Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
As I kneaded deeply, I pressed my mouth to her nape. “Your father could’ve gone to the cops.” Says the man whose thoughts had grown dark and murderous.
Instead of calling me out for sounding like a numpty, she said something under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing … uh …I hired a hacker to check the surveillance footage at the Thai place where I parked. Turns out, the cheap company never installed surveillance. I figured, what would the cops do? Dust my car for prints? He wore gloves.”
“The doctors have … kits for this. I would’ve stood by your side.” I scrubbed the heels of my palms into my eyes. Too late to offer that, Lach.
“Relieve my shame while some rando poked and prodded me?”
“I would’ve—”
“I’ll vomit if you claim you would have been there.” She shook her head, sighed as if trying to ground herself.
“Natasha, you carry the shame of what someone else did to you.”
“I wonder if he’s done this before. Will he do this again? I questioned who his parents were. The chances that they were bratva or a criminal syndicate—” She cut herself off.
“You’re saying it was a low chance his parents led a deep life of crime.” Squeezing her tighter, I glanced down at her, needing to know why. Why had no one paid for what they’d done?
“Yeah, I figured the guy wasn’t related to the mob. Like us.” Natasha’s breathy sigh fanned the heated skin at my chest. “He could’ve had a momma or abuelita always on their knees, praying for him. I couldn’t take that chance.”
“Tash, you’ve taken on too many roles.”
Natasha stood. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for ruining our vaca—”
“Na—”
“I’m going to bed.” She started for the adjoining door.
“Natasha?”
“What?” Slowly, she turned around and sighed. “Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“Got it.” She nodded, turning away again.
“Don’t go.”
“It’s probably for the best, Lach.”
“I’ll go.” I casually rose, like her sleeping alone was no big deal. Tonight of all nights.
Then she glanced around and seemed to realize we were in her room. Self-conscious embarrassment bloomed up her chest and into her cheeks.
I strolled toward her, wanting to single-handedly fight her discomfort, her rapist, her high school bullies. Wanting to gie it laldy—give it my all—to make her content.
People wanted to be happy. Satiate issues. Like scratching the itch you get deep down inside when you crave sex and indulge. Or sating yourself after a hard workout. I wanted Natasha Resnova more than happy.
Content.
However, she seemed ashamed, in addition to sharing her most horrific experiences.
Please don’t make me leave tonight, sweetheart. I scratched the back of my neck. “These rooms are identical.” I bent my head low to kiss what she offered, the slight curve of her mouth into a sheepish grin. “So is this good night, Tash?”
She sighed. “If I ask you to make me forget my past, would you?”
Aye. Damn, right. But she’d made a vow to herself. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re waiting until you get married.”
Natasha cackled. “Don’t quote me.”
“You texted me that when I sent the address to the Waldorf Astoria.”
“How was I to know you’d created me, my very own gallery? Your video was on my mind. Shoot me.”
“So you saw my video?”
“No.”
“Every minute of it?”
“Lach, keep at it. I will deck you!”
I reached down and grabbed the back of her knees, lifting her over my shoulders. Too easy.
I planned on torturing her all night.
Myself included. Just a different method from the first couple of nights we slept together.
I’d try to tickle her crazy so my thoughts didn’t pulverize my heart for failing her that night. Should’ve stayed instead of leaving to take my agent’s call. Wasn’t thinking with my head that night. I’d thought some grand gesture, like rose petals on the floor, at my apartment would get her undressed for me. I was so stupid. I should’ve been there.
17
VASSILI
I dropped the conditioning ropes at Vadim’s Gym, a short huff leaving my chest. Just a short one. Inside, my heart hammered ribs, the same as when I was twenty and every UFC fighter wanted to break me.
Vassilievich pumped the heavy ropes for a few minutes, sweat glistening, a cocky grin plastered on his face as if he’d won.
Arms folded, I waited for his ropes to slap the wood floor. “You done?”
“Da.” He winked.
“Not bad.”
“Nyet. Not bad is you,” he said. “I’m better.”
I snorted. “I did five more minutes at your age.”
He rolled his eyes. Instantly, I gazed into a mirror, reflecting arrogance and youth. To be that age again.
“Whatever.”
“Do not,” I growled, stepping closer, “ ‘Whatever’ me, Vassilievich.”
He squared his shoulders. “What. Ever.”
I lashed out, palm up. He blocked, quick. Khoroshiy. His counter hook grazed my ribs. I caught his wrist, twisted. He ducked under, sweeping my leg. Halfway down, my forearm locked against his throat, forcing him against the floor. His grunt was sharp, frustrated.
“If you wanted to fight, Vass, we could’ve hit the cage.”