The mattress dips with his weight as he sits on the bed next to me, bending down so his mouth is less than an inch from my ear. “Girl, I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ll do what’s necessary to make sure you cooperate. I’m going to ask you one more time to show me your face before I put my hands on you and force you to.”
His warm breath feathers over my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. Much like his accent, his scent is foreign, a pungent mixture of exotic spices and formidable danger. My heart bangs frantically against my sternum as the reality of the situation seeps in. I know without a shadow of a doubt I’m going to die, so I decide to stay obstinate and make him work for it.
“Fuck you,” I croak into the sheet, grimacing at the painful rawness of my throat.
“Unbelievable,” he snarls, adding a word I can’t understand as he pushes off the headboard and returns to standing. He paces silently for a few moments, but stays close to the bed, his presence looming as I continue to conceal my face.
“I know you do not know me, but right now, you need to realize I’m the best friend you have.” The words are clipped with forced control as he restrains himself from reacting to my insubordinate behavior. “Show some respect and do what you are told. I mean you no harm, but I will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary to ensure that you cooperate,” he repeats.
He pauses briefly as something soft lands on the bed, brushing against my ribcage. “I’ve brought you some clothes to change into. I trust when I free you that you won’t do anything stupid to force me to tie you again. Now, I’m going to ask you for the last time to turn your head and look at me.”
The foreigner’s voice overflows with increasing irritation, and innately I know he’s not one to make idle threats. Ever so slowly, I twist my neck to the side and rest my cheek on the mattress. My dry, scratchy eyes are open, but I still refuse to meet his eyes as I stare at the blank white wall behind him. I’m hanging on to the tiny bit of courage and dignity I have left, refusing to submit completely.
Fully expecting him to yank me by the hair or to backhand me like Ish used to whenever I didn’t agree with something he said, I’m surprised when a burly chuckle escapes him, and without thinking, my inquisitive gaze cuts upward to his.
I gasp with surprise then quickly look away. Oh, shit. He’s huge. And scary.
“My reports said you were timid and docile, but I can see my investigators were fooled. Sassy and stubborn seem a bit more fitting.” He smirks while untying the knots of my restraints. “It’s a good thing I love a challenge.”
Determined not to let the warm smile tugging at the edges of his mouth lull me into thinking this man is a nice guy for any reason, I lower my freed arms to my sides, grimacing at the soreness in my biceps and shoulders from being suspended. Pushing myself up to sitting, I inspect the enflamed friction burns around my wrists and am reminded of my own self-destructive behaviors.
My life is a fucking mess. Good thing it probably won’t last much longer.
“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” I snap angrily as I glower up at him. “Just fucking kill me already and get this over with.”
“My name is Raze, and I want you to put some clothes on.” His piercing, icy blue gaze falls to my bare breasts momentarily before he lifts it back up to mine again. “I have no plans on killing you, girl, but if you don’t get dressed soon, I’m not going to be responsible for other things I may do with you.”
I snatch the folded, oversized white t-shirt from the bed where he tossed it minutes ago and quickly slip it over my head. Glancing down, he raises his eyebrows at the white lacy panties, which I recognize as the ones I had on when I was abducted, still atop the covers. Then, without me asking him to, he slowly turns around and steps a few feet away to give me a bit of privacy.
As he’s facing away from me, I contemplate jumping on his back, attacking him, and making an attempt to escape, but not knowing where in the world I am or how many others like him are waiting outside the door, I wisely stick to putting the panties on. If I have any chance of a getaway whatsoever, I need to make smart, well thought out decisions, not hasty, impetuous ones. Those will only get me killed . . . faster.
Even though I now have enough clothing on to cover me, I keep the blanket pulled up over my legs and chest as I sit cross-legged on the mattress. Once he senses I’m settled, he pivots around on his heel and locks his penetrating stare on me, the amused expression all but erased from his face.
Up until now, I’ve been too scared out of my mind to take a really good look at him other than his arresting eyes, and not that I’m relaxed or optimistic about the situation now, but I figure he didn’t bother with having me get dressed just to kill me in the next several minutes. So as he moves back toward the bed, I do a quick assessment of my captor, in the infinitesimal chance I may one day escape and need to describe him to authorities.
His straight, dirty blond hair is cut short in the back while the top is long and unruly, though it doesn’t strike me as the fresh-out-of-bed look. No, he’s just a man who doesn’t give a fuck and has more important stuff to do than waste time styling his hair. An angry, jagged scar starting right below his left brow zigzags down to his cheekbone, where it bleeds into the several-day-old stubble covering his sharp, angular jaw. He’s wearing a solid black long-sleeved Henley shirt, which I find odd, considering it’s summer in Southern California, paired with black pants that are tucked into heavy-duty, black military boots, all of it snugly fitting over his powerfully built body. He looks like an assassin. Striking . . . dangerous . . . oddly beautiful. Like an angel of death.
“I see your mind working on overdrive, girl, but you need to be patient. Everything will be revealed to you in due time,” he says as he leans against the bedframe, keeping a fair amount of distance between us.
“Where’s Emerson? What do you want with me?” I blurt out, ignoring his previous comments.
“I have no idea who Emerson is, and right now, I want you to shut up,” he retorts, shaking his head. He mumbles something else I can’t understand before adding, “Do you Americans ever just listen?”
“What language are you speaking? Who are you? Where am I?”
He holds his hand up in the air as he pinches his brows together. “Shut up!” he barks. “If you would shut the fuck up for one goddamn minute and let me talk, I’ll tell you what you need to know.”
Deciding it’s in my best interest to keep my mouth closed at this point, I press my lips into a straight line and tip my head toward him, indicating I’m finished with my outbursts. For now, at least.
“As I already told you, my name is Raze, and we are inside one of the many houses owned by my grandfather, Anatoli Kabinov, which is who’s currently waiting downstairs to see you.” Exhaling a deep breath, he pauses briefly, but keeps his intense stare locked on me. “Get ready, girl. You’re about to become the most important pawn in the biggest mafia war this country has ever seen.”
ALL MY SENSES ARE ON full alert as I follow Raze from the bedroom I’ve been held in, out to what seems like an ordinary house—well, what I assume is ordinary for Russian mafia warlords.
The room is at the end of a long hallway, the other doors are all closed as we pass by to a circular marble staircase that leads down to a grandiose foyer. The highest ceilings I’ve ever seen are framed with elaborate crown moldings and adorned with lavish chandeliers, while the floors are made up of what I assume to be rare, expensive tiles, meticulously laid out in intricate designs and color patterns. It looks more like a museum than a house.