Kat
The haunted quality in Adrian’s expression tells me he agrees. His inner conflict is so palpable, I can practically touch it. I honestly don’t know whether I surrendered to being put in a box because of the CBD gummies he gave me or because he practically begged me not to fight him.
The guy actually tried to seduce me into staying quiet.
He didn’t tryhe succeeded, I remind myself.
This experience is going to be ripe fodder for Dr. Delaney. We’ll be picking apart my Stockholm Syndrome for years, I’m sure.
The truth is, I was turned on by the “cage-time” scenario. Adrian’s got my number on that. That very fact alone would probably be reason enough for me to follow him onto a ship to America. Or jump off a cliff if he asked me to.
With him, I know satisfaction is possible. A resolution to the neediness that’s consumed me since I was sent away from home.
At that moment, the metal container we’re in bangs, and with a teeth-gnashing screech, the door swings open.
Adrian lunges for me, capturing me against his solid frame and covering my mouth with his hand.
A man stands in the doorway in a sweat-stained dirty shirt and a scruffy beard. He smells of stale alcoholthe kind that comes through the pores from the night before. He takes in the scene, his gaze lingering on my school-girl outfit and the way Adrian holds me captive, and it turns into a leer.
If I’d thought about recruiting help from himwhich, for the record, I hadn’tit would’ve died the moment I saw that leer.
The guy speaks to Adrian in Russiansomething about showing us our roomand Adrian grunts then propels me forward. We follow the guy onto the deck of a cargo ship. My stomach churns when I realize we’re already far from shore.
So much for pottery. Or history. Or my first decent grade point average. Looks like I really am going to America.
By ship.
Adrian speaks to the crew member, who tosses another leering look over his shoulder and replies.
We’re led down a flight of metal stairs to a small bunk room with one bed. Adrian pulls me inside and shuts the door before he releases me.
“Is this my new prison?” I look around the small room. It’s plain, but there’s a round sea window with a built-in seat beneath it. I climb up and lean my back against the frame, looking out the window at the water. With a good book, this could be a sweet little nook. I can pretend I’m on a yacht.
“Yes.” Adrian walks around the room exploring things. “Not bad,” he says. “Could be worse. At least we have a window.”
“Come up here with me,” I invite. To my delight, he does, hopping up and leaning his back against the opposite side, his long legs tangling over mine
“What about my cage though?” I pretend to pout. “You said I get a reward and cage time.” I’d been one part turned on, one part scared at the time. I can’t believe I let him put me in that box and never freaked out. I guess the gummies helped.
It would be easy to demonize Adrian for this, but I see the good in him. He’s trying hard to spare me from trauma. Maybe I’m being foolish and romantic, but part of me can’t help but believe he’s a hero trapped in a villain’s role.
Of course, it’s one he volunteered for.
Adrian sends me a feral grin. It’s the first smile I’ve really seen on him, and it makes him look boyish and devastatingly handsome. “I plan to occupy myself with nothing other than using and abusing you for the next two weeks.”
If he weren’t smiling, I would take it a totally different way, but instead, his words light a white-hot flame of desire in my core.
He grips my calf and slides his hand up and down my knee-high sock. For a moment, I pretend we’re dating. He’s my doting boyfriend, and this is our vacation on a cruise. The loving boyfriend I never had. Of course, I know nothing about Adrian Turgenev. Not what he does for a living nor the foods he likes. Not even his favorite TV show.
Adrian removes my shoes, tossing them one by one to the floor beside the single cot. He picks up my foot and starts massaging it.
“Feeling guilty?” I ask with a knowing smirk.
“Perhaps,” he says.
“You should.”
He accepts that as his due. “You deserve all the rewards now malyshka,” he tells me. “You were a very good girl.”
My breasts tighten at his words. Or maybe at his touch because the foot rub feels heavenly.
“What are the rewards?”
“Well, I’m not bad at giving foot rubs.” He’s working my foot with both hands now. He is actually amazing at it. But then I start wondering whose feet he rubs. Where he learned this talent. I want to murder every girl he ever seduced with that boyish smile and these firm thumbs working along the pads of my toes.
“Whose feet do you rub?” I ask, trying not to sound as jealous as I feel.
“I used to rub my mother’s,” he says. “She was sick with cancer, and it was something I could do for her.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Did…did she make it?”
“No.”
“How old were you when she died?
“I was fourteen. Nadia was just ten.”
“How old are you now?” I ask.
“Twenty-six.”
“What about your dad? Is he alive?”
Adrian gives a faint nod. “He’s a drunk. He started drinking when my mom was sick. Now he’s pretty much drunk all the time.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugs. “It is what it is.”
“I was nine when my mom disappeared,” I tell him.
Adrian frowns. “What do you mean disappeared?” His brows dip like he already knows the answer.
I shrug. “I like to think she ran away. But I don’t know. There are many things I don’t know about my father and what he’s capable of.”
I’ve never said it before out loud. Never voiced this horrific fear I have that he’s the reason she left not only me but possibly the planet.
“Kataryna,” Adrian says softly, his gaze filled with sympathy.
Tears pop into my eyes, and I quickly shake my head to send them away. “I knowpoor little rich girl, right? Everyone assumes the crime lord’s daughter is a pampered princess living a charmed life. But I’ll tell youit’s fucking lonely. I don’t have any friends in this world, Adrian, not even one.”
What am I doing? I can’t believe I’m throwing myself a pity party and inviting Adriana guy I would prefer to impress not embarrass myself withalong.
“That can’t be,” he asserts, his brown gaze intense, like he wants to make it true. Wants to convince me otherwise.
“It is true,” I tell him. “Why do you think I’m out making random connections with sweaty boys at a rave? Falling for a guy who’s holding me prisoner?”
Oops.
Oh my God, did I say that out loud?
I must be losing my mind.
Adrian stops breathing, his eyes wide and startled.
I wave a dismissive hand. “Kidding. I don’t mean that.”
A deep frown creases his face. “I’m here to use you. To hurt you, Kateryna.”
I fold my arms protectively over my chest and hunch my shoulders. “Yeah. I know. But I’m a masochist, so I kind of like it. It’s not a big deal.”
Adrian’s expression is nothing short of tortured. He stabs his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. I’m trying to make it a good hurt for you, Kat. But in the end…”
“In the end, someone has to die.”
“Not you,” he says quickly.
“I know.” My nose burns, and I rub it to push the tears away, looking out the porthole at the spray of grey-blue water outside.
“If I live, Kat,” Adrian begins.
I don’t want to look at him because it hurts too much, but I end up doing it anyway.
“I”
“What?” I croak.
“I mean, you wouldn’t want or need this, but”
“Just say it, Adrian.”
“I will take care of you.”
A strangled sound comes out of my throat, and I throw myself to the other side of the window seat, slamming my body into his. It’s not a hug or an embrace, but I fall into him in a fetal position, hunched on my side against his chest.
His strong arms band around me, and he draws in a shaky breath. I feel his lips on the top of my head.
“I don’t want you to,” I say in a watery voice. It’s both true and not true.
I’m actually horrified at how appealing his offer is to me. Do I really wish my father to be dead, so Adrian will have to take responsibility for me? Of course, he’s only offering it out of guilt and responsibility. He wants me to know I wouldn’t starve on the streets if he succeeds in his revenge.
He’s not saying he’ll marry me.
Be my sugar daddy.
Take me home. Well, maybe he would take me home. But I definitely should not be even remotely interested or excited by that prospect.
“Of course not,” he says gruffly against my hair. “But if you did…”
“You make a good bad guy.” I lift my wet face to peek at him and then tuck into his neck, where I kiss his skin. He smells of pine and leather. Strength and resolve. Kindness and courage.
“Maybe I’ll kill you,” I murmur against his skin, just because I think I should be fighting, and I know how absurd it is that I’m not.
He cradles the back of my head. I put my hair back in braids last night when it was wet, and he flicks one of the braids off my shoulder. “You probably will,” he murmurs back.