“If you think he’s pissed at me, I’m nervous for you,” Dimitri tells me as he opens the door to Mikhail’s house.
I don’t say anything because he’s right. When the car pulled up to the side of the road and Dimitri threw himself out, I knew I’d fucked up. How did he find me? Not a fucking clue.
I step over the threshold from my freedom into imprisonment. The sun casts a shadow across Mikhail’s face. He sits on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees.
Dimitri pushes my back, and I stumble closer to the man whose expression looks beyond pissed. He nods, and Dimitri slams the door behind me. Alone in the room with Mikhail, I shudder at the echo it sends through the apartment.
“Mikhail,” I start.
“Don’t.” He runs a hand across his jaw. “You don’t fucking talk.”
Out of all the times I’ve pissed him off, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this mad. There are many things I’d like to say, but I have no idea how far his anger will take him. I know he’s respectful to an extent, but there’s no way to describe the shift in the room’s atmosphere now. So instead I listen to him, not saying a word.
“Christ, Sloane.” He pushes himself off the couch and walks toward me as he rolls up his sleeves. “You’re the reason shampoo bottles have directions. How many fucking times do I need to remind you to stay put?” I back away from him slowly till I’m stopped by the wall against my back. Mikhail’s eyes darken as he inches closer. I bite down on my tongue to refrain from saying something I’ll regret.
Then he wraps his hand around my throat. Not tightly, but enough to bring my face close to his. His thumb traces the outline of my lips as he tilts my head to the side. “If you ever. Fucking. Leave. Again, there is not a person in this world who could save you from me.”
I slam my eyes shut. His threats make my legs shake. “I won’t—” I try to speak, but he shuts me up.
“I need your eyes and your ears, not your fucking mouth,” he rasps.
My skin ignites at his touch. I should hate this feeling. I should hate how demanding he is of me, but I thrive on it.
It’s toxic.
When I look up at him, he clenches his jaw, grabbing my face between his hands. He pulls my head closer to his and crashes his lips into mine, his kisses full of hate.
I kiss him back, moving my tongue past his lips and letting it glide against his. He groans into my mouth, picking me up off my feet. I wrap my legs around his back. His large hands touch me everywhere in an attempt to claim my body as his own.
“Fuck these clothes,” he says, letting out his pent-up frustration.
With his lips still on mine, he walks over to the couch and throws me into the cloud of pillows. I sit up and reach for the hem of the top I’m wearing to pull it off, but he takes over and does it for me. He pulls my pants down my legs by the ankles, and in only a matter of minutes I’m stripped completely naked while he remains fully dressed.
Mikhail lowers himself down onto my body till his mouth is near my bare pussy. His hands grab my ass so hard I know there’ll be marks left in their place.
The moment his tongue runs against my clit, I’m overwhelmed by everything that is Mikhail. I squirm under him, but he forces me back down.
“I could come from the taste of you alone.” He puts a finger in me and then sticks it in his mouth.
His words are filthy. He can talk about how much he hates it when I do things he doesn’t like, but I know he’s lying. He gets off on it. He likes to teach me lessons, and I don’t mind learning.
I need to feel him inside me again. “Fuck me,” I plead.
“Ask me nicely,” he demands.
“Please,” I beg.
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me.”
Once I tell him what he wants to hear, he unbuckles his belt and takes it out of the loops. “Gladly.” His voice is dark. He pulls down his pants to below his waist.
I could look at his body all day and not get bored. I tug at the bottom of his shirt, and he takes it off quickly. Beneath all his tattoos he’s built of muscle.
Mikhail grabs onto my hand to lift me up and flip me over so I’m on all fours with my back arched, leaving my ass in the air. He doesn’t give me a warning before shoving his dick deep inside me in a single thrust. I grab onto a pillow and bite down. Mikhail is huge, and it takes some adjusting. His hands grab onto my hips as he slams into me fast.
He knows every inch of my body. I’m already close to my climax. It’s everything about him. Every touch of his skin makes me wetter. His words elicit an eagerness I never knew it was possible to feel.
“You’re doing so well,” he praises in my ear.
Mikhail switches positions many times, throwing me around. He fucks me hard, panting as he stares down at me. It’s rough, and at times I can’t breathe, but I don’t want him to stop. He isn’t holding back, and I’m glad. I want him to fuck me with his anger.
My legs straddle him as he sits upright on the couch. His hands run down my back as I ride him. A burning sensation overpowers me, and I cry out. I don’t even have to try to come with him—it’s inevitable.
I press my forehead to his as he holds my hips still.
“Fuck,” he says as his release drips out of me.
I can feel his heart racing against my bare chest. I want to hold him in my arms and make him forget why he’s angry.
“I’m sorry I left,” I say. My ears drown in the quiet that surrounds us.
He looks up at me, but that only lasts for a moment before his jaw hardens. I shouldn’t have apologized; I just reminded him where his anger came from. Reaching my arms behind me, I put my clothes back on quickly.
Mikhail pulls his pants up so they’re resting on his waist. Walking over to the kitchen, he picks out a bottle of water from the fridge. Screwing the cap off the bottle, he starts to take sips, his Adam’s apple rolling with each one.
Walking back in, he leans into me so his chin is against the side of my head.
“Try that shit again and I’ll lock you in that room.”
His anger radiates through my blood, causing my skin to burn. I suck in a deep breath of air when he gathers my hair in his hands and pulls my neck back.
“If you think for a goddamn second I’m sharing you with the world, you’re mistaken. You are mine now. If you decide to play nice, maybe I will too.”
His arms pull away. His fingers brush his lips as he turns and walks toward the hallway, the darkness in his eyes telling me I crossed the line.
I spend the rest of the day rummaging through all of Mikhail’s things. I know he’d be even more pissed if he found out I was doing this. He probably even has cameras hidden in random corners of the house, but I’m doing it anyway.
His computer is locked, and so is the safe shoved underneath his desk. There are stacks of papers with building layouts. None of that interests me—I just want to find something against him. I want a reason to fight him back, something that will get him to listen. He can’t be the only one in charge.
If he didn’t want me to be snooping, then he should be here to keep me from doing it.
The thing about Mikhail is that whenever he gets frustrated, he bolts. He just leaves me, and I become bored. It’s an invitation for me to do things I shouldn’t—like opening the briefcase next to his desk.
Undoing the thick strap that latches onto the middle of the bag, I see files upon files categorized alphabetically. My fingers brush past many of them until I see a file with my name on it.
I stare at it just as I once did with the diamond chain. I want to take it and read through everything in the file, but what good would that do?
I have to.
Letting out a scoff, I lift the file out and place it on the ground. Holding my breath, I open it but come to a stop when I see nothing inside.
“What?” I ask myself.
Grabbing the bag, I look for others. Dimitri, Lev, Max, Giovanni—they all have novels’ worth of pages inside, but I don’t have a single one. Here I thought Mikhail had an unhealthy obsession with knowing every single little thing about me . . .
Unless he doesn’t want anyone else to know what he has on me.
I scramble to put everything back, suddenly nervous Mikhail is aware of what I’m doing. Just as I’m about to put the bag where I found it, I see a small white envelope tucked inside the side pocket.
Is that what I think it is?
Reaching for it slowly, I see it’s stamped for Mikhail. It even has his name on it in handwriting that looks familiar.
It’s unopened. There are small marks on the surface that make the paper appear wrinkled. It’s almost as if the marks were made by tear stains. Does Mikhail not know about anything because he wasn’t ready to open the letter?
I hear the front door click closed and feel my heart pounding in my chest. Shoving the letter in the waistband of my pants, I rush over to the hallway as quickly as I can so whoever is here doesn’t see I was in Mikhail’s office.
As I walk down the hall, I see the man himself taking his suit jacket off and placing it on the counter. He doesn’t care to acknowledge that I’m standing on the other side staring at him. His hands run down his face, though not in frustration. It’s almost as if he’s relaxed and happy to be home.
His elbows rest on the surface and his thumb brushes over his chin. “Moya malenkaya koldunya?” he calls for me.
“Yeah?” I ask, growing used to the small acts of affection he shows me.
“What have you been doing today?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.
I walk over to him, placing my arms around his shoulders. He grabs onto my hand and kisses the top gently. “Spying on you,” I answer honestly.
He turns around, pulling my body in between his legs. “Good,” he says. I become hesitant as soon as I remember what lies in the waistband of my pants.
He smiles, reaching for his jacket. “Where are you going?” I ask, suddenly nervous of him leaving me here again.
“My niece has a ballet recital in the city.”
“Can I come?” I ask.
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh—” I begin to say, but I stop myself. “Why not?”
“Your erratic behavior.”
My mouth falls open. “Are you joking?”
“Yes.”
His hand lifts to the side of my face and he places his lips against mine. I kiss him back even though I’m slightly irritated with him. It’s strange to see him so calm after what happened earlier today.
“Go get ready,” he tells me, and I lean away from him with a smile on my face.
Once I’m changed, I place the letter in one of the dresser drawers. I meet him downstairs, and he leads me into the garage. When he opens the passenger door for me, I climb into the G-Class. He gets in and sits behind the wheel, turning on the engine. Turning his body to face mine, his hand moves behind the seat I’m sitting in and he backs out of the driveway.
Soft music plays through the speakers while Mikhail drives to the city. With his eyes focused on the road, he reaches his hand over and grabs onto my thigh. The veins in his hand stick out when he tightens his grip slightly.
I look over at him and notice he doesn’t look as intimidating as he usually does. His thick brows aren’t pinched, and his lips lift into a small smirk.
His long legs leave the space he sits in to appear small.
“Your niece—what’s her name?” I ask, wanting to know more about his family.
“Alyna,” he says with a smile. “This world isn’t big enough for the spirit she has.”
I lean in closer to him, wrapping my hand around his bicep. “She’s energetic?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “She’s like a carbon copy of my sister. She’s got enough spirit to take over the world if she wanted to.”
Hearing the way he speaks about his family brings a smile to my face. He isn’t scared to admit how much he loves and cares for them. I think he would have been afraid to tell me anything about his family a few weeks ago—but now he feels comfortable enough to talk.
The calm aura that surrounds me and Mikhail has an expiration date—that I know for a fact. So, while the moment slips past me quickly, I grab onto everything and enjoy it while it lasts.
Seeing Mikhail content feels like a breath of fresh air.
Just as I thought, the drive is quick. Mikhail turns into a parking lot where hundreds of cars are lined up and drops me off at the main entrance. The building is large, much bigger than I expected it to be. While I wait at the steps, Max, Lev, and Dimitri walk up with a woman beside them.
“Sloane, thank you for coming,” Dimitri says with a huge smile as he steps back, putting his arm around the woman. “This is my wife, Anya.”
Anya.
She looks different from how she was described to me in the past. Not only is she beautiful, but she smiles with her eyes—a rare, undeniable look of happiness. She shines brightly from the outside just as much as she would from the inside.
Her hair is dark black, almost taking on the appearance of silk. The green in her eyes is subtle but stands out against her fair complexion. Her cheekbones are high—dominant even. She looks nothing like Mikhail, though I didn’t expect her to since they’re not related by blood.
She watches me and I see her lips purse. She wants to speak to me alone, I can tell by the way she scans her surroundings. “Hi,” she says, throwing herself into my arms. “They’re starting soon—we should get inside!”
Grabbing onto my arm, she places a small piece of paper in my hand and closes my fingers around it.
Feeling the paper in my hand makes me want to break out with sweat. I can’t open it right now, and that drives me crazy.
With Anya still holding onto me, we walk through the double doors and enter a large room filled with red seats and dimmed lighting. As we walk down the path, I think about the things I’ve found that were hers. The books, the roses, the piano.
“Is there a story? Behind the flowers, I mean.”
“Flowers?”
“Yeah. There were a bunch of them in a drawer on the boat. And Mikhail has a rose tattoo—I was just wondering if there’s meaning behind them.”
Anya is silent for a moment. “He got you flowers? What color are they?”
“Red?” I say like a question.
“Shit. Yeah. When I was little, I would walk home from school and there was this older woman who had gorgeous flowers in her garden. Every day without fail, she would give me one to take home. Her garden started to get bare because I took all of them. For years I wondered how I was still getting flowers every day when there were none in her yard. Then, one day, I got off school early and saw Mikhail giving her a bunch of flowers. I hid behind a wall because I didn’t want him to find out that I knew. He didn’t want me to know. But he saw me and acted as if he didn’t. That went on for so long, but now he just gives them to me himself.”
I can’t help but smile the entire time she’s talking. “That is a really nice story,” I admit to Anya.
“It is. But he only ever got me white roses. He’s never given anyone a red rose. Our dad told us red roses should be saved for someone you love deeply.”
Her words eat at my bones. She’s able to tell me how Mikhail feels for me without our whole story. What he feels for me won’t last long.
“Here,” Anya says as we walk to the front row and take a seat. Max takes a seat next to me, leaving the seat on the other side of me open for Mikhail.
Far in the back is the stage. Thick black curtains hang low, covering the entire stage.
The voices that surround me all sound muffled as everyone tries to keep their voices down. Mikhail comes around the corner and Anya springs into his arms. He holds her for a long hug before taking a seat next to me. He grabs my hand and holds onto it.
I look at him, wondering why he’s all of a sudden being so affectionate. Just as I’m about to ask him what’s going on, all the lights turn off except one: the stage light.
“Once Upon a Dream” by Invadable Harmony begins to play through the surround sound, and the curtains slowly open.
Leaning out of my chair slightly, I watch all four of the men almost shapeshift. The strong, muscular—and terrifying—men all sit back and watch the show with the grandest of smiles across their faces that normally lack all emotion.
My hand lifts to my mouth so I can hold back my laugh. It’s extraordinary.
“That’s her, the one on the right with the pink leotard,” Mikhail whispers in my ear, pointing his finger. He doesn’t notice they’re all in pink leotards because he only sees her, but he’s right. Anyone could pick her out in a crowd.
Alyna’s arms are held above her body while she jumps on her toes. Her body sways with each musical chime as if it were as easy as breathing.
Her hair is blonde with hints of brown. Her expression changes from a focused look to a smile every few seconds. I can tell being on the stage is easy for her, not scary. The stage is full of many dancers, though everyone sitting near me is only watching her.
The little girl has all of them wrapped around her tiny finger, and I can’t think of anything more ironic.
Alyna looks young, but I have a hunch she’ll be growing up with ballet. The stage and her shoes will be the only things she’ll want in life—I can tell by how elegant she is. The blisters, sores, and calloused feet will soon prove beauty is pain. But she doesn’t show it—not even for a second—because she loves it.
Her arms link with others around her while they spin in a circle. When the music dies down, they all form a line and bow at the same time.
All four of the men stand from their chairs and scream for Alyna. Mikhail’s hands cup his mouth when he cheers for her more.
She sees him and waves nonstop with a cheeky grin.
Mikhail tilts his head and blows her a kiss. Alyna catches the imaginary kiss with her hands and shapes a heart with her fingers.
Turning to the side so Mikhail can’t see me, I unfold the note.
We need to talk.
I quickly crumple the paper in my hands and turn to see Anya. She keeps her expressions to a minimum, but when her eyes lift slightly to the side of the aisle, I can tell this is her way of trying to talk to me in private.
“I’ll just be a moment,” I tell Mikhail as I rise from my seat. “I’m going to use the restroom.”
His jaw clenches. “Be quick,” he tells me, and I move past him.
