Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  But I’m not little anymore, and peace is long gone.

  I grimace as I carefully remove the soft pants I’ve worn during the latter part of the day. Saggy pants were the only thing I managed to put on because of all the bandages covering my legs.

  Damn you, Eric Reed.

  My head spins from the lack of sleep. I haven’t been allowed to rest. The LA police questioned me for hours. The mafia connections Mr. Darrell and Mr. Myles apparently had came as a shock. They were great to us, their employees. In retrospect, I understand the tense atmosphere in the office these last few weeks, that it had something to do with this.

  Guilt suffocates me. If I hadn’t let Eric in the building. If I had— I don’t know. I don’t know how I could have stopped them. I just feel like I should have.

  I tear at the bandages, removing them one by one. Knees, elbows, a shoulder, an ankle and a wrist. I don’t care if they bleed again. I need this bath. The water is hot. It’s hotter than I usually prefer it, but perhaps it’s both a cleansing and a punishment at the same time. If I suffer, maybe the burden of what I’ve done will ease?

  Maybe.

  Gasping, I push myself deeper and deeper, feeling like I’ll melt and dissolve. For a moment I wish for it, for my sins. My toes almost cramp from the pain when the skin on my bruised body comes in contact with the water. Beads of sweat erupt on my forehead. I try to picture how every wrong I’ve done evaporates through my pores and into the mist. And I’ve made so many wrongs. Finding him attractive. Flirting. Not fighting him hard enough. Not running fast enough. Hiding in that damn elevator. Finding him less and less of a monster. Sympathizing with him. Wanting him to kiss me.

  Missing his company.

  Missing his damn company!

  The self-loathing threatens to swallow me whole and I know I’ll never speak to a single soul of this. Ever.

  Sweating profusely, I have to sit on the edge of the tub to cool off before I give myself a heart attack. I stare at my palm. It’s sore and swollen. After lathering it and rinsing it clean, I examine the inflamed wound. The flesh is tender and raw, but there’s no trace of the evil sharp little object that was stuck there. ‘Was it as good for you?’ I shudder and sink into the water again until I disappear below the surface, letting it swallow me.

  What if he comes here? What if he’s here when I come back to the surface? Would he come to hurt me? Would I scream? Or would I welcome death? The warm water makes my hair flow around my head, caressing my face like soft tentacles, like searching fingers. I burst up, staring around the room, my heart hammering in my chest.

  No. Jesus, no. I’m going insane.

  The room is empty. Of course it is.

  I look at my hand again. He held it. He hurt it, hurt me. But you removed the splinter. You removed it. For me. I flex my fingers and stare at the wound. I don’t know why that thought hurts so much. Is it because he did that little thing to help me? Or that I thought he was only out to injure me more? That I was actually unfair? I tighten my hand into a fist until I gasp. The pain makes me feel alive, makes me stay in reality, in the world where he is nothing but bad. I get up and grab a towel. Wiping dry, I then patch up the worst of my injuries.

  Shivering, I make my way to my old room. The good feeling from the warm water fades when I let the towel drop. I step into a pair of my father’s pajama pants, way too large for me, and a simple white T-shirt he must have placed on the bed while I was in the bathroom. I have no clean panties to put on, but it’s not like anyone needs to care that I’m pantyless. Yanking the bedspread off the bed has a row of old teddy bears fly and crash soundlessly to the floor. I climb between the cool sheets, my body light and heavy at the same time. The bedclothes smell of fabric softener and feel like silk on my skin. I can’t recall ever sleeping in such a luxurious bed in my life. I’m stuffed with painkillers, the strong kind, and the ache in my body is bearable. The ache in my soul hasn’t been relieved, though, and I curl up, clutching a pillow to my chest as I try to come to a rest.

  Something twitches me back to consciousness. A feeling of alarm washes over me. I see his eyes before me. Dazzling, furious, indifferent, fiery. Then I squeeze my own shut and drift back to sleep. I jerk awake time and time again. I dream of being chased, of endless corridors, of treading through muddy water, of never getting away.

  An image lingers.

  He looks shy and innocently hopeful. His eyes glitter, his face a blur as he comes closer, his lips brushing mine

  There’s a faint rustle of feet on gravel outside and a car passing by. Normal sounds on a Saturday evening.

  Chapter 18

  Anna

  I wake with a start. The room is dark, and everything is quiet. Yet I know something has changed. It’s the faint whisper of breaths that aren’t my own, and a scent I vaguely recognize. My heart pounds hard as I turn my head. A silhouette sits at the edge of my bed. I blink to clear my eyes.

  Dad?

  My confused mind can’t think of any other possibility until the shape grows clearer as my vision adjusts. This person is broader than my father and has longer hair. I inhale to scream when a hand clamps down on my mouth. Hard.

  “Sh-sh-sh. You don’t want Dad to wake up,” a male voice whispers tersely.

  I stare in disbelief at the man leaning over me. This has to be a dream! Even in the dark his pale eyes glint. Eric. Oh my God. He’s really here. I tremble under him and shake my head. My heart beats so fast it makes me dizzy. I grab his hand, trying to remove it, but he doesn’t budge. I shake my head again and try to say I won’t scream. The silence between us grows awkward. I’m suddenly hyper aware of how his hand is cold against my sleep-warm cheeks. Then he breaks the moment.

  “I’ll remove my hand, and you’re not gonna make a sound. Do you understand?” he says in a hushed tone.

  A hot tear rolls down my cheek as I nod. I’ll protect my father no matter what. Anything else is unthinkable.

  He lets go of me, leaving a trace of saltiness on my lips. “Good girl.”

  I pull my blanket tighter around my body and scoot away from him. I don’t get far as his hand shoots out to grip my wrist.

  “What do you want?” I whisper, trying to yank loose. “What are you doing here?”

  In the pale light shining through the window from the streetlamp, his teeth flash as he smiles. “What do you think?”

  “Kill me?”

  “Kill you? Why in the hell would I wanna kill you after being beaten black and blue saving you?”

  “Because I talked to the police?” I whisper.

  “That’s generally not a smart move when you deal with the mob. True.”

  My mouth goes desert dry. “Is that what it is?”

  “Yeah.”

  Silence mounts between us as the revelation dawns on me. My heart slams in my chest. Mob. Mafia. I’ve told the cops everything. I’m dead.

  “Am I in trouble?” I can’t stop my lower lip from trembling.

  Eric lays a palm against my cheek, his thumb caressing my chin. I can’t help leaning into his touch.

  “You’re in a helluva lot of trouble. So am I. But I’ll fix it.”

  “How?”

  He laughs softly. “Nothing you need to bother thinking about.”

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  “I couldn’t stay away. You don’t want me here?”

  The smug bastard. I know he already knows the answer to that question. “What if I tell you to get the fuck out?”

  “Then I’d say you have really nasty language and call you out for being a liar.”

  “I want you to leave,” I whisper and push at his chest.

  He leans in, hovering over me, securing me to the bed with his hands on either side of my hips. “No, you don’t.”

  I swallow hard, panic rising in my chest, making my stomach churn.

  “I thought you were this mean assassin, and here you are, like some lovesick boy.”

  He sits back, looking s
tunned. Then he smirks. “I can be that way too, Anna. Is that what you prefer?” He strikes out and grabs my chin, squeezing it until I yank free. He strokes a few strands of hair away from my face. His touch makes me twitch. “You’re so afraid of me, Anna. I wish—”

  There’s a yearning in his voice that makes my heart skip a beat in response. His hand slides along my cheek, to my throat, then cradling my nape, his palm warm and dry. I wince when he touches the bruises.

  “Ow!”

  “Why aren’t you fighting me?” He strokes my collarbone, back and forth, the light touch leaving me breathless.

  “You’re threatening to kill my father if I move,” I whisper tersely, feeling like a too wound-up piano string that will snap at any moment.

  He barks out a short laugh. “True.”

  “I think I knew you’d come. What I don’t know is why you didn’t come sooner. I thought you would chase after me.”

  Did you intend to kill my father? Me? Was it you in that car?

  He throws up his legs on the bed, falling on his side next to me, resting his head on his palm. I tighten the sheet around me, feeling stupid as I do. As if a sheet could come between this man and me, if he decided to hurt me. Or take me. A shiver runs through me at the thought. I imagine leaning into him and let whatever happens happen, of going back to whatever it was we shared in the elevator. I want it, and I also want to run and scream. My mind is a mess of worry, fear and joy, all mixing confusingly with the need to either cling to him or push him away.

  He fluffs up the pillow under his head, making himself comfortable. “I’m not stupid, Anna. I know when to fight and when it’s pointless. The damage had already been done. It’d have done nothing good to chase you down in public. And what could I have done? Lock you up? Forever? I knew you were gonna talk to the cops. I’m just going to have to manage the damage. It comes with the job.”

  “Was my dad really in danger?”

  He gives me a half-shrug. “My partner went for Myles. He didn’t give a shit about your dad. He probably didn’t know who you were.”

  I clutch my head as a spear of pain shoots through it. “So you just said all those things to hurt me? That’s a really shitty thing to do.”

  Eric grimaces. “Not my proudest moment. Seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

  “I asked and asked. You could have told me a thousand times over that you were just making it up. Do you have any idea—”

  “I could’ve. I didn’t. I’m sorry. Don’t pursue it, that’s all you’re gonna get.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. “All I’m gonna—”

  I gasp as he suddenly kisses me. I try to pull away, it’s a reflex, but he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him.

  Breaking the kiss, he searches my eyes. “Kiss me back, Anna.” His lips touch mine again, but he doesn’t push. A ripple passes through me and I move in, parting my lips slightly. His tongue hesitantly licks along my lower lip and I open my mouth, knowing I’ve lost myself to him. I want this. I want to feel this. I haven’t felt anything but searing agony for so long. Eric makes me feel alive for the first time in ages. Maybe even ever.

  As he claims my mouth, pressing his lips to mine, molding me to him, he pushes me over on my back.

  “Don’t move,” he mumbles against my lips.

  His chest covers mine, trapping me between the mattress and him, the entrapment making my heart beat faster as the old panic rises again.

  Eric breaks the kiss but hovers close. “What are you feeling?”

  “Like I can’t breathe,” I pant.

  “You can talk. It means you’re getting air. Look at me.”

  My eyes dart to meet his.

  “Ride through it. I know you can.”

  My chest heaves. He’s not moving away, but he’s not moving in closer either, and eventually the panicky tingling settles into something more manageable.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He answers by kissing me again, heavier on me, his lips more demanding. Heat shoots between my legs and I squirm, my breathing getting labored.

  “I can’t,” I gasp and bend my head away.

  “That’s why,” he says.

  He sits up and his eyes dart to my chest where my peaked nipples are very obvious through the thin fabric of the old T-shirt. My arms fly up to cover them.

  “Because I know there’s a fire in you, Anna. A fire that was stoked, and I find it unfair. I want to see it burn again. I want to help you get it back. You’re special.”

  I swallow hard, my throat still aching. “I’m not special.”

  “You are to me. More than you know.”

  I can’t handle this. My head spins. I’m no one, and I want it to stay that way. I don’t know how to manage anything else. He’s pulling the rug out from under my feet and I’m falling and falling.

  “I saved Mr. Myles.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s under police protection.”

  “I know.”

  “I thought you’d be upset.”

  “It’s even better for us that the police got him. And why, Anna, would you want to upset me. Do you think that’s a good idea?”

  My lips turn numb and I can barely speak. “Why is it better that the police have him?” I think I already know the answer, and the thought is beyond horrifying.

  Eric leans closer. “Because, sweetheart, we own half of the fucking police force on the West Coast.”

  I whimper and try to push off the bed, to get away from him. I can’t breathe. I can’t handle this earnest evil. A rough arm around my waist and another on my throat stops my escape. Then he yanks me hard, and I’m helpless as I fall against him.

  “Get off me!” I twist and jerk to make him lose his grip. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is tense, and he doesn’t budge. He squeezes my throat harder. I have to bend further back to ease the pressure, the pain making me gulp, tears spilling on my cheeks.

  “It hurts,” I whisper. “Let me go or—”

  “Or what, Anna?” He yanks me tighter into his embrace. Every breath he takes reverberates into me, every little shift of his muscles as he struggles to keep me in place ripples through me. “You’ll scream? Run to Dad? I thought you cared more about him than that.”

  I go still in his lap. “How can you… be so… evil?” My words come in short gasps.

  “It’s not evil, Anna. You know evil. Evil would be if I ripped off your clothes and forced you to fuck me in your father’s house, with him sleeping two rooms away, knowing I’d kill him if you made even the slightest sound.”

  I swallow hard, my lower lip trembling, his presence more threatening than ever. The thought sends a shockwave through my body. I’m so tense it feels like I’ll break. I meet his wicked gaze, oddly hot and at the same time ice cold. He smirks.

  “Now, that would be ‘evil’, wouldn’t it?”

  My heart pounds like a trapped animal in my chest.

  Yes. It would.

  He releases his hold on me. “But I’m never gonna hurt you like that. Never. You trusted me once. You slept on my lap. I could’ve hurt you so many times in there. Beaten you, taken you against your will. And did I?”

  I shake my head.

  “Am I evil?”

  “I don’t know,” I whisper. “Please leave.”

  It’s like a light dies in his eyes. He sits back as he regards me, slowly shaking his head. “That’s what you want?”

  I flinch as his hand comes up to my face, pushing a strand of hair away and securing it behind my ear.

  Choking down a sob, I nod. “Yes. You got what you came for. Please…”

  “What makes you think I got what I came for?” His fingertips still rest against my throat, scorching my very soul.

  I inhale shakily. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Eric.”

  His hand slides lower, crossing my collarbone, lower, setting every nerve ending on fire.

/>   “I’m not gonna fuck you, Anna.”

  “Wh—Why?”

  He laughs, his hand has stopped just north of my nipple and my chest heaves from a turmoil of emotions, want, fear, desire.

  “Do you even know what you want?”

  I shake my head, knowing I just opened Pandora’s Box. Eric lays his palm over my breast, and then just lets it rest there, hovering but not quite touching. I gasp, but I don’t move away. My nipple grows hard and still he doesn’t move.

  Suddenly he leans in, cupping my breast, squeezing it lightly as he whispers in my ear. “I’ll leave you alone.”

  He stands, and in the next moment he disappears out the doorway, out of my sight, and without looking back. I’m left flushed, panting, tingling, and with a thick syrupy feeling between my legs. I squeeze my eyes shut. Stupid, fucking man!

  Chapter 19

  Anna

  I dart out of bed, pulling my comforter with me. Peeking out my door into the hall, I wrap it around me and tiptoe to my father’s room, desperate to know he’s okay.

  A prickle in my nape makes me spin around, but I’m alone. I sneak into Dad’s bedroom, and despite my agitated state, I have to smile. He snores peacefully, mumbles something and shifts from his back to his side. I back out and close the door behind me. Paranoia makes me glance over my shoulder again, but I’m alone. I’m alone, and it tears me to pieces.

  I don’t get much sleep the rest of the night. Hour after hour I toss and turn, entangling myself in the sheets. My body is a whirlwind of tingling, and heartbeats, lingering touches, and his taste on my lips.