why do I sympathize with him when I know what he is? Why do I even bother?

  But I know why.

  We connected, and it isn’t only my imagination, no matter what lame explanation he tries to pull now. Then he changed. So did I. But the memory of his smile and his glittering eyes refuses to leave me, along with that tiny little hope he ignited in me a few hours back. That flickering hope for something else than solitude and exclusion. The spark died when he revealed his true face, and even though I’m pulled to him, for warmth, and out of curiosity, there’s no way we can have that back. That first meeting was so beautiful and innocent, and it’s irrevocably lost.

  I glance at my slumping figure. My knees itch and I pull up my skirt, taking a look. The stockings are hopelessly ruined, torn on both knees where the skin is badly scraped, crusted blood sticking to the nylon. I wince. It looks even more painful than it is. My high heels are starting to annoy me and as I heave my aching feet out of the refined instruments of torture that the shoes are, my heart pounds harder. Torture instrument. I’m disarmed, and so is he. I give him a quick once-over, his eyes, his throat. If he attacks me again, I know where that rather sharp heel will go. The thought of escaping from him, if I get the chance, makes my cheeks burn with excitement. Yes, Anna! Think constructive thoughts, stop dwelling on your misery.

  The newfound strength makes me bolder. I turn to him, trying to glimpse that icy green behind the unruly strands of hair that cover his eyes.

  “Eric.”

  “Mm-hmm?” He doesn’t look up, yet I have a strong feeling that he keeps track of my every move.

  “If we get… I mean, when we get out of here, what happens to me?”

  He narrows his eyes as he regards me. “Well, you’ll be among people and I won’t be able to get to you, now will I?”

  “But I’ve… you know—” I lick my lips. “—witnessed…”

  He stares at me for a long time, and the butterflies in my belly are all gonna get speeding tickets if they don’t calm down. I chew on my lip and try to hold his gaze.

  “I’ll just have to adapt. I’ll disappear, you’ll go on with your little life and since you didn’t call anyone, you’ll be fine.”

  I can’t breathe, his words hit me like a blow to my stomach.

  Eric smirks and leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks like he knows I made a call, like he doesn’t care about anything else than making me sweat buckets.

  I used the phone, Eric!

  I want to confess. I desperately want to see how he reacts. I don’t want to die, but I need to know if I sealed my fate, my father’s fate, by intervening. If the police managed to get to Mr. Myles in time, would that mean Eric’s partner went for my dad instead? I glance at him again, trying to calm my breathing. What will you do when you find out? I chew on the inside of my cheek. I risk the truce, the little peace we’ve reached between us. But what do I have to lose? Really lose? We’re in here anyway. I might die no matter what.

  “Eric…” I bend my head and my voice falters. I’m not brave enough, but I force the words past my lips. “The phone worked. Once—”

  I yelp as he slams me against the wall. He presses his body to mine and squeezes my cheeks with one hand, the other gripping my hair. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

  His breath is hot on my cheek as he hisses in rage, “What did you do?”

  Tears well up in my eyes as I try to twist away from him. Shoe! The heel! I look for it, but I can’t see it anywhere. Eric yanks my hair harder and shoves me again, and I lose my footing. One glance into his enraged glare makes my knees go weak.

  “Nothing,” I pant. “N—nothing.”

  I can’t keep it up anymore, it hurts too much and I let out a cry of agony. It feels as if claws tear at my insides. I slump in his grip, tears falling as my chest heaves with each sob.

  Eric’s hold turns less brutal and more into something close to supportive as I wail. Finally, my loud sobs fade, and I cry against his shoulder. When my legs give out and I descend, slumping against the wall, he follows me down, stopping me from falling into a boneless heap on the cold floor. I hold on to his shirt like a drowning person clutching a lifeboat, too tired to fight.

  He’s not the one to carry me through this nightmare. He’s the person I’d have least expected to find any comfort in, but oddly enough I do.

  Chapter 11

  Anna

  I’m spent when he finally speaks.

  “Anna—” His voice is thick and raspy. He sounds tired. “I don’t control this anymore than you do. From in here, there isn’t a thing I can do. Like it or not, we’re stuck together.”

  A shudder wracks my body as Eric lets go of me. I sway, sitting on my own, my heart slamming against my ribcage.

  “It’s no use hurting you, no matter how satisfying it’s been. It doesn’t matter much at this point. I’ll just—” Our eyes meet, and he shrugs, then he falls back against the wall next to me, pushes a strand of hair off his face and leans his elbows on his knees.

  “I—I don’t know if—if they got what I said, or where we are. I don’t know,” I whisper.

  The side of his arm touches mine, and I don’t pull away. I’m too cold, too tired and too beaten. Something crucial has changed between us. The air is lighter, almost easier to breathe. Eric doesn’t feel like my enemy anymore, at least not as much as before. It’s like he said, we’re stuck together, both equally small in the hands of fate.

  He grimaces. “Yeah, whatever.”

  We sit in silence. I force myself to calm down and empty my mind from the terrifying images that form there. Images of blood, of murder. Of Mr. Darrell’s body. I rub my eyes and lean my forehead on my knees, glancing sideways at Eric from time to time. It scares me that he doesn’t say more. I want reassurances, promises, but I have to accept that he can’t give me any. Or, to be honest, won’t give me any even if he knows more, because he likes to watch me suffer.

  “Do you take pleasure in hurting people?” The question blurts out of me before I think it over. His head snaps in my direction, and I gasp as I meet his cold gaze, my heart speeding up again.

  “Excuse me?”

  I swallow hard and look away. “Nothing. Sorry. I wondered since you said—”

  “I know what I said.” His voice is dangerously silky.

  I glance back up at him. A hint of a smile grazes his lips, and my eyes dart between his mouth and his cool green eyes. His gaze both frightens me and sparks a tingling turmoil in my belly.

  “But by all means, ask me. I just wouldn’t have expected such a question from you. You’re so prim and… proper.”

  “Prim! Unlike you, I work with customer relations. It’s all surface. Don’t judge me from what you apparently have seen of me at work. It has nothing to do with who I really am! You don’t know me!”

  “Oh, did you think we’re that different? I also have my customer’s satisfaction in focus, you know.” He cocks his head and narrows his eyes, keeping me pinned with his gaze. “And everybody keeps up a facade, girl. You. Me. Our clients. All the stressed little ants rushing to and from their pathetic cubicles out there on the streets.”

  “I thi
nk our means to achieve our goals are somewhat different!” I spit.

  He licks his lower lip as he regards me. “I’ll give you that.” He shifts, and I twitch, his closeness making me more jumpy than I want to admit. “Fuck! It is cold in here,” he says with a clear shiver in his voice.

  I’m warm in his jacket and never considered he could be freezing. “Do you want—” I pull at the exclusive fabric, hoping intensely he’ll say no.

  He shakes his head. “Nah. That wouldn’t be very ‘nice’ of me, would it?”

  “I didn’t think you did ‘nice’,” I quip.

  Eric laughs, a rather pleasant, raspy sound. “Keep it. I’m okay.” He shuffles closer.

  I tense, hyper aware of his presence, my heart speeding up.

  “Do I take pleasure in hurting people?” he repeats in a low, teasing voice close to my ear.

  My breath catches in my throat. I hoped he forgot about that. I inch away. “I didn’t mean to— Forget it.”

  “Sure you did. You wondered if it turns me on to press you against a wall and watch the fear in your eyes as I put my fingers around your neck.”

  I have trouble drawing my next breath as my heart is suddenly trying to beat its way out of my chest. “Ehm… no, I—”

  “You’re such a lousy liar. Anyone ever told you that?”

  I swallow against the fluttering worry inside me, unable to stop the ball I’ve set in motion.

  “Haven’t you ever felt the pleasure in causing pain to some poor fucker who really deserves it? The triumphant moment when you know you have the upper hand and you watch your opponent lying crippled at your feet?”

  I shake my head. I’ve been at the receiving end of that more than my fair share, though. Remembering the vicious grin on the face of my rapist, I realize I know at least a small part of what Eric talks about. Haven’t I dreamt of that victorious moment over and over again when he, and not I, would be the one lying there on the ground, shattered, beaten and bleeding? I blush and look at my lap.