Drago (Dangerous Love Book 3)

by Kristin Alexander

  That gaze hardened as he started to speak. “Katya, it is very important you stay in this room. Do you understand?”

  My curiosity and anxiety spiked, but he didn’t look particularly receptive to any questions I might have. This was a world I had known about my whole life but had been sheltered from the darker aspects as much as possible. It appeared Drago wanted to keep it that way.

  “Yes, I understand.”

  Drago stood and gave me a long, assessing somewhat disbelieving look, as if he could feel all my questions churning just under the surface. “Katya, I’m serious. I can’t be distracted. I need to focus on what I need to do. You are to stay here no matter what you hear.”

  That sent a chill down my spine. “What might I hear? What are you going to do?” I whispered the question, but I already knew the answer. I didn’t even know why I asked. I think I was hoping he would lie to me.

  His expression became guarded. “Get information.”

  I gulped and nodded—definitely not lying. I knew how he planned to get information, and he knew I knew—intimidation, threats, torture.

  He slid his hand into the hair at the base of my neck, holding me still. His dark brows dropped over eyes that looked like liquid silver. “Katya, I mean it. Do not step out of this room.”

  “Okay.” I was trying to reassure him of my obedience, but his eyes were like little x-ray machines, scanning my features and reading my mind. He could see that I was unsettled and on edge, and he knew that could lead to unpredictable behavior and questionable decision-making.

  “You need to stay here. I don’t want you to see anything that happens in that warehouse. But you should understand—no matter what you see, what you hear, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you discover about me or how I do business is immaterial because I won’t let you go.”

  A part of me wanted to rebel at the implied lack of choice, but I was utterly mesmerized by the intense certainty in his eyes. He meant every word he was saying. My breathing increased as my heartbeat skyrocketed. His eyes were probing mine as the extent of his possessiveness continued to be exposed. His words were a warning. No matter what I saw, what I heard, and how I felt about it, I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to be with you.”

  His grim expression did not change. “You say that now, but you may be exposed to things you will not like. Things you find sickening.”

  “Drago, I grew up around all of this. I know what I’m getting into.”

  Drago shook his head. “No, Katya, you don’t know. You may think you understand because you witnessed some of your father’s life, but you don’t really know. You had your run-in with the Turk, and you saw me kill him. That is probably the most humane death I’ve ever meted out. You may witness me doing much, much worse, and you need to be prepared. You may hate what you see, but we’ll deal with it. You stay with me.”

  I breathed heavily, a part of me rejecting his intense assertion. I understood this world. I had lived in it my whole life. However, there was a dark, menacing tendril of alarm that curled around my heart like black smoke, making me doubt my self-assurance

  He gripped my chin with rough fingers. “Promise me.”

  I blinked at him, surprised he would make such a request. I found it hard to believe that promises meant anything to a man as untrusting and suspicious as Drago.

  “You believe people when they make promises?” I asked skeptically.

  “No, but I will believe your promises.”

  My breath caught in my throat, my hand reflexively reaching out to touch his chest. I understood what his admission meant. “You will?”

  He responded with a clipped nod. “Stay here. Promise me,” he insisted again.

  I was hypnotized by his insistent gray gaze. “Okay, I promise.”

  He pulled back, gave me a long stare, and walked out the door.

  Now, how was I going to be able to keep my promise?

  *****

  I sat cross-legged on the desk, scrolling through my Instagram account, doing everything I could to keep myself from opening the door and lurking around the warehouse. Morbid curiosity was eating me alive.

  I managed to distract myself for a while texting Hannah about everything that had happened today. Anya’s birthday was coming up soon, and I wanted Hannah to help me plan something.

  Katya: Hey!

  Hannah: Hey, how’s the move going? Are you done?

  Katya: Not exactly. Lots of drama.

  Hannah: Drama??

  Katya: We got chased down Lake Shore Drive. A couple of Drago’s guys showed up and grabbed the guys chasing us and now we’re at some warehouse on the south side.

  When I re-read my text, I shook my head at how insane that would all sound to a normal person who had a normal life.

  Hannah: What???

  I forgot. Although Hannah dated Nikolai and has had brushes with the organization due to their relationship, she had a relatively normal life.

  Katya: I know. It’s crazy.

  Hannah: Where’s Drago?

  Katya: He’s with his men somewhere in this warehouse. They’re dealing with the 2 guys who were following us.

  Hannah: What does that mean?? Or do I not want to know…

  She was catching on.

  Katya: You probably don’t. I don’t know what’s happening. Drago insisted I stay in this room and not leave, no matter what I heard.

  Hannah: What you heard?? What are you hearing?

  Katya: Nothing. Yet.

  Just as I sent that last text and ear-piercing scream cut through the air, causing me to jump to my feet.

  Katya: Gotta go – hearing stuff.

  I stood there for a moment, knowing I was supposed to stay put. I had promised. Dammit.

  Katya, stay here. Don’t be stupid.

  I once again perched myself at the edge of the desk, unable to even look at my phone, let alone respond to its constant chirping. It was undoubtedly Hannah sending me a series of curious, horrified texts. I took deep breaths to compose myself. I was almost completely calm when one long, high-pitched, incredibly agonized scream ripped through the air, sending chills down my spine. It was followed by muffled hollering and more screams.

  I couldn’t just sit here and listen to this. I had to know what was going on.

  I stashed my phone, hearing it vibrate in my pocket as Hannah probably sent more panicky texts, and crept slowly toward the door I had been forbidden to open. My hand hovered over the knob as the conversation with Drago played back in my mind. I had promised him not to leave, and my promise meant something to him. I lowered my hand and took several steps back from the door, wiping my sweaty palms on the thin knit of my yoga pants.

  I was about to scurry back to the desk when several more screams tore through the air. I found myself immediately back in front of the door, my hand now resting on the doorknob. There must be some primal instinct that compels individuals who hear human suffering to run toward it because I was incapable of sitting still as more bone-chilling shrieks had my heart lodged in my throat and made sweat pop out on my forehead.

  I turned the knob, opened the door, and took a few steps into a dark hallway. My heart felt like it was going to pound out of my chest under the dual assault of walking toward someone’s screams of agony and disobeying Drago’s direct order. But I couldn’t help myself.

  I continued to walk down a hallway that made the office look glamorous in comparison. It had walls made of plywood and a cement floor, and the only source of light came from the opened door of the office I had just come from. I pulled out my cell phone and used the flashlight app as I walked further down the hall toward another closed door.

  I stood in front of the closed door filled with indecision yet again. Sweat slid down my spine, even though the temperature in the building was quite cool. I heard voices now, but nothing distinct—hard, aggressive questioning followed by panicked babbling. There was a small pause, then the sound of flesh on flesh follo
wed by groans and yips of pain—another pause.

  I should turn around. I should run back to the office. I shouldn’t be here. These were the thoughts that ran on a loop in my head as I stood with my ear pressed to the door, my hand on the knob.

  Another high-pitched shriek ripped through the air, and I turned the knob and rushed through the door. I expected to be greeted by the sight of torture and blood, but what I barreled into was a big, open warehouse space. I looked around, searching for where the noise was coming from and saw another door across the room, about fifty feet away. That door was slightly ajar.

  I crept across the dirty concrete, wondering what they did with this building, as it appeared largely abandoned, except for a stack of crates on one side. I looked down and discovered various stains that I wanted to believe were motor oil or some other machinery related fluid, but I suspected it was blood. Oh, god, was this building some sort of torture house?

  I was halfway across the room, doubts and self-recriminations crashing through my mind once again. Did I even want to see this? No, absolutely not. However, this was the life I was committing myself to, to some extent. I mean, there was no way Drago wanted me to be exposed to this aspect of the organization—the organization he commanded—but it existed, and I needed to confront it.

  I needed to know if I could tolerate it.

  This justification under my belt, I continued forward toward the slightly opened door. My pace quickened, wanting to hear what was being said. I pressed my hand against the door jamb as I leaned in to listen. I heard voices raised again, and Drago was murmuring to his men in Russian, obviously wanting to disguise their conversation.

  “I will ask you once more—and remember, you don’t have many fingers left to gamble with. Who sent you? Callahan? Alfonsi? Ivanov?” Drago’s low voice was hard and terrifying. If it was me sitting in a chair in front of him, I would have been tripping over myself to tell him anything he wanted to know.

  “Don’t know,” rasped one of the men, his voice slightly slurred.

  “You know, you don’t have to make this so painful, but I am happy to remove more body parts,” Drago replied in a bored tone.

  My stomach clenched as I heard the sound of a fist hitting flesh, the scrape of a chair sliding followed by more cries of pain.

  “Give me the knife,” Drago barked, obviously using English in order to terrify his captives. I didn’t know if it worked on them, but it worked on me. I was practically hyperventilating.

  “Your ear goes first. Who sent you?”

  Oh, god. Oh god. I prayed the guy would just tell Drago what he wanted to know. I already felt like I was on the verge of peeing my pants, and my damp hands kept slipping on the door jamb.

  “We don’t know. We just got a call,” one of the men replied. I knew that response wasn’t going to play with Drago, and my stomach started doing somersaults as anxiety needled every nerve ending in my body.

  Suddenly, a scream so intense, so brain-rattling echoed through the room. I thought my eardrums would explode under the assault. Torrents of terror and panic crashed through me and tears poured down my cheeks as I listened, fearing the worst.

  “Ahhhh,” one of the men continued to shriek in agony, the scraping of his chair indicating his struggle to escape the blade.

  I saw something thrown the floor through the crack in the door and initially thought it was a bloody tissue.

  Upon closer inspection, I saw that it was a bloody ear.

  The victim’s groans of anguish and pain were drowned out by a droning sound in my head, and I gripped the door jamb to steady myself, my hand covering my mouth as I spasmodically swallowed the lump that rose in my throat.

  I was unaware that I had started making a whimpering sound when the door was thrown open, and an enraged, bloody Drago stood in front of me. He looked like a vengeful god, his nostrils flaring as his chest heaved, his large body rigid with fury and shock. Dark brows almost completely obscured his cold, gray eyes as his hand clenched the bloody knife in his hand.

  “Katya! What the fuck are you doing here? Go!” he roared.

  I squeaked in hysteria and ran all the way back to the office, ripping open each of the doors I had stood in front of for long moments as I deliberated my choice to investigate.

  Instead of staying in the office, I ran out the door to the parking lot, unable to stop the flood of tears pouring down my cheeks as the residual adrenaline, horror, and fear continued to flow through my nervous system.

  I was still pacing around the parking lot, sucking in oxygen and wiping tears when Drago slammed out of the building, his expression as forbidding as a storm cloud, still covered in smears of blood. He marched over to me; his arms caging me against the car.

  “Katya, what did I tell you? What did you promise me?” he gritted out, his eyes blazing and wild with anger. It was strange to see him so overcome with emotion, so out of control. It almost pulled me out of my emotional frenzy. Almost.

  I stared at him, my mouth opening and closing, but nothing would come out—my vocal cords were frozen. I didn’t even know what I was going to say. He was right. I’d promised to stay put, and I didn’t. My hands were shaking as I tried to gather my thoughts, which felt like loose marbles rolling around my head. I was practically panting as my lungs heaved in an attempt to retain oxygen.

  The frustration on Drago’s face quickly transformed into concern, and instead of yelling at me about my broken promise, as I expected him to do, he jerked me into his arms and crushed me to his chest. His hand slid up and rubbed the back of my head as I buried my face in his neck. It was like his touch unleashed whatever I was trying to control, and I clutched the sweaty fabric of his t-shirt as my body was wracked with sobs.

  “I told you, Katya, I told you to fucking stay put,” he said in a gruff voice, which—what a time for an I-told-you-so moment. Even though his voice was hard, his touch was calming and reassuring.

  Wiping my tears away, I pulled back and stared at him, still trying to organize my thoughts, still processing what I’d seen.

  He stared into my eyes and shook his head, his lips compressed. “Fuck. That’s the look. That’s why I left you alone for so long. That look on your face. You should have never seen that shit.”

  My spine stiffened defensively. “I told you, I know that stuff goes on all the time,” I said, finally able to speak.

  “Knowing it and witnessing it are two different things,” he muttered.

  I buried my head back into his chest. That was the understatement of the century, but he needed to understand. “But I had to see it.”

  Drago gripped my arms and pulled me back, his scowl back in place. “The fuck you did. You didn’t need to see it. Why the fuck would you say that?”

  I finally had my scrambled thoughts together. “Drago, I needed to know. I needed to know if I could handle it because it’s part of this life—your life. Isn’t it?”

  He gave me a hard look, then sighed. “It is.”

  “I know why you wanted to shield me, but now I know. It was horrible and gross and terrifying, but now I’ve seen it, and I know.”

  “What do you know? You know how fucking ruthless and violent I can be?” he fired back.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  Drago shook his head, his jaw tight with frustration. “And now do you feel better for knowing that, Katya?”

  Absolutely not. “No, but I’m grateful I do. I don’t have to hide from it anymore. I don’t have to pretend I don’t know what happens—you don’t have to pretend I don’t know. We can be honest with each other. I can fully accept you for who you are, what you do, who you have to be sometimes.”

  He took a deep breath. His face revealed nothing of his feelings, so it was difficult to gauge if he believed me, if he believed I accepted every part of him, even the parts I should find terrifying and disturbing.

  I remembered I was carrying something that might set him at ease. “I found this when I was packing earlier,” I said, pul
ling the locket from my pocket and holding it up for him to see.

  He gave a quick intake of breath, his eyebrows jumped in surprise. “You still have that?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

  “Of course. I love it—I always have. It was too painful to wear after you left the house. It was a reminder of what I couldn’t have.” I pulled my gaze from his to stare at the dangling necklace, this precious, little symbol of his feelings for me. “Now, I can see it for what it really was.”

  “What’s that?” he rasped, his gaze intense as it bounced back and forth from my eyes to the locket.

  “An expression of your true feelings in the safest way you could express them at the time.”

  He swallowed and reached up to take the necklace from me, rubbing his thumb across the scroll design on the front of the locket. His eyes met mine, grey chips of granite that revealed nothing. “Turn around,” he said gruffly.

  After turning around, the necklace slid around my neck as he fastened it on me. He pressed a soft kiss to my nape, then buried his face in the curve of my neck as he locked his arms around me. “I have missed seeing this on you. I only got to enjoy you wearing it for one evening. Don’t remove it again, kotyonok.”

  “I won’t,” I murmured, then turned in his arms. He stared at the locket where it rested on my skin for a good minute before lifted his eyes to mine.

  He turned to look back at the warehouse and then back to me. “Okay, you saw this part of my job, you accept it, but it’s over. Never again, Katya. I won’t allow it. If I have to keep you blindfolded for the rest of your life, I will never allow you to see anything like that again,” he dictated, his jaw set stubbornly, his expression closed and intractable.

  “Okay, but I already said, I want all of you.”

  He sighed deeply, his hand sliding to my shoulder, his thumb absently rubbing the skin on the side of my neck. I think he was doing it as a soothing gesture for both of us. “That side of me—the less you see of it, the better.”

  “I saw you kill the Turk, even before this,” I countered, still trying to soothe him. Even if on some level he believed I accepted this aspect of his life, he was obviously still deeply uncomfortable.