Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  I raise my eyebrows. I can’t imagine even one situation where I’d ever consider murder.

  “How?” I croak.

  “If someone, or something, threatened Cecilia, or you, or me.”

  “And if I threatened you?”

  He grimaces. “You’re not making this easy.”

  I shrug. “I just wanna know how deep this do-good urge, and the miraculous change for the better goes. And what would turn everything around again, back to the Christian I know and distrust.”

  “I have no fucking intention of hurting you, Kerry.”

  “Now?”

  “Ever.”

  “But you did—” I look away, “have that intention.”

  He hesitates. “Maybe. I don’t know anymore.”

  I groan. “You and your half-answers, the way you twist everything around… It’s driving me insane.”

  “Welcome to the club,” he says with a grimace.

  I scoff. We’re not getting anywhere. Maybe we won’t ever? But if this is it, then we’ve still come a long way.

  “Do you want me to make us some tea, Ker?”

  I gape from the sudden friendly offer, as if this is just a normal night in a normal life. “Yes, please. Blackberry.” As he turns his back to me, I suddenly bombard him with the questions I’ve held inside me since he arrived, some of them since when he disappeared. “How did you survive, Christian? Did you fall into the river? Where did you go? They were looking like mad for you, you know.”

  “That’s a long story,” he says, his back still to me as he pours water into the kettle.

  “The night is long.”

  “I found a house. I almost died. It’s been a long road to recovery.”

  “Who… who was in that house? Did he survive?”

  Christian stops for a moment, becomes absolutely still, and something goes cold inside me.

  “She did.”

  I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Why didn’t you get in touch earlier?” I ache to tell him about my pain, about how out of my mind I’ve been, but I swallow the words. I fear making myself vulnerable to him again.

  He finds two bright yellow mugs in my cupboard and then tea bags to put in them. The sound from the water boiling increases and then, with a sharp snap, it abruptly dies out.

  “I thought you’d be happier without me.”

  I snap my mouth shut. “But you came anyway?”

  “I wasn’t left with a choice,” he grits out.

  My stomach plummets. “Your uncle.”

  Christian spins around. “My uncle is a selfish piece of shit. He also considers Cecilia close family, and he will never let you go, Kerry. Never. He wanted to rein you in. I had to step in.”

  Fear crawls along my spine and it feels as if my skin shrinks. “He’d do that?” I croak.

  He raises his eyebrows as he places the steaming cups in front of us on the table. “Salvatore does what Salvatore wants. He’s really not pleased with you.”

  My whole face feels numb. “Why? But he’s stayed away?”

  “Because I told him to.” Christian sets himself in front of me, the cup untouched before him. He licks his lips and looks away for a moment. Then he looks back at me, his face serious.

  “Why?”

  “Because you deserve to be happy, and being in the clutches of Luci does not make a person happy.”

  Warmth spreads in my chest as I take him in. I can’t believe he’s here, that I’m looking at him again, that he’s alive. What does this mean to me? To us? Then realization hits me.

  “Am… Am I in the clutches of you now?”

  Christian looks at me for a long while, then he stands and moves toward the door.

  “Christian,” I half-shout.

  He spins around, his face darkening, his eyes suddenly reminding me all too well of the killer.

  “You are,” he says. Then he pulls the door open and disappears.

  I stare at the door as it slams shut, all I hear is my own heartbeat roaring in my ears.

  You are.

  What am I? A pawn in these people’s game? I’m nothing, nobody, Salvatore made that clear. Only my daughter is worth something to them. Is that why Christian came back? To claim what’s his?

  My head spins and I have to support myself on furniture and walls as I make my way to the door and lock it.

  Walking up the stairs on trembling legs, I realize I forgot to ask him about Chloe. I stumble, and fall to my knees, moaning from the pain of the impact. Chloe. He hurt Chloe. I know it. Oh my God.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that Christian will be back, and I’m not gonna let him get away. He will confess!

  Christian

  She let me in.

  I sit in my car. The engine is off. My body is on fire.

  She let me in. She trusted me. She had missed me. She had fucking missed me! I can’t believe she let me in and let me spend time with Cecilia. I can’t understand how she can be so generous after all I’ve done to her.

  I told her the whole uncomfortable truth, concentrated into two words only. You are. Kerry won’t like it one fucking bit, but the moment I laid my eyes on her, she was doomed.

  The moment she chose to speak to Salvatore for the first time, she doomed herself to death.

  The moment she let me drive her home that first night, she doomed herself to be mine.

  The one, single time, we fucked, when we made Cecilia, was the night that changed my whole existence. Women to me had been for one thing only up until then. I’ve had lovers, short-time girlfriends, and more one-night stands than I can count, but I’ve never felt such a rush of power over her submission to me. I’ve never felt such a deep need to be with someone, and to keep her as mine, forever.

  Kerry Jackson will be mine again, and soon, because I can’t stay away. I won’t stay away. I need to have her warm little body under me again. Flashes of the reddened, slightly mottled skin on her butt, her fearful eyes as I tied her up, make me rock hard in a second.

  Do I woo her, or do I just take her?

  I have no fucking idea how to court someone. Fuck that. I know she needs me just as much as I need her, and this time she’s not going anywhere. No Chicago. No fucking Canada. She stays.

  I have half a mind to storm back inside and push her up against the wall, ripping the clothes off her body. I have waited so long. Too long.

  She’s mine. Finally.

  Chapter 19

  Kerry

  I’m putting the casserole in the oven when my phone chimes. I let the oven door slam closed and glance at the clock. In thirty minutes Rebecca and Gayle will arrive, and in about an hour Mom will come and pick up Cecilia. They adore Cece and have demanded to always meet her at least a little before we throw ourselves into our girls’ nights.

  My kitchen counter is a mess, with remains of cut fresh herbs, slices of tomatoes, and the skin of a salmon tossed to the side. My hands stink of fish. I find the phone beneath an oven mitten. It keeps chiming. I don’t recognize the number.

  “Yes?” I squeeze the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I rinse the spoon and quickly soap and rinse my hands.

  “Ker?”

  I drop the cell. It slides down my chest. The wooden spoon flies through the air and water splatters everywhere as I manage to catch the phone. The spoon bounces as it clatters to the floor.

  “Evan!”

  “Oh thank God. I wasn’t sure it was the right number.”

  “How’d you get my number?” I pick up the spoon, turn off the faucet and regard the mess as I drop a towel on the floor to soak up the worst of it. The front of my blouse is wet and… fucking Evan!

  “Ehh… at the center for autistic children, they—”

  “They aren’t allowed to give away my phone number!”

  “I… might have introduced myself as your husband.”

  “What?” I shriek. “Why’d you even do that? And why wouldn’t you have my number if you were my husband? Why are you call
ing, Evan? I can’t give you more money, I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, can’t I call as a friend?”

  No, I want to scream, but manage to moderate my answer somewhat. “I don’t think we can be friends, Evan, I’m sorry, but that ship sailed a very long time ago. Honestly, I hope you’ll solve your shit, but don’t pull me into it, I’ve got enough as it is.”

  “Cecilia—” he says, “is she a Russo?”

  Everything goes absolutely still. The only noise that is heard is the oven fan that gives off a slight humming sound.

  My voice doesn’t sound like my own as I answer him. “What makes you say that?”

  “So she is. Whose? Did you fuck a Russo, Ker? What the fuck?”

  “I don’t think that’s any of your fucking business,” I hiss. I try to disconnect, but I tremble so hard that I keep missing the button. I hear him speak, but I don’t hear what he’s saying.

  Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him!

  Finally I manage to cut the call and fall to my knees, right into the puddle of water, clutching my constricting throat. How did he know? No one can know! I can barely breathe.

  ‘Did you fuck a Russo, Ker?’

  I crawl over to the couch and climb up, hugging my knees. Why does this shit keep happening to me? But I know why. I’m in their claws. I danced with the devil, even if it wasn’t by choice, and these are the consequences. This is my life.

  Christian’s words from two nights ago ring loud and clear in my head. They’ve been eating away at me since he left, all through classes, conversations with classmates, all through the nights—again with the sleepless nights.

  ‘You are.’

  I’m his. His property, the mother of his child, his to do whatever he wants with.

  ‘Did you fuck a Russo, Ker?’

  No, I didn’t. But a Russo fucked me.

  I groan and wipe my cheeks. Cecilia is up in her room, transfixed by cartoons, and hasn’t noticed anything, thank God. I have twenty minutes until my friends arrive, I have to pull myself together, wash my face, change clothes. I’m gonna have fun tonight. My life might be shit, but I won’t let it destroy the few windows of light-hearted fun I get to have.

  I sway a little as I hug Gayle and Rebecca goodbye. I refused to let the call from Evan ruin my evening, even though it has been nagging at the back of my mind, but by God, it did make me drink a couple of glasses of wine I shouldn’t have. My mind is pleasantly buzzed, and I feel light, carefree.

  On Friday, Gayle is taking me to one of her concerts. She wanted to set me up with a date, but that’s not happening. She doesn’t know Christian is alive and back in town, and I’ll keep her safe from that knowledge for as long as I possibly can, because it’s my burden to carry and no one else’s. It’ll be fun, though. I really look forward to seeing her on stage.

  Locking the door behind them, I start up the stairs, stopping when the doorbell rings. Did they forget something? I sail down and quickly twist open the locks, swinging the door open.

  It’s not Gayle, and it’s not Rebecca.

  A tall, hulking figure stands in my doorway, his eyes pitch black, his hair hanging in unruly tresses over his forehead.

  Christian Russo.

  ‘Did you fuck a Russo, Ker?’

  ‘You are.’

  I scream and try to shut the door, but he slams a palm against it and stops the movement. I don’t know why. He’s been here before. It’s only Christian, but something is different tonight. Something about him screams danger.

  “I’m going to bed,” I gasp. “It’s not—”

  “Perfect,” he says darkly, spits out a toothpick and invades the hallway with his looming presence, pushing the door shut behind him.

  I’m unable to move, and he’s standing way too close.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Kerry,” he says as he raises a hand, letting it follow the contour of my head, my shoulder, my arm, but without touching me, setting the air between us on fire. “I can’t stay away anymore. I won’t.”

  “What are you saying?” I manage to croak, while it feels as if my insides liquefy.

  Christian leans in, I take a step back, he follows, I hit the wall and jump from the abrupt stop, glancing around me for an escape. He slams his palms to the wall, one on either side of my head. He smells of whisky and sandalwood with a slight hint of citrus to it. His scent does me in. It always does.

  “You know fucking well what I’m saying. I’m done playing.”

  “I didn’t know we were playing,” I whisper, transfixed by his dark gaze.

  “Trust me. I’m not one for games.” He leans in, his eyes level with mine, his breath hot on my lips. “Don’t move.”

  His mouth descends on mine and my knees buckle with instant, primal need I had forgotten was ever there. He coaxes my mouth open, pushing his chest against mine, trapping me. I push back, the instinct to keep defending myself against this man so deeply rooted in me after nearly three years of fleeing.

  “Christian.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No! Chr—”

  “Not a word, Kerry.”

  His hand moves to my throat and I inhale raggedly, tensing up, then it caresses down along my vulnerable neck, taking a moment to trace my collar bone before he cups my breast, roughly, tight, bordering on painful.

  I squirm and don’t quite know what to do with myself. I know what’s happening. There’s no doubt in my mind why he’s here, and there’s no one who can help me, who can interrupt us. It’s two a.m. and I’m slightly dizzy from the wine, even though I woke up good when he showed up. My body is responding to his even though my numbed mind screams danger.

  His hand descends along my stomach, following the curve of my hip, down along the outside of my thigh where he begins to bunch my dress in his hand, pulling it up.

  His mouth is still devouring mine, and the hunger for him grows as the tips of his fingers suddenly meet with the naked skin on my thigh.

  My legs barely carry me. “Christian,” I mumble. I don’t know anymore if I’m trying to object or if I want him to go on.

  He pulls up my dress in one rough yank and puts his large, rough hand between my legs, his thumb rubbing against my clit while his fingers push against my opening, only my panties between his feral desire and my aching core.

  “You’re soaked, Ker,” he moans. “You fucking need me as much as I need you.” He keeps rubbing, a little too hard, and I don’t know if it’s good or if it’s bad anymore. “Tell me, have you been with someone else?” He pushes the panties to the side and slides along my wet slit, teasing, back and forth. “Have you?”

  “No!” I gasp. “There’s been no one.”

  A shudder runs through him as he pushes his rock-hard bulge harder against my belly. He leans back a little and regards me, his eyes darting between my swollen mouth, my eyes, my hair, back to my eyes. “You ruined me for all others, Ker. I need you more than I need air.”

  He thrusts his fingers inside me, spearing me. I cry out incoherently, unable to support myself on my trembling legs.

  “Come here.” Without further ado, he lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist, letting him carry me up the stairs.

  Throwing me on the bed, he pants heavy and beads of sweat pearl on his forehead. “You’ve been a bad, bad girl, Kerry, and you keep on resisting me, fighting me, when all you had to do was keep your promise.

  I scramble back as he moves in on me. “What promise?”

  “You told me once you were mine. I’m gonna hold you to that. Get the fuck out of that dress. I want to see you.”

  His? What’s he talking about? Then it dawns on me. “What the fuck? That was before you tried to kill me!”

  “Get. Out. Of. The. Dress. Or I’ll rip it in two.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  I try to move back further, my head connecting with the wall behind me. Christian sets a knee on the mattress and strikes, his hand gripping my ankle, pulling me to him with eas
e. My dress rides up to my waist and he grabs it.

  “No! Wait!”

  My hands shake violently as I take his hand, removing it. I force myself up on my knees, my whole being screaming at me that this is not how it’s supposed to be, that a lover should be gentle, not threatening, tender, not demanding and rough. Shuffling over until I got my back to him, I show him the zipper.

  “I need your help,” I whisper.

  The groan he emits sends a wave of heat to my pussy. Warm fingers caress along my back, deliberately slow, as he pulls down the zipper and my dress falls to the sides, revealing my whole back down to my butt. With a feather light caress, he pushes it off my shoulders, and I let it fall to the bed, bunching around my knees.

  “Beautiful,” he moans. “Bend over.” He puts a large palm between my shoulder blades and pushes.

  As I fall to hands and knees, I know I have to obey.

  I remember last time. My strength is nothing to his brutal force.

  I remember last time, and my heart rate spikes.

  I remember pain, fear, lust and want.

  I remember caresses and him spanking me. I know I’ll have to submit. He won’t take no for an answer.

  His palm is hot and calloused, caressing my butt. “You’re so soft, Ker. So pale.” The smack comes unexpected, shocking me to my core. I dash forward, but he grips my hips and pulls me back. “You tried to run from me.” His hand is treacherously tender, then he slaps me again and I scream.

  “I want a safeword, Christian!”

  “You don’t need a fucking safeword,” he growls. “You’re mine. I won’t hurt you. Much.” His palm connects with my skin again, and I bury my face in the mattress as I cry out in fright mixed with growing heat.

  “I’m yours!” I gasp. “I’m yours. I’ll be yours, but you have to give me something. You scare me.”

  He doesn’t move. I listen to his ragged breathing.

  His lips on my tender ass are soft and soothing as he blows a stream of cool air on raw skin. “Does it turn you on then? Being scared?” I whimper when he nibbles at my soaked panties before he pushes them to the side, and licks a path along my wet slit, all the way down to my clit. “Because you’re so fucking wet, babe.”