The back of my neck prickles at the memory of his lips on me last night, exploring every inch of my skin. He fucked me on the classroom counter, and when he walked me to my car, he held my hand. He kissed me on the lips, and he told me good night like it was the date he’d planned all along.
It could’ve been an act, and I have a feeling I’ll never know. What I do know, though, is I’m an idiot for not resisting him. I’m an idiot for caring about him and letting him use me. I’mdefinitelyan idiot for not telling him to leave when he came to my classroom. He betrayed me, tricked me, and in a matter of an hour, he had me melting into goo and believing him again.Wantinghim again.
Hell, I want himright now.
A blond man with pretty blue eyes comes toward me, and I stiffen.
“Alexa?” he asks when he’s close enough. I manage a nod, and he holds out his hand. “Come with me.”
I take his hand and he guides me in front of him. He presses into the small of my back and urges me toward a staircase at the edge of the warehouse. It’s dark and musty and leads down to a dark hallway that sends chills through my arms as soon as my feet touch the ground.
I slow my walk, and Pretty Eyes pushes me gently.
“Mr. Petrov is waiting,” he says with an urgency that has my steps quickening.
We reach a sliding metal door at the end of the hallway, and the man steps in front of me to open it.
The odor that hits my nostrils makes me miss the sweat and smoke, and my hand flies to cover my nose and mouth. A shriek grates my ears with a knife, and my best guess is it belongs to a dying animal. I cringe.
I step into the room after the man and drop my hand from my mouth when I see Nikita. He isn’t facing me, nor does he acknowledge my presence. He’s too busy with the man in front of him, hanging from cuffed wrists attached to a chain dangling from the ceiling. He’s eye level with Nikita, and his body is slouched forward while he wails.
“Please,” he says with blood trickling out of his mouth. His teeth are stained red.
My lungs have stopped pulling in air, and I’m no longer bothered by the smell. It’s like my senses have become overwhelmed, and my brain refuses to process the information. I can’t take my eyes off the man. I want to scrub my eyes of his image, but I still can’t look away. I’m frozen.
“I’m going to ask you again, James, and I want you to think carefully. Take your time, I’m in no hurry. Now, who did you—”
“I swear to you, I don’t—”
Nikita punches the man in the jaw, and his face whips to the side. Blood sloshes from the man’s mouth, and he cries out, sobbing.
“Don’t interrupt me, James,” Nikita says, his voice steel. He keeps it low and controlled, and it’s more terrifying than if he screamed along with the man. “What did he look like?”
“He was ordinary, I fucking swear! He had a buzz cut and light brown hair. That’s all I remember.”
“And you’re sure he was Russian?”
“Yes,” James wails.
My eyes tear away from James’s face to examine the rest of him. At first, I don’t notice the way his legs are bent at odd angles. It takes seeing his feet limp and dragging on the floor like he has no control of them to spot that something isn’t right with his bottom half. His jeans are stained red at his kneecaps, and the sledgehammer leaned against the wall comes into my consciousness.
Bile rises up my throat, and I swallow it down. My stomach does somersaults like it’s an Olympic gymnast, and my head spins. The smell of blood comes back with a vengeance.
“Did he have an accent? Did he have any tattoos? Details, James, details!”
“He had an accent.”
“Was it thick? Or more American? Was he old or young? How tall?”
“Not thick. Maybe thirties. Average height.”
“Defineaverage, you fucking imbecile.”
“Around my height. 5’11’’.”
“And you’ve never seen him before?”
“Never.”