Chapter 8

He holds the glass of water to my lips next, tilting it. I drink deeply, trying to chug. But he withdraws it, not letting me.

“Slowly. I’m not cleaning you up if you get sick.”

Right. I swallow the water and wordlessly open my mouth. He offers me a spoonful of the soup next. My lips close around the creamy tang of soup on my tongue. It’s as delicious as the bread. I’d assumed it came from a can.

His sky-blue gaze is fastened to my mouth, watching me with stern concentration. I think about how he would look at me if I were on my knees for him, his cock in my mouth instead of his spoon.

Still low, I decide. I need more food.

I’m tempted to ask him to dip the grilled cheese into the tomato soup. That’s the way Svetlana taught me to eat this comfort food combo when I was a kid. But I’m not going to push my luck.

He offers me another bite of sandwich. When his thumb grazes my lower lip, unwanted heat shoots through me. It’s as if every nerve ending in my body is suddenly concentrated in two places, my mouth and between my legs. If he’s affected by it, he doesn’t show so much as a hint. He just calmly sets the sandwich half back on the plate. Maybe it’s whatever he drugged me with that’s causing this side effect.

I chew and swallow, and we repeat the process until there are only crumbs on the plate and a few traces of red in the bowl, the glass of water still half full.

“Thanks,” I offer reluctantly as he takes the tray and stands. “You can untie my wrists now.”

He looks down at me. “No.”

My shoulders are already sore, and my fingers are starting to tingle.

“You can’t leave me this way.”

He stops to scoop up the half of sandwich I threw at him, saying nothing.

And then the bastard leaves again, the door slamming shut behind him.

I’m going to get out of here if it’s the last thing I do.

Scorpion

Staringup at the bright stars visible through the tracery of budding tree branches overhead, I take a long drag of my cigarette. I don’t smoke often, but for some reason, my men sent me a pack along with some staples fromZiaMaria and her pantry. Everything is hushed, the quiet like a vacuum, so perfect it doesn’t seem real. I’d never seen the sky—really seen the sky—until I found this place.

One of the things I love about this cabin is its remoteness. Far from the concrete and skyscrapers and city smog, distanced from honking horns and whirring trains and rumbling subway tracks and sidewalks thronged with crowds.

The other thing I love about it is the quiet.

Out here, there is no one for miles. Nothing but birds and bears and deer and the occasional wild turkey. There’s a rush in the silence, in being able to hear the wind in the trees, the hush of the leaves moving as one.

The wind picks up as I exhale, watching the smoke disappear into the moonlight.

Feeding her was a mistake.

Being so close, watching her mouth, her lips, telling her to open… Fuck. I don’t want to be attracted to Ekaterina Sidorova, especially since I don’t know what I’ll have to do with her yet, but that didn’t stop my dick from getting hard when she parted her lips like a sweet submissive ready for anything I gave her.

It was an act, I know that. There’s nothing sweet or submissive about the hellcat who is tied up in the cabin at my back. But apparently, my cock hasn’t gotten the memo. And not one single spoonful of soup went into her mouth without me thinking about feeding her something else.

That’s out of the question, of course. I can’t fuck Ekaterina Sidorova, even if I want to, which I don’t. Like I told her, feral Russian cats aren’t my type. I like my women sweet and seductive. The kind of woman who gets on her knees for you and then thanks you after she swallows your come. Ekaterina would be more likely to bite off my dick than suck it.

Besides, she’s a pawn in the game of chess we’re currently playing with the Bratva bastards who backstabbed us when they blew up one of our restaurants in the city and terrorized my brother Saint’s woman. No one fucks with the Andriani crew and gets away with it. For the last few years, my brothers, Priest, Saint, Lucky, and I have been running the Andriani family. We’ve built a name that’s feared and a power that’s untouched, and Priest uniting the Revello and Andriani families by marrying his wife solidified that.

We’ve been ruling the city. Up until Priest went on a belated honeymoon and shit hit the fan, that is. While we waited for Priest to return stateside, I played the only card we have right now, which was taking the new Pakhan’s sister hostage.

The cabin is the perfect spot to keep her and use her as the leverage we need. There’s no cell service and no way to trace either of us. I have to walk half a mile down the gravel drive to get to a clearing where I can check in with Saint via one of myburners. After I took that pic of Ekaterina looking murderous and bound on my floor, I walked to the spot to send it to her piece-of-shit brother before smashing the burner I used so the bastard can’t trace me.

All signs are pointing toward a war between us and the Bratva. As inconceivable as that was even a month ago, I’ve been raised in this life. I know how fleeting power and life can be. One day, you’re the don, and the next, you’re lying in the street in a pool of your own blood.

I’m not about to let that happen to any of my brothers. If it’s us or the Bratva, it’s going to be the fucking Bratva, and that includes the gorgeous Russian ballerina I left bound and chained to a bed she tore apart with her bare hands. She might be petite, with a dancer’s lithe body and feminine curves that are impossible to ignore, but she’s stronger than she looks.