Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “I will soon, Dad. I promise. Okay? Just not right now. I really need to be alone now.”

  He pulls me to him in one of his bear hugs, just a very careful one, for which I’m eternally grateful.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, pumpkin, all right? And, Anna, if you feel it’s right and if you think it’ll make you happy, then go with him. Never thought I’d say that but do what’s best for you.”

  The door closes behind him. I lean my head back and stare at the white ceiling, allowing the onslaught of memories and images to fill me for the first time.

  Eric at Starbucks. Eric chasing me, his hands around my neck. Eric giving me his jacket. Eric telling me I’m stronger than I think. Eric kissing me, making love to me, holding a knife to my throat. My dad with a gun, trembling.

  A lonely sunflower in a white room.

  And finally, finally I allow weeks of held-back tears to burst out. I fall to my knees, wailing. After what feels like forever, I clutch my chest and stand, coughing when my damaged lung protests against the mistreatment. On trembling legs I steer my steps to the bedroom. The sheets have been changed. A pang of disappointment takes a swipe at me, but maybe this is for the better anyway? I can’t even choose to bury my nose in the white fabric, hoping to catch his scent still, hoping that some trace of our lovemaking would remain. I look in the laundry and in the garbage bin. But they are empty. My steps are heavy as I return to the bedroom.

  I sit on the edge of the bed and wait, listen, breathe. Nothing has changed. Nothing inside me. Nothing on the outside. I’m still the same. My heart still hurts. I still long to see him again. Need to see him, need to hear his soft voice. I want him to tell me it isn’t true. That he isn’t really a bad man. That it’s only his associate, Christian. But I know better. I’m trying to lie to myself again.

  ‘let the little lamp in your kitchen window shine’

  It sounds so simple. But it wouldn’t be a small thing. If I light it, he’d come for me and my life would change forever. Again. Am I ready for that?

  The days pass fast.

  And yet so slow.

  Initially, I’m like a broken doll, weak and tired, but I grow stronger. During sleepless nights, I take rounds to the kitchen, making tea, staring at the small yellow—unlit—lamp in the window, glaring at the innocent little button that would light it. It looks like an unstable stick of dynamite. One flick with a finger and it will ignite an uncontrollable series of events and blow up life as I know it. I leave it untouched.

  One week turns into two, and I pay my first visit to work. Everybody comes rushing to greet me. No one mentions Sean Darrell or Gregory Myles. We’re still in business, but the future is uncertain. Seeing the office, and the shadows of what used to be, breaks my heart. The mood is somber, but people seem to keep up a charade for me. It’s exhausting. My stomach is in knots the whole time and I sigh with relief when I get into my car and go home.

  The fourth week I’m a prisoner in my mind. The long nights find me standing with my nose pressed against the chilly window glass, staring out at the street and the park four stories down. If he’ll see the light, he has to be making rounds to check if I have lit it or not. Won’t he? I pace the kitchen, the hallway, the bedroom, the living room, and then back into the kitchen.

  Every other hour I change my mind. I’m not going with him. That’d be insanity. I’d leave my job, my family, my home, and for what? What can possibly replace the life I know and have built? What can be better? I don’t think he loves me. Love is something precious, something fragile yet strong, and something beautiful. I don’t think this man is capable of love. I can’t think of anything within him as ‘beautiful’ in that sense. Powerful yes, manipulating yes, thrilling, intense and magnificent, yes. But not ‘beautiful’. Not sweet. Not tender. Not caring.

  I don’t think I love him either. Not the way I figure love should be. And yet my heart aches. It aches so much I can barely breathe. I don’t think it’s love like normal people mean when they say it. It’s something else. His dark passion has awoken something in me I can’t explain but is stronger than anything I’ve felt before. It’s not rational, but what is?

  I hold my finger on the lamp button every other hour.

  Every night, every other hour, I beat myself up, clench my fists, think about murder, think about a murderer.

  Every other hour I decide I’m not going.

  Twenty-seven days. I almost throw the lamp out in a fit. I’m not going with him. It would be insane.

  Twenty-eight days. I rush to a calendar and count the days in a frenzy, suddenly afraid it’s too late, afraid I’ve missed the window of opportunity.

  Twenty-nine days. I take long walks, avoiding my home. I call my dad and my mom and talk for a long while about nothing and everything.

  I dread the night, the dreams and the wandering thoughts, the images that won’t stop haunting me.

  If I don’t go with him, I’ll never know. It will kill me. He’ll itch inside me for the rest of my life. If I go with him, I’m a wrecked woman, a lost case, and that’s how I’ve felt for a long time. I’ve tried to fool myself that I got over the rape, the humiliation and the fear. I’ve smiled and played along, and then he came and tore everything down and found me. The real me. Or is it I who found myself when I refused to give in to him and his threats?

  I have to see him. If I turn on the lamp, he’ll come and we can meet once before he disappears. Once.

  I find a piece of paper and a pen.

  Mom and Dad.

  I had to go. I love you both.

  Anna.

  At least Dad will know. I fiddle with the note, then pocket it. It’s not like I’ll use it. I’m only toying with the idea.

  I look in my closet and in my drawers. I pick out a couple of pants, a skirt, some sweaters, blouses and underwear. I pack it all in a bag. I regard the backs of the photo albums in my bookshelf. I pull one out and flip through it. Ghostly, unreal images of my life, of how it appeared until two months ago stare back at me. I pick out a few photos, my toothbrush, a couple of facial products along with lipstick and mascara, throw them on the clothes in the bag and zip it closed. My heart pounds. The sun sinks rapidly. I don’t have to decide tonight. I still have tomorrow. And it’s not like I’m going anyway.

  When the sun has set, I turn off every light in the whole apartment and sit in the dark, seeing only silhouettes in the faint light from the streetlamps outside.

  I think of not going with him. And cry.

  I think of going with him. And cry.

  I’ll hurt people.

  I can’t not go.

  I rush to the kitchen and turn on the lamp. Its light spreads a circle of yellow on the floor and wall, its image reflected in the window. I stare at it while I pant as if I’ve run a thousand miles.

  I go back to the chair and wait. The urge to rush back to the kitchen and kill the lamp overcomes me several times, but I stay. A long time passes in complete silence and finally I get up and look at a clock. It’s been four hours since I lit it. It’s one a.m. A flutter of panic in my belly wonders if he isn’t coming.

  I wake with a start from the faint pink light of dawn. The sun rises and announces a new day. I dart up and look at the time again. He didn’t come! Did I miscalculate the days? He changed his mind! He changed his mind, and I’ve made a total fool out of myself. My stomach clenches. I feel sick. Did he smirk at me, out there on the dark street, before he revved his engine and sped off? I rush to the kitchen and turn off the damn lamp.

  I try to feel relieved. I didn’t have to make the decision. It was made for me. My heart drops like a stone.

  Again a decision has been made for me.

  As always.

  I spend the afternoon curled up on my bed. I can’t eat. My stomach is in knots. I see Eric before me. I can’t see him cruel and violent anymore. I see nothing but his soft smile and his glittering eyes. I touch my lips and a vivid memory of how he kissed me makes me shiver.

 
; When the sun sets, I turn on the lamp again and wait. I know he won’t come, but I want to know I decided, no matter what the outcome.

  At eleven o’clock there’s a rustle outside my door, and then two knocks.

  Chapter 30

  Anna

  I almost faint. I stumble when I rise from the chair. My heart beats so hard that all I hear is the blood whooshing in my ears. I put my palms against the door and inhale, trying to find my bearings, taking my last breath of my old life. Then I unlock and swing open the door.

  “Hey,” he says, looking at me, over my shoulder, then back at me again. His eyes are wary, and he regards me for a moment before he glances behind him and steps inside, closing and locking the door.

  I can’t stop staring. My heart makes unhealthy leaps in my chest, making it tingle.

  “Hey you,” I say, my voice nothing but a croak. I clear my throat. “Why didn’t you come yesterday?”

  “I had to know you weren’t pulling some stunt, like calling the cops.” He pauses and pushes his fingers through his hair. “I wanted to see if you’d turn it back on again, tonight.”

  “And you know now that I didn’t call anyone?”

  He nods and leans back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yes.”

  I study his face, memorizing his features all over again. “The thought never crossed my mind, Eric. Why would I even…?” I need to touch him, to see if he is really standing there, but I don’t dare.

  He puts a palm flat on my chest, over the newest scar, the wound that came so close to killing me. My heart speeds up almost painfully at his touch. “How have you been coping?” he asks. “I thought you died. I thought it wasn’t fair you’d die when—when I’d just found you.” His eyes are dark, desolate, filled with a pain that equals my own.

  “I’m… It all went so fast. I’m sorry for the things I said.”

  “No. Don’t be. I was being an ass. A desperate ass, but still. I’ve been in the dark for so long, then we met… Something changed in me that night in the elevator, Anna, something fundamental. You rocked my whole existence. And then I thought…” He gestures to the floor. “All the blood. You weren’t responding. I thought you’d died. I didn’t know how I could even live to take my next breath, I drove all the way up to San Francisco, but I can’t fucking remember it. I may have pleaded with Salvatore to kill me.”

  I gasp. I can’t imagine this fervent man, this larger than life human, dead. My insides freeze to ice at the thought.

  “I survived,” I whisper. “You saved my life.”

  A soft smile spreads on his face, smoothing out the creases of despair, replacing them with pure light, his bright green eyes blazing.

  “You lit the lamp.”

  I nod. “Are we… should we go?”

  Eric smiles and stalks closer, looking down at me. “Why? Are you in a rush?”

  My heart jolts. “No, I thought maybe you were.”

  “Oh no, no. I’m in no rush. Except to get you out of those clothes.”

  I gape. “I don’t know if—”

  “You’ve given yourself to me now. You know this right? You know what I am, what I do, what I like, and still you let me in.”

  I take a step back, my mouth dry. “Yeah, but…”

  Eric steps closer. I back into a wall I completely forgot was there. He grabs my hands and slams my arms up, pressing them against the unyielding surface behind me.

  “Eric,” I squeak.

  “Shhh. Don’t talk. I’m giving you a safeword. It’s the only word you’re allowed to speak. Until you do, you’re silent, and you’re mine. Elevator. That’s your word. All right?”

  He holds my gaze and I nod, my eyes wide open, staring at him. Heat floods my pussy and I have no idea what I’m doing, why I’m letting him take every inch of me, even my will, my voice. My stomach is in knots. I’m afraid, and still I want him so bad.

  I just gotta say one more thing, damned be the consequences.

  “Eric. Please be careful with me.”

  “Always.”

  He smiles and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  “You also broke the rule so fast I think you just set a new record. I’m going to have to punish you for that.”

  I gape, but then I forget whatever I was thinking when he crashes his mouth against mine, his tongue battling my tongue, biting, sucking, taking. I moan loudly as he pushes a hand down in the space between my pants and my belly, all the way until his fingers find my soaking wet slit.

  A deep groan rumbles through Eric and he lets go of my arms and makes quick work with my pants.

  “Oh, baby. I have missed you so fucking much.”

  He pulls my pants and panties to my ankles and I step out of them obediently. I have missed him so much it nearly killed me, but I guess I can’t tell him until later.

  “Turn around, baby.”

  I spin around and lay my cheek to the cold wall, my eyes nearly rolling back as his large warm hand caresses my butt. I squeal when he spanks me. He leans in, his breath fanning my ear.

  “Anna. I’m not even on the warm-up.”

  He laughs as I whimper, but I’m not really afraid. His touch makes me breathless and I want his hands on me whether they smack me or caress me. I want it all.

  Two more smacks land on my butt, right side, left side, the second harder than the first, but still completely manageable. Yet another smack has me yelping and rising on my toes. I glance over my shoulder, inhaling to protest when I remember I can only speak if I safeword, and I’m so not gonna yield. His hand remains on my skin, then he slides in between my legs, his fingers finding my aching core. My eyes roll back from the rush of heat as he caresses back and forth, teasing my opening but never entering, pushing against my clit, making me jolt, and then leaving me in agony as he moves away.

  “Baby, you’re so fucking wet. You like this more than you know.”

  I shake my head. Hell, if I’d admit that. But I do. Oh God, my pussy already pulsates.

  “Touch yourself.” He takes my hand and puts it between my legs. Yeah, fine, he’s right. I’m soaked.

  “Come, baby.” Pulling me with him, I stumble behind on Bambi legs. “I’m gonna show you exactly what I mean with emotional release.” He steers us toward the living room.

  I dig my heels in and try to stop him, but it’s like trying to stop a tsunami. My will is a mere breeze to the storm that is Eric Reed and his appearance in my life.

  He glances at me over his shoulder, then scoops me up in his arms. “Wanna call it already?” A little smile plays on his lips, and I know he knows I won’t. Damn him!

  I narrow my eyes and then shake my head. He smiles then. Wide. It’s the most beautiful sight in the world and my heart clenches with the need for this man.

  “Good girl. I knew it was in there.”

  He sits down on the couch and pulls me down on his lap. I squeeze my legs together, the feeling of being unfairly naked creeping up on me. Eric tsks and lays a large warm palm on my thigh.

  “Turn around.”

  I frown, confused.

  “On my lap, on your belly.”

  My mouth falls open and I inhale to object. Never in hell. I’m not a baby who’s been bad. I’m not one of those girls. Maybe they get off on this, but I—

  Eric puts a finger to my mouth.

  “Are we safewording?”

  I tighten my jaw and glare defiantly at him.

  “Didn’t think so. Now do what the fuck I tell you, woman!”

  His sudden outburst, the danger lurking in his voice, makes my gut clench. Staring at him, I then turn, draping myself over his lap, with a feeling of utter humiliation. Tension rises in me from not knowing what to expect, from the danger that still isn’t danger in its real sense.

  “Rise a little. Hug this.” He pushes a pillow under my chest, making me comfortable.

  I clutch it tightly and flinch when I feel his hand, softly stroking my butt, the small of my back,
up between my shoulder blades where he applies pressure, bending me more into an upside-down V. I support myself, one hand on the floor, gritting my teeth as he keeps stroking.

  “You’re shivering. I’m beginning to think I’m wrong. You’re not made for this at all.” His hand slides lower, cups my butt, one cheek, squeezing, then the other, his fingers dipping in between my legs.

  He’s teasing me. Both my body and my mind. I’m not gonna give him the satisfaction of giving up. I never gave up when he threatened me. Does he really think I’ll budge now?

  Eric leans closer, his breath on my ear. “Wanna say that word, love?”

  I turn my head and glare at him, narrowing my eyes. A jolt shoots through me as I meet his blazing green eyes, full of wicked mirth. He raises an eyebrow and then his hand descends.

  “Mother-fucking-hell!” I scream as his palm connects with my skin. The instant sting is replaced by numbness and a feeling of his palm still lingering.

  He laughs. “I’ll let that one pass. But your next word will be your safeword only, unless I’ve given you permission to speak.”

  I tremble from the shock, but at the same time a rush of heat fills my pussy, making it heavy, needy. Oh God. I’m not right in the head. He waits. I nod.

  “Good girl,” he whispers and then he smacks me again. And again. I moan loudly and grit my teeth. Why are we doing this again? Every stroke feels like being hit by a block of concrete. How can a person be that strong?

  He pauses and lets his hand rest on the tender skin. “How’s the chest, love? Am I breaking anything, or will you live?”

  I inhale and reach inside to judge the state of my wounded tissues. Remembering I can’t speak, I give him a thumbs-up. All good. All good there, at least. My butt disagrees and finds it unfair I give him a freaking pass to go ahead. He purses his lips and gives me a dark gaze that sends shivers racing down my spine.

  “Good,” he moans and lifts his hand, hovering over my butt, his eyes flashing. Then it descends again. And again. His hand lands on my right cheek, left cheek, upper thigh. Every few strokes he caresses me but soon I don’t feel it because with every smack I burn hotter and hotter, the pain sears its way through my belly, my chest, makes my spine tingle, until it finally penetrates my whole mind. My vision narrows, my whole world becomes nothing but agony.