I run until my lungs burn and my legs shake with exhaustion. The storm hits harder now, rain driving down in sheets that soak through my dress in minutes and turn the forest floor into a treacherous maze of mud and fallen branches. Every step is agony without shoes, which was one aspect of my escape plan I never managed to find a solution for, but I keep moving because stopping means giving up, and I’m not ready to do that.
The keycard I lifted from his belt when he leaned close is still in my hand in case I need it to access a gate. This property surely has a huge fence, though I haven’t seen it yet. I can’t see much through the rain, save for the moments when lightning flashes across the sky.
I think about the moment he almost kissed me, when his guard was completely down and all his attention was focused on my mouth. That’s when I moved. Desperation made it possible to suppress the desire flooding through me, and I snatched it when I had a chance.
Now I’m free, but freedom in the middle of nowhere during a thunderstorm with heavy rain doesn’t feel like victory. It feels like trading one kind of death for another.
Thunder crashes overhead, and lightning illuminates the forest in stark, terrifying detail. I have no idea how far I’ve come or how much farther I need to go to reach the highway. My bare feet are torn and bleeding from roots and rocks, and the cold is starting to settle deep in my bones.
Still, I keep running because the alternative is going back to that beautiful prison and pretending I don’t feel something dangerous building between us every time he looks at me. I saw the way he stared at my mouth, and the hunger in his eyes mirroring mine. Staying means losing myself completely.
The sound of an engine cuts through the storm like a blade.
I freeze, pressing myself against the trunk of a massive pine tree and listening to the low rumble growing closer. Headlights sweep through the trees ahead of me, and I realize I haven’t been running in circles. I’ve been heading straight for the road as I’d planned.
Too late, though, because he’s found me.
The black SUV stops fifty yards away, engine idling, and its headlights cutting through the rain. I can’t see him through the windshield, but I know he’s there.
Waiting.
Watching.
I could run deeper into the forest and try to lose him in the darkness and the storm, but my body is already at its limit, and I won’t make it much farther in these conditions.
The driver’s door opens, and he steps out into the rain.
Even through the storm, in the darkness, he moves with the kind of predatory grace that makes my breath catch. He doesn’t hurry or call out threats or demand I come back. He just walks toward my hiding spot with the calm certainty of someone who knows exactly how this is going to end.
I break cover and run.
It’s pointless, we both know it, but some stubborn part of me refuses to make this easy for him. If he wants me back, he’s going to have to work for it.
My bare feet slip on wet leaves, and I go down hard, scraping my palms against rough bark as I try to catch myself. Before I can get back up, strong hands close around my arms and haul me to my feet.
I spin around to face him, expecting anger or threats or the cold fury I saw in his eyes when he first brought me to the safehouse, and I denied being Irina. Instead, I see something that looks almost like relief.
“You’re bleeding.” His voice is quiet, but there’s something underneath it that makes me regret running from him.
I feel… guilty.
I look down at my hands, at the cuts from rocks and thorns, and the blood mixing with rain. “I’m fine.”
“You’re hypothermic.”
He’s right. I’m shaking so hard I can barely stand, and my lips feel numb. The adrenaline that carried me this far is starting to fade, leaving nothing but bone-deep exhaustion and the kind of cold that settles in your marrow.
He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t lecture me about the stupidity of running or threaten me with punishment for stealing his keycard. Instead, he shrugs out of his coat and wraps it around my shoulders, and the gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that it breaks something inside me.
“Don’t.” I try to push away the coat, but my hands are shaking too badly to be effective. “Don’t be nice to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes this harder.”
Something flickers in his expression, pain or maybe understanding. “Makes what harder?”
“Hating you.”
He’s quiet for a long moment as rain runs down his face and soaks through his sweater. “Do you hate me?”
The honest answer is no. I should hate him. He kidnapped me, held me prisoner, and threatened my life. But what I feel is far more complicated and dangerous than hate. “I want to.”
“But you don’t.”
It’s not a question, and I don’t answer it. Instead, I let him guide me back to the SUV, help me into the passenger seat, and sit quietly while he turns up the heat until the warmth starts to penetrate the cold settled in my bones.
The drive back to the safehouse passes in silence. I stare out the window at the storm-lashed forest and try to figure out what happens now. He caught me and is bringing me back. The escape attempt failed, which means I’m exactly where I started, except now he knows I’m capable of more than he thought.
The knowledge should terrify me, but instead, it feels almost like relief. No more pretending to be helpless. No more playing the victim and hoping he’ll take pity on me. We both know I’m a woman willing to risk everything for freedom.
The question is what he plans to do about it.
Back in my room, my prison, he locks the door and turns to face me. His dark hair is still damp from the rain, and his sweater clings to his chest in a way that makes it hard to concentrate on anything else.
“Give me the keycard.”
I reach into the pocket of his coat and pull out the stolen card, holding it out to him. Our fingers brush when he takes it, and the contact is like an electric shock.
“How long were you planning this?”
“Since I realized I was going to die here. If you believe I’m Irina, you’ll kill me. If you accept I’m Sabrina, you’ll still kill me as a loose end you have to address.”
He winces slightly but doesn’t address that. “And the pickpocketing?”
Heat rises in my cheeks. “Since you leaned close and I realized you were distracted. I’ve been looking for an opening, expecting it to come from the guard who brings my meals, not you.”
His mouth curves into something that might be a smile if there was any humor in it. “Distracted by what?”
I don’t answer. We both know what distracted him, just like we both know this conversation is heading somewhere dangerous.
“You could have killed yourself out there.”
I shrugged. “Better than waiting for you to do it.”
“I would never hurt you.”
The words come out quiet and fierce, and there’s something in his voice that makes me believe him despite everything. “You kidnapped me.”
“I thought you were someone else.”
I arch a brown. “And now?”
“Now, I know you’re exactly who you said you are.”
I stare at him, trying to process what that means. “So you’ll let me go?”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “I can’t.”
I nod slowly. “Because I’ve seen too much.” He’ll either keep me alive as a prisoner, or he’ll have one of his men kill me if he truly can’t bring himself to do it.
“Because I don’t want to,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
The admission makes me blink and second-guess my confidence that I’m going to die here. He takes a step closer, and I should back away. I should put distance between us before this goes any farther. Instead, I stand my ground and watch something hungry and desperate flicker in his gray eyes. “This is insane.”
“Probably.”
“You’re holding me prisoner.” I mean to sound accusatory, but it sounds almost… seductive when the words emerge.
“Yes.”
I lick my lips. “I should be trying to escape again.”
His smile appears more sincere this time. “Yes.”
“Instead, I’m standing here wanting you to touch me.” The words slip out before I can stop them, and the moment they’re in the air, everything changes. The careful distance we’ve been maintaining shatters, and suddenly, he’s right in front of me, his hands framing my face.
“Say that again.”
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Which part?”
“The part about wanting me to touch you.”
“I want you to touch me.” The words come out as a ragged whisper. “Even though I shouldn’t. Even though this is crazy.”
He leans closer, his forehead resting against mine, and tension radiates from him like heat. “If we do this, everything changes.”
I stare into his eyes. “Everything already changed the moment you took me.”
“Sabrina.” He says my name like a prayer, and something inside me crumbles at the sound of it. It’s the first time he’s called me anything besides Irina.
“What’s your name?” I reach up and touch his face, feeling the rough stubble along his jaw. “Your real name.”
“Nikandr.”
“Nikandr.” I test the syllables, liking the way they feel on my tongue. “That’s Russian.”
“Yes.”
“Is that what you are? Russian?”
“Among other things.” His accent bleeds through more noticeably with those words.
I want to ask what other things, to understand who he really is and what he does and why he was looking for a woman who disappeared ten years ago, but those questions can wait. Right now, all I care about is the way he’s looking at me like I’m something precious and dangerous and completely irresistible. “Kiss me, Nikandr.”
He doesn’t need to be asked twice. His mouth crashes into mine, hungry and desperate and nothing like the careful restraint he’s shown since bringing me here. I kiss him back with equal ferocity, pouring three days of fear and anger and unwanted attraction into the connection between us.
His hands slide into my hair, holding me exactly where he wants me, and I melt against him with a soft sound that might be surrender. He tastes like danger and possibility, like everything I should want to run from and everything I can’t resist.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard, and there’s something wild in his eyes that makes my pulse race. “This is a bad idea,” I manage.
He nods. “Terrible idea.”
“We should stop.”
“Probably.” He rests his forehead against mine instead.
Neither of us moves to put distance between us as he traces his thumb along my lower lip, and I part my mouth automatically, drawing the digit between my teeth.
The sharp intake of his breath is all the encouragement I need. I bite down gently, then soothe the pressure with my tongue and watch his control fracture in real time.
“Fuck…” The word comes out rough and desperate. “Sabrina.”
“I’m right here.”
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” He sounds like I’m torturing him.
I press closer, letting him feel every curve of my body against his. “Show me.”
That’s all it takes. His control snaps completely, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, skimming along my ribs, and sliding down to cup my ass and pull me even closer. The kiss turns desperate, all teeth and tongue and barely contained need.
I can feel his cock against my hip, hard and insistent, and the knowledge that I affect him this way sends heat pooling low in my pussy. I roll my hips against him experimentally, and his groan vibrates against my mouth.
“Christ, you’re going to kill me.”
“Good.” I nip at his lower lip, enjoying the way his hands tighten on me. “You deserve it.”
He laughs against my mouth, the sound dark and full of promise. “You want to make me suffer?”
“Maybe.”
“Then you’re going to love what I have planned for you.”
Before I can ask what he means, he’s lifting me, and my legs automatically wrap around his waist as he carries me toward the bed. He sets me down gently, like I’m something fragile, then steps back to look at me.
“Last chance,” he says quietly. “Once we do this, there’s no going back.”
I reach for the hem of my dress, the same black cocktail dress I was wearing at the club three days ago, and pull it over my head in one smooth motion. His eyes go dark as he takes in the sight of me in nothing but black lace underwear, and I feel powerful in a way I haven’t since this whole nightmare started. “I don’t want to go back.”
He moves toward me with predatory grace, his hands going to the hem of his sweater. “Then we won’t.”
I watch him undress with growing hunger, taking in the sight of broad shoulders and muscled chest, along with the tattoos that snake across his ribs and disappear beneath the waistband of his jeans. I recall a movie I saw about the bratva, and how the tattoos mean things, like time in prison or one’s specialty when it comes to crime. There are stars on his chest, confirming he’s a bad man, but he makes me feel good. There’s a scar along his left shoulder that looks like it came from a knife, and another on his abdomen that speaks to a life of violence I can’t even imagine.
Right now, he’s not a dangerous man who kidnapped me. He’s just Nikandr, looking at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking his entire life.
He joins me on the bed, his weight dipping the mattress, and we’re kissing again. Slower this time and deeper, like we have all the time in the world to explore each other. His hands map the curves of my body with reverent attention, and everywhere he touches feels like it’s catching fire.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my throat, trailing his lips down to the hollow where my pulse is racing. “So fucking beautiful.”
I arch into his touch, fisting my hands in the sheets as he works his way lower. When his mouth closes over my nipple through the lace of my bra, I gasp and push closer, needing more contact.
He takes his time, lavishing attention on first one breast and then the other, until the lace is damp, and I’m squirming beneath him. Only then does he reach behind me to unclasp the bra, pulling it away to reveal me completely.
“Perfect.” The word is barely more than a breath against my skin. “Absolutely perfect.”
His mouth returns to my breast, this time with nothing between us, and I cry out at the sensation. He uses his teeth and tongue with devastating skill, alternating between gentle and demanding until I’m writhing beneath him.
“Nikandr.” His name comes out as a plea, and I feel him smile against my skin.
“What do you need?”
“More.”
“More what?”
“Everything. I need everything.”
He kisses his way down my body, pausing to nip at the sensitive skin of my ribs, to soothe the sting with his tongue. When he reaches the waistband of my panties, he looks up at me. “Can I taste you?”
The question makes heat pool in my slit, and I nod frantically. “Please.”
He slides the lace down my legs with agonizing slowness, caressing every inch of skin he reveals. When I’m finally naked beneath him, he settles between my thighs and looks up at me with something that might be worship.
The first touch of his tongue makes me arch off the bed, and a broken cry escapes my lips. He works me with patient skill, alternating between broad strokes and targeted pressure until I’m trembling on the edge of something incredible.
“Let go,” he says against my labia. “I’ve got you.”
The encouragement is all I need. I shatter completely, convulsing as waves of pleasure crash over me. He works me through it, holding my hips steady, until I’m boneless and gasping.
When I finally come back to myself, he’s kissing his way back up my body, and I taste myself on his lips when he claims my mouth.
“Thank—” I start, but he silences me with another kiss.
“We’re not done.”
He reaches for his jeans, and I watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he strips away the last barrier between us. He’s gorgeous—all lean muscle and controlled power—and the sight of his cock fully aroused makes my mouth go dry.
“Condom?” I ask.
He reaches into the nightstand drawer and produces a foil packet, and I take it from him with hands that are still shaking slightly.
“Let me.”
I tear open the packet and roll the latex down his shaft, enjoying the way his breath hitches at my touch. When I’m finished, he positions himself at my pussy and looks into my eyes. “You’re absolutely certain?”
Instead of answering with words, I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer. He enters me slowly, giving me time to adjust, and the sensation of being filled completely makes me gasp.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
“More than okay.”
He begins to move, setting a rhythm that has me clinging to his shoulders and gasping his name. Every thrust hits exactly the right spot, and I feel another climax building embarrassingly quickly.
“You feel incredible.” He groans against my ear. “So tight, so wet, and so perfect.”
“Harder.” The word slips out, and he responds immediately, snapping his hips against mine with increased force.
The new angle has me seeing stars, and I rake my nails down his back as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable peak.
“Come for me,” he commands, sliding his hand between us to find the bundle of nerves that sends me over the edge. “Let me feel you come around my cock.”
I shatter around him, my inner walls clenching as another orgasm tears through me. The sensation triggers his own release, and he buries his face in my neck as he follows me over the edge.
We collapse together, breathing hard, our bodies still joined. When he finally pulls away to dispose of the condom, I immediately miss the weight of him.
He returns to the bed and pulls me against his side, and I curl into his warmth with a contentment I haven’t felt in longer than I care to remember. “That was—” I start.
“Worth kidnapping you for?”
I laugh despite everything. “I was going to say incredible, but sure. Let’s go with that.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and for a moment, I can almost forget this started with him taking me against my will. I almost forget he’s still keeping me prisoner, and tomorrow, I’ll still be locked in this room with no way home.
Almost.
But not quite.
“What happens now?” I ask quietly.
“Now we sleep.”
“I mean after that. Tomorrow. Next week. What happens to me?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he’s not going to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is carefully controlled. “I don’t know.”
It’s not the answer I want, but it’s honest, and somehow, that’s enough for now. I close my eyes and let myself drift, held safely in the arms of the man who destroyed my life and then put it back together in ways I never could have imagined.
