cacoëthes
(n.) an urge to do something inadvisable
MILA
Head resting against the window, I stared past the spiderwebs of frost on the glass. Moonlight cast a blanket of silver over the snow, and the frozen wasteland glittered like diamonds.
From my vantage point, it felt like I was a princess locked in a tower. Held captive by a monster who shot men in the head at a dining table set with crystal glasses and cake.
After I vomited the contents of my stomach into one of Ronan’s potted plants and wiped my mouth with the back of a hand, for whatever demented reason, he let me walk back to my cage and shut the door. In the midst of bloodshed, it felt like the safest thing to do. But as two more days passed in this room, not even the memory of a man with a bullet hole in his forehead quelled the desire for air. The seclusion began to burn, to bubble, to encase my body and squeeze.
I’d started making tallies on the bathroom mirror with an old tube of lipstick I found, which probably belonged to Ronan’s last “pet,” and I was now at seven days.
A full week in hell.
The door opened, and a chill coasted through me as Ronan’s shadow spread wings across the floor. He pulled a wooden chair toward the middle of the room, took a seat, and rested his elbows on his knees.
My gaze flicked to the open door behind him. I wondered if that guard was still stationed in the hall. At this point, I’d rather be shot than stuck in the same room as this man.
“Are you superstitious now, kotyonok?”
D’yavol in the flesh stared back at me. I didn’t know he would embody a man dressed in black designer suits, tattoos, and a charming façade. I’d never be so naïve again.
I gazed out the window and said, “Yes. If there’s a devil, there has to be a God.”
“You think someone’s going to save you?”
My throat tightened at the idea at least one had already died trying. Ivan suddenly came to mind. I missed him. I missed his safe, comforting touch. I even missed the lack of spark. Now I knew the kind of chemistry between me and Ronan could only be witchcraft.
“You’ve received a lot of calls on your little burner phone since you arrived in Moscow.” His pause was oppressive, so stagnant and heavy, I couldn’t help but give him my full attention. “Some from your papa, but most from another number.”
I tensed at the subtle threat toward Ivan.
“No one can save you from me.” His eyes shone indifference laced with a dark edge. “Not even God.” The words condensed the air, grasping each heartbeat with an accented threat.
His gaze slid down my body, from my loose blonde curls, to my T-shirt, to my bare legs. The mere touch of his stare scorched hot and cold, and the memory of his hand between my legs came to life.
I’d like to believe a calloused thumb would draw a reaction from any woman’s body regardless of the circumstances. Although, my skin stretched taut as his words returned about my mother being sadistic and the fact Ronan could have brought me to release even in that twisted situation. He could have humiliated me in front of those men, in front of a cousin I never even knew existed, but he didn’t. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the reason why.
With the heavy sensation of his perusal flaring an uneasy heat in my veins, I managed to say, “Goodness always prevails in the end.”
Apparently, he found the idea amusing. He leaned back in his chair and watched me through eyes so dark and lazy they must have been formed by smoke pouring from a cauldron.
“What did you do to my cousin?” I asked.
“I let him crawl back to your papa.”
My expression was disbelieving. “Why?”
“Luck,” he said simply.
“You do all your business deals based on luck?”
“Some.” He glanced at the room, relishing in the sight of his fortress of evil. “A little bit of luck got me here, you know.”
“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘narcissism.’”
A hint of humor sparkled in his eyes. “That too.”
I refused to say the word “luck” again because if anyone deserved to have a piano fall on their head while they walked down Wall Street, it was this man. So, I improvised with sarcasm.
“I guess you got really narcissistic when I stumbled into your lair, didn’t you?”
“Mmm,” he mumbled roughly, his stare holding mine. “I guess I did.”
One single confused blink from Ronan would put the world to rights again. It would reassure me we were operating on two different wavelengths: good and evil. But of course the bastard understood me.
His gaze settled on the small crack in the window, the one I created by throwing the chair he sat on at the glass yesterday in a desperate attempt for oxygen. Yulia had set my dinner tray down and fled the room with a tattling look in her eye.
“I hear you don’t like your room.”
“The accommodations could be better.”
He smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find them preferable in my room.”
I hated his smile. Sparkling white teeth and a dignified lift of his lips. He had the smile of a handsome gentleman, and what a lie it was. Though what I hated the most was how his smile made me recall how I fell into his hands in the first place, and how he tricked my body to his side.
I swallowed. “My room’s fine.”
He chuckled at my half-assed capitulation. “Let’s not forget you had a big thing for me.”
“Let’s.”
“Your crush was cute.”
Irritation ran down my back. “As you said before, it could have been anyone else.” I lifted an indifferent shoulder and repeated his words. “Albert maybe.”
Eyes glinting with ice, his presence pulled at the seams of his black dress shirt. He was either possessive of his pets, or he’d just taken a hit to his overinflated ego.
“But as a rule,” I said coolly, “I tend to stay away from men who cut off people’s fingers.”
“Yet you’re still loyal to your papa,” he drawled.
He found a sore spot. I’d forged walls of denial, and I wouldn’t let him tear them down.
“Don’t you have something better to do?” I snapped. Like Nadia?
His eyes flashed. “Watch it.”
My anger drowned beneath the simple warning, and I glanced out the window. “How long are you going to keep me here?”
“However long I want to.”
“I want out of this room.”
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. You don’t get whatever you want.”
I would lose my mind if I was trapped between these four walls any longer. My lungs grew tighter each second, and soon, I wouldn’t be able to breathe. As distress stretched inside, I forced two words past my lips.
“I’ll behave.”
He watched me for a long second, something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Prove it.”
I didn’t even want to consider how he wanted me to do that. The options were vast and all degrading. Holding his gaze, I waited—just waited for him to tell me what he wanted. Probably to get on my knees and blow him.
“Beg for it.”
Revulsion spread through me like acid. I’d rather blow him; I could wash that humiliation out of my mouth. But begging? It was a vulnerability I wouldn’t and couldn’t give. Words were a straight shot to the soul. I may not be free, but my soul was still mine.
I despised him for making me do this, for dragging me down to this level. With that fire, something hot, foreign, and unrelenting rose to the surface.
Our gazes held in thick tension, his unfeeling, mine fighting to hide the violence within. I stepped off the window seat, one long leg at a time, and then I lowered to my knees. When I slowly crawled toward him, Ronan’s eyes narrowed in heat and suspicion. So jaded. So astute.
“Is this what you want?” My voice sounded different, dipped in lingerie and seduction.
His penetrating stare followed my every movement, the low words a rumble of pleasure. “It’s a start.”
The sounds of my knees and hands on the floor, the steady beat of my heart, and the sweet thrash of our vengeance filled the room. I crawled between his spread legs and ran my face against his pants like a humble pet. He was hard. The sadist was getting off on this.
His inked fingers rested on his knee, and I caressed them with my cheek. He opened his hand and practically rumbled with satisfaction when I stroked the side of my face against his palm.
“Please,” I begged, sliding my hand over his erection and up his chest, my next words harsh, “go fuck yourself.”
I shoved him as hard as I could.
The chair tipped backward to the floor, taking its master with it. Wood splintered beneath his weight, and his growl vibrated through the room. Heart twisting in my throat, I was on my feet, but he spun out of the fall to grab my ankle and pull me down. I hit the floor so hard, all the breath whooshed out of me.
“Kotyonok.” It was a chuckle bit behind clenched teeth. “You’ve fucked up.”
He dragged me backward, and I clawed at the Persian rug to find purchase. My shirt slid to my waist, baring naked skin. I knew I couldn’t let him get me underneath him, or this fight would be over. Releasing my grip on the rug to feign surrender, I gasped, “I’m sorry!”
“No, you’re not,” he growled. “You just know you’ve lost.”
He didn’t expect a good fight from me. I was a girl going up against a battle-hardened man. But now I didn’t have a concussion. Now I had hatred burning a hole through my stomach. I couldn’t control these pent-up feelings, and when I had the right angle, they lashed out.
“You’re right,” I admitted. “I’m not even a little sorry.”
Throwing my elbow back, I hit something hard. Pain radiated through my arm. He hissed, but his grip on my ankle only tightened. The bastard must be made of fire and brimstone.
Suddenly, he released me. I didn’t stop to wonder why he was letting me go; I took the opportunity to crawl to the door and scramble to my feet.
When I collided with a man in the hall, his rifle dropped to the floor.
“Chto za khren’,” the guard cursed, grabbing ahold of me.
A hot rush of adrenaline took over, reducing me to flesh and bone and the fight for survival. I was almost as tall as him, so I used my height to headbutt him in the face. Vision dimming, an ache shot through my skull at the sickening crunch of his nose. Before he could retaliate, I shoved my knee into his groin. The guard dropped to the floor with a groan.
It happened within a few seconds. Just a moment in time tipped my morals upside down like the sinking Titanic.
Gripping a fistful of my long hair, the guard jerked me flat on my back to the solid hardwood. The action stunned me for a vulnerable moment.
“Tupaya blyad’,” he gritted. Stupid whore.
When my fingers brushed cold metal, I gripped tight. He straddled my hips, and as he tried to grab the gun from my clammy hands, my fingers slipped. Pop, pop, pop cut through the air. The pops vibrated through my hands and my finger on the trigger. My ears rang. Static pierced the hall and my skin.
His limp and heavy body fell on top of mine, pushing the air from my lungs, and panic turned to hysteria. I was drowning in a mass of motionless limbs, lifeless eyes, and sticky red. A scream tore up my throat, and I shoved him off of me. Blood spread across the floor. I slipped in it while scrambling backward.
Panting, my eyes lifted up, and up.
Ronan stood in the hall, his gaze on the guard’s body while he muttered a toneless, “Well, fuck.”
Warm blood soaked my T-shirt and dripped down my arms and legs. Somehow, I was dazed at the sight: the look in a villain’s eyes when he realized he’d taken a fatal blow. I was the villain now. The terror of what I’d done and the last flare of adrenaline pushed me to my feet.
Ronan’s stare lifted to mine, a warning within. But I was already running down the stairs. Bracing a hand on the wall, I caught myself from slipping in blood. My eyes set on an exit, and when I reached the foyer, I shoved the front doors open and ran outside barefoot, onto the icy circular drive.
I stopped in my tracks, heavy breaths freezing in the air.
Bright lights illuminated the yard guarded by men in every direction, assault rifles held in their grasps. German shepherds prowled through the snow on leashes. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, penetrated by the yips and barks of dogs that jumped in a chain-link enclosure attached to an outbuilding, disturbed by my sudden appearance. If I tried to run, they’d rip me to pieces.
The first tear fell, and hopelessness pulled on my body so heavily, I dropped to my knees. There was no escaping this place. No escaping him, who pushed my morals to the wayside and turned me into someone I didn’t recognize. The truth was, I didn’t know who I was. I’d never really known.
As the wind whipped at my curls, tears ran down my cheeks, and the cold drew its icy fingers over my skin, I felt closer to that girl with dirt on her face and Edgar Allen Poe in her hand than I had in a long time. And that terrified me. Like a single snowflake drifting to Miami’s hot pavement, if I escaped this alive and returned home, I wouldn’t belong.
I remained still when Ronan’s presence touched my back, ready for the torture to begin. He lowered to his haunches in front of me and brushed the tears from my cheek. His words held steady against the breeze that tousled my hair.
“Where is your God now, kotyonok?”
Goose bumps rose to my skin, but they weren’t from the cold. The shiver was out of fear the devil had a soft side. Nothing was more frightening than a whisper beckoning me to step into the dark.
Then he lifted my deadweight and carried me back to hell.
