“A game?” Her tone sharpens. “You think this is a game?”
On the contrary, this is serious. Just how serious, I’m not sure she fully comprehends. Nor do I wish to enlighten her. What’s the point of tormenting her with the knowledge that if she’s captured, my enemies will most likely torture her in the most despicable ways to draw me out of my stronghold?
“I don’t want it to be like this,” she says. “But you made your choice when you took away mine.”
I don’t like the way this conversation is going, not one bit. If she’s hinting at wanting to leave me, she can get that ridiculous idea out of her pretty little head.
It’s not going to fucking happen.
Ever.
Ignoring the way her beautiful eyes grow large, I step between her legs, my hands balled into fists. It’s all I can do not to reach for her. Biting off every word, I make myself clear. “There is no longer a choice.”
“You knew.” She leans away, supporting her weight on her arms. “You knew this could happen.”
Feigning ignorance isn’t going to work. Not with me. I pin her with a stare. “So did you.”
She blinks. Emotions play over her stunning features. She’s expressive, my kiska. It has always been easy for me to tell what she thinks. That’s one of the things I love so much about her. With Katerina, I don’t have to worry about manipulations and games. She’s honest and straightforward. Maybe that’s what the problem is. She’s too honest, too good, to accept the ugly parts of my world.
An internal battle wages in her eyes. Yes, she knew what she was getting herself into when she agreed to move in with me. I’ve told her in not so many words that I’m a bad guy. True, I left out the gritty details of what goes on behind the closed doors of my empire. No one gets to where I am without blood on his hands, but there’s no point in burdening her with that fact.
“I…” She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue. “This isn’t what I expected.”
Placing my palms on either side of her body on the table, I close some of that unwanted distance. “We won’t be hiding forever.”
“It’s not the running or the hiding.”
My voice is gruff with the need clawing inside me. “Then what is it, kiska?”
Her features contort, the brave mask she’s wearing collapsing. “It’s being treated like a possession.”
The hurt etched in her expression hits me straight in the heart.
I get it. I’m not a foolish or insensitive man. Katerina is independent. Up until now, she’s made all her own decisions. She’s used to running her life and taking charge. In her relationship with her mother, she seems more of the adult, taking responsibility for her ailing parent, and as a nurse, she’s used to making decisions that mean the difference between life and death. Locking her up and taking away everything that gives her life meaning isn’t ideal, but it’s not for forever. It’s temporary and for her own good. She’ll understand eventually. She loves me. She told me so once, and I’m determined to hear those sweet words again. I’ll do whatever it takes to get them.
Except letting her go.
I’ve never begged for anything in my life, not even for bread when I was starving. She’s the first one to bring me to my knees. Pressing my forehead against hers, I say raggedly, “Let me touch you, kiska. Please.”
A sob catches in her throat. She shakes her head, brushing our hair together. “This isn’t me, Alex. This isn’t who I am.”
I clench my fingers so hard my nails dig into the table. “Tell me what to fucking do.”
“If you can’t give me freedom, give me time,” she says, gripping my wrist and moving it away to break the cage of my arms. “I need time and space.”
When she ducks under my arm and slides from the table, I don’t stop her. When she runs from the room, all but fleeing from me, I don’t go after her. I don’t acknowledge how much it hurts that she treats me like an enemy. Instead, I go in search of a bottle of vodka and give her the time and space she wants.
7
California, the United States
Oleg Pavlov presses the phone to his ear and walks to the edge of the terrace where he’s out of earshot. He drums his fingers on the rail as he waits for the call to connect, inconspicuously checking to see if his bodyguards are in place. Assured that they’re in position, he takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes the sweat from his brow.
What is taking the assassin so long? Acid burns in his stomach. This fucking ulcer is going to kill him.
Finally, Bes picks up.
Oleg cuts straight to the chase. “What did you do?”