Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “I’m not asking at all. I don’t want to be beaten.”

  “I don’t beat my women. I smack their asses until they tremble in agony and beg me to stop.”

  “Do you stop then?”

  “Not unless they safeword, no. I stop when I want to stop. And since I give them pleasure in between smacks, there is rarely anyone who wants to quit. Many never come back for seconds, though. I guess I can be a bit much.”

  “I can imagine. I would never want to get hurt while having sex.”

  “Would you want to have sex if it didn’t hurt?”

  “No!” she exclaims.

  “Never again?”

  “No.”

  “What are you, twenty-five?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Okay, twenty-six. And you’re never gonna let a man hold you ever again?”

  “No,” she says quickly.

  “You’re letting me hold you.”

  “It’s different.”

  “How? Am I not a man to you?”

  “Well, firstly, you have already invaded every possible personal space I ever had. It is kind of too late. Secondly, I didn’t feel like you were after anything… Like you wanted something from me I can’t give.”

  Oh, I have so not invaded every possible space, but I’ll play along.

  “I see. So does this still feel all right?” I pull her a little tighter to me, feeling her sharp intake of air.

  “It’s… changed…” she stutters. “Not the same now—”

  “And why is that?”

  “You—”

  “Do you see me as more of a man now? More threatening?” I whisper the last words in her ear.

  “Yes,” she whimpers.

  “So when I was trying to kill you, I wasn’t threatening? Man, I gotta work on that.”

  “Shut it. You did good. You were very threatening.”

  “Oh, don’t patronize me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Can I hold your hand?” I ask, my heart suddenly fluttering, afraid she’ll reject me.

  “Just that?”

  “Yeah, just that.”

  “Okay,” she whispers.

  I feel along her arm until I find her hand, wrapping my own around it, very innocently. “How does it feel?”

  “Like my heart’s gonna burst my chest open.”

  “Why? What do you think will happen? Do you think I’ll attack you?” I revel in the sensation of her skin on mine. I want to do so much more, but that’s not happening. Not here, and certainly not with her.

  “I think my body thinks so.”

  “You’re the master of your own mind. Tell your body to accept that this is just the skin of one person touching the skin of another person. Nothing else is going to happen.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’re trembling.”

  “Yeah. I’m stressed.” Her voice quavers.

  “Are you crying. Are you afraid? Of me?”

  “No, yes, I don’t know. No. My heart aches.”

  “Tell me. Let it out. How does it make you feel when I stroke my thumb over yours like this?” My heart jolts at the sensation. It’s as if there’s a tiny current in the non-existent distance between us. I’ve been aroused, I know how that feels. This is something else. It’s almost tender.

  “Like I want more.”

  “More of what?”

  Anna inhales, seeming to hesitate before she answers. “It’s like my skin needs more contact.”

  “Do you want it from me?”

  “You’re not gonna beat me, are you?”

  I give out a short laugh. “For crying out loud, I’m not beating them.”

  “Yes, from you, stupid. Can you just hold me? Please?”

  I scoop her into my arms and give her a real hug, caressing her hair, stroking the back of her head. Her shoulders are shaking and she’s crying freely.

  “Anna, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She answers with a long, raw sob and I don’t know how to help. I don’t know what the hell I’ve unleashed.

  Anna

  I’m short of breath after our discussion. I can’t believe I asked those questions. About his sex life. Oh my God. I’d never allow anyone to do anything like that to me. It sounds degrading. Still, there’s a warmth in the pit of my belly, and my body feels so oddly alive, every part tingling. I want to crawl further into his embrace. The realization makes me want to flee, but I fight through the little outburst of panic and allow my head to rest on his broad shoulder. He smells too good. It shouldn’t be allowed. We sit in silence a long time. My tears dry on my cheeks and my skin burns.

  “I’ve seen you run,” he suddenly says, the unexpected sound making me twitch. “You’re a good athlete. Were you always like that? What were you like when you were little? How was your home?” His voice is hoarse, unused.

  “Man, that’s a change of subject. Why the interest?”

  “Just passing time. Trying to think about something else than this fucking—” He sighs heavily.

  “No, I didn’t mean… That came out a bit snarky, sorry.” I weigh his questions. “Can I ask too?”

  I feel his shrug. “Sure.”

  I consider the possible danger in telling him about myself. Can he use it against me? But what more can he do to me? I come to the conclusion that it’s much too late for that.

  “Anna?”

  I flinch. “Yeah, I’m thinking. I—”

  “Don’t want to talk about yourself with me,” he interrupts and gives my hand a small squeeze, a brief touch and then it’s gone. “It’s all right. Forget it.”

  “Well, my parents are all right, I guess. They divorced early, though. Mom isn’t your typical mom—”

  “I know a thing or two about atypical moms.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, I guess you do. Mine actually left the house too. She moved across the country.”

  “That’s shitty. What the fuck was she thinking? How old were you?”

  “I was only ten. I don’t know how she could do that, just leave me. It did hurt our relationship a lot. She must’ve known this.”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s an actress.”

  “And the woman left LA? That’s counterproductive.”

  “Yeah, you’d think. She moved to New York. She wanted to play on Broadway.”

  “And does she?”

  “She does. She’s not well-known, but she can live off it.”

  “And Dad?”

  My heart clenches. “We’re really close.” Panic rises in me and I pull all the way back inside my shell again. Eric no doubt feels it.

  “What’s up? Too many questions?”

  “No, it’s all right.” I swallow hard. Like he said before, from in here there’s nothing either of us can do, but again, I’m reminded of who he really is, and why I hurt all over, why we’re here to begin with. “My turn. What do you do on your days off?”

  He stiffens. “I don’t have any.”

  “I don’t believe you. I get it’s not nine to five, but… don’t squirm out of this now.”

  “Okay. I work out.”

  A bolt shoots through me. I have battled that strength. I feel it in every sore muscle. “More,” I demand.

  “I read.”

  “Yeah? What kind of books?”

  “World War Two. The Civil War…” He hesitates. “History in general, I guess. Memoirs.”

  “Whose?”

  “Different people.”

  “Example.”

  “Politicians. Great leaders.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, “but that sounds utterly boring.”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “You can’t be hurt, remember? Nothing gets to you.” I grin. I can’t help it. I want to hear him get out of that one.

  He sighs. “Anna, I haven’t talked this much to anyone… maybe since high school, when I still counted a couple of people as friends. You know, when you let people in, you become vulnerable.
” He sounds serious. Not mocking or cocky at all.

  My grin vanishes and my cheeks burn. I swallow, wincing from the ever-present pain. I hurt him. I didn’t mean to. I never thought it was possible.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  He hugs me tighter and rests his chin on my head. “Let’s just drop it. I’m too tired anyway. My mouth tastes like hell and I have a headache.”

  I stiffen. He complains about his head. I’ve been battered, pulled, pushed, thrown, strangled. Every part of me hurts. More than ever before in my life, even with all the sports, even after the rape.

  “Jeez, I wish it was only my head that hurt.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  I don’t reply. What do I want him to say? That he’s sorry. But hasn’t he already? In his own way?

  “The situation has changed, Anna.”

  “I know,” I whisper.

  Chapter 14

  Anna

  We turn silent after that. After some time, Eric’s breathing changes into a slow, soothing rhythm. I listen to him and to the occasional squeak from the wires above us in the elevator shaft. The light flickers again and comes back. I squint and peek at Eric. He looks as if he’s sleeping, sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, his head leaning against the uncomfortable steel wall. I wish I could relax that much. I study his chin, his nose, eyebrows and long dark eyelashes.

  “Did you know you have twenty-five tiny, tiny freckles?” I whisper. He stirs but doesn’t react apart from that. A few strands of hair have fallen in his face. I push them away. The blood from all the little wounds has dried a long time ago. The smear on his temple is dark and crusted. The light goes out again, and I wish it would make up its damn mind.

  I start to drift off and remember when I was nine, we went on vacation to the French Riviera. My father studied the architecture, my mother worked on her tan, and I sat by the shore. My hands were full of white shells I had collected, and I was listening to the soothing sounds of the waves that rolled in. I lay my head on a smooth, warm rock and drifted to sleep there. When my parents woke me, I’d burnt my left cheek, my arm and the left side of my legs.

  I wonder what the waves are doing in here. Then a cold shiver trickles down my spine and I realize it isn’t the warm waves of the Mediterranean Sea I hear. It’s the sound of the wind from far away. It isn’t warm. And I’m stuck in an elevator.

  I curl up and my mind drifts again. I dream of my mother, of warmth. We are wrapping up Christmas gifts for Dad. The aroma from her cooking fills the room, and I’m laughing.

  I scratch my palm and when it stings, I jolt awake again.

  It’s still dark.

  It’s still cold.

  I’m wrapped in a jacket carrying a calming scent I vaguely recognize, and that’s not mine. I have slept, embraced by a man I’ve come to know as a ruthless murderer, and a human like the rest of us. His arm lies around my shoulders and his touch burns holes through the fabric, marking my skin forever.

  I think he is awake too. Neither of us speak, and I drift back to sleep again, huddling closer, searching for the little warmth and proof of life I can find.

  My legs are numb. The muscles of my thighs protest as I shift position. It’s still dark. My head rests against the warm, evenly rising and falling chest of Eric Reed. His body so close to mine makes my skin tingle. When I swallow, my throat hurts. I think about how we fought, how he tried to kill me, and how futile it all seems now. I find it hard to believe he can ever frighten me again after tonight.

  I shift again and slide lower, half-lying, my cheek against the smooth fabric of his vest, my ear to his stomach. It growls. A soft, rich scent surrounds me, and I inhale deeper, letting it fill my nostrils.

  A wire squeaks somewhere above us. An abandoned sound.

  Eric

  She has sunk down while we slept and lies trustingly with her head on my lap. A couple of times she mumbles something. I lean closer to try to catch the words. I wonder if she dreams nightmares of this, or if her dreams let her fly away for a little while, if they take the fragile little bird she is and let her soar. I sit absolutely still. I don’t want her to wake to this reality. I’m in it, and that’s not a good thing, and we’re trapped. I’ve tried to stay cool, it’s like I said, it doesn’t help to panic, and I won’t. The darkness, the chill and the late hour gets to me more than I’d like to admit, though. I feel much more alone now that Anna is sleeping. It was oddly comforting when she was awake, no matter if she was agitated or more friendly.

  Speaking of friendly… My thoughts have strayed more than once to the conversation we had earlier, the one about my preferences in bed. Nothing’s gonna happen in here, it’s just wrong on all levels, but if there’d be an after… Would she ever dare to meet me again?

  I caress her cheek, her forehead, her soft hair. I’m not gonna hurt her. It’s out of the question. I’ll make sure she gets to live. I’ll fight Salvatore to the death if needed. I haven’t felt this close to one single person in my life and I’m not gonna destroy that.

  But what would she do if I showed up at her doorstep? Call the cops? Scream and cry? Or would this one-of-a-kind lady let me in?

  I shouldn’t even try, I know it, it’ll only end up with one of us getting hurt, but fucking hell I’d want to explore her, explore this.

  We have something. There was something even in that first innocent meeting. I wasn’t stalking her, I was really just grabbing a cup of coffee, but I recognized her immediately from our files. She was the one who stood out. It was clear from the first few words and images that she wasn’t living posh, so I wrote her off as collaborating, but her dark, sad eyes, that shy haunted expression, her having left a promising career in law to work at a shitty little company. It made me curious and I approached her.

  Maybe that saved her? In retrospect, I find it hard to believe I was really overpowered by this little female. Sure, she fought well, but come on, she was no match for me. I could have broken her neck at any given moment while having a hold on her. I think something held me back. Even though I still have a few tender areas where she kicked and hit, I’m happy I let her live. The trust she shows in me in this moment overwhelms me.

  I hope someone finds us.

  Anna

  Something teases the skin on my neck. Like a feather, or a butterfly. I’m about to raise a hand to chase it away when I realize what it is. Fighting to draw the next shaky breath, I lie as still as I can. Eric is caressing me. Slowly. Sensuously. As if he has the right to, as if he is my lover. I never imagined him gentle like this. Goosebumps race across my entire body. I don’t move. He must know I’m awake. Maybe we are both keeping up the innocent charade a little longer, like a small window of good in the midst of it all?

  Finally, he stills.

  When his hand sinks down on my neck, his palm covering my tender flesh, I imagine for a brief desperate moment that he’s going to kill me after all. My heart thuds, and I’m lightheaded. I can’t even tell if I would fight it or if I would let him, if I should welcome the escape.

  And then it just lies there. Warm. Smooth. A gentle layer of safety on my vulnerable neck.

  “Sorry,” he whispers and removes it.

  “For what?” I mouth and have to clear my throat. “For what?” I rub the spot on my skin that now feels empty, and naked, and sit up next to him. My muscles scream in pain and I groan loudly.

  “I— Nothing,” he says.

  “Okay.” I smile. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone you went soft on me.”

  He laughs, and it blows away some of the tension between us.

  “I wonder what time it is?” I sigh and straighten my stiff back.

  “Six-thirty.”

  The cage rocks as he moves. “I have to get some warmth back. I’m too fucking cold,” he mutters.

  I stand too, wincing and groaning. Shifting from one foot to the other, I listen to his pacing. “What do y—” I start, then I whimper, squeezing my eyes sh
ut, covering them with my hands as the light comes back. “Is it still lit?”

  “Yeah.”

  I slowly open my eyes, my pupils aching in protest from being forced to contract so hard.

  A foggy shape comes into vision, and as the image clears, a shiver rushes down my spine. Clear green eyes, slightly blood-stained, a sharp chin and incredibly high cheekbones. Hay colored-blond, tousled hair that hangs in his face. He squints as he watches me. This is Eric. I look at my feet, inhale and glance at him again. This is Eric Reed, the hitman who nearly killed me. During the long cold hours in the dark, with the physical, little intimacies between us, and the exchange of confidences, I had forgotten who the man I’m trapped in here with is.

  Nothing is different from before, and yet somehow everything is.

  It’s subtle, but something changes between us.

  “It’s morning,” I say.

  Eric doesn’t acknowledge my quite obvious statement, only sighs and pushes his hands into his pockets, leaning against the wall.

  I clench and unclench my hands and stomp my feet to get some circulation back. I’m thirsty. The headache that was a slight background noise during the night is now making itself known.

  And I need to pee.

  It’s inescapable.

  Eric and I avoid eye contact as we walk in circles in the small space. My mind works overtime, trying to come up with a few more or less fantastic ideas on how to avoid peeing, or where I would go if I need to, and how to get some privacy while doing it. But the more I think about it, the more the need grows until it becomes a giant dilemma. A painful dilemma. No way. I’d rather die.

  But of course I won’t rather die.

  I rub my chilled legs and jump a couple of times. Eric gasps, and I steady myself with a hand against a wall as the cage rocks.

  “Don’t. Fucking. Do. That,” he snarls.

  I scan the walls as if I could see through them. “Do you think it’s loose somehow?”

  “How the hell should I know?” He has stopped his pacing and glares at me.