They drove from Calgary, into the mountains for about three and a half hours before David finally stopped. It was well past dark. The road David took seemed to stretch and wind endlessly in a remote area with few other travelers. After turning his truck off the highway, the road become even more steep and bumpy. Tasha fearfully clutched the dash for support and tried not to glance out of the side window, knowing he was taking her up the side of a mountain.

She had spent the entire drive worrying about their interaction in the gym, silently castigating herself for not doing more to protect her friends. Though the further they drove from the city, the more relieved she felt. Perhaps he wouldn’t kill anyone. She was most concerned for Jordan. She knew exactly how jealous her husband could be and apparently two years apart had not lessened that possessive streak. The biting coldness of his gun pressed against her as he demanded information she wouldn’t give, demanded the name of the shadowy person that had helped her escape him, confirmed that his controlling nature was still very much intact.

Tension within the truck had compelled her to tuck her feet up on the seat underneath her and wrap her arms protectively around herself. It was such a strange feeling. Sitting beside her was the David she had known, and yes, loved; utterly dark and forbidding. But this David was also different. He seemed to be teetering on the razor’s edge of wrath, but he was cloaking it with icy control. She could feel the simmering rage all around and in between them. Knew he was a heartbeat away from pulling the truck over to do something terrible to her. Take out some of this relentless anger that was beating away at him.

But this wasn’t her David of two years ago. Maybe he didn’t know she felt it too. Or maybe he wasn’t bothering to hide it from her any more. Perhaps he wanted her to know that he was so furious with his runaway wife that he was willing to lose his legendary cool. Whatever was going on with him, she knew it did not bode well for her.

While they traveled she stole glances at him, studying his stern profile in the brief flash of headlights from other cars. David was still quite handsome, in his own strict, disciplined sense. His hair was a little longer than she remembered, a little lighter than her own. The grooves bracketing his mouth and eyes were deeper. He looked sterner, more unapproachable than ever. If she hadn’t known David from before, gone to bed with him, she might have considered him downright frightening. Her heart pounded as he took more turns, driving them further and further into the wilderness.

It makes sense, she thought bitterly. He is an assassin, after all. He would want all the privacy he can get to plan and plot his next murder. Perhaps hide a woman’s body deep in the woods.

After escorting her into an, admittedly, cozy cabin, he left for a few hours. Though he said he was leaving for supplies, the way he touched her, the swirling tension surrounding him, told her he was leaving to put space between them. She thought his leaving was a good idea. She could feel the blackness within him, his need to hurt and destroy. She’d sensed this overwhelming emotion in him before, when he’d come to her after leaving for “work” on one of his many business trips. Back then he had suppressed what she now suspected was a ruthless adrenaline fueled high with icy calm. Back then he treated his wife with respect. Except for, perhaps a few times, when the darkness had seeped past the edges of his control. Now, that rage was no longer under control and it was all directed at her.

Before leaving the cabin, David handcuffed her to a queen size bed in a chilly room, gripped her jaw as though she were a naughty child incapable of listening, told her he had to go for supplies and warned her against trying to escape. She knew better; for multiple reasons. Though she was a talented woman in her own right, escaping from a set of handcuffs was not among her repertoire, as she suspected he already knew. Plus, she had seen David kill another man and walk away from the grisly scene as though it was nothing. She wasn’t quite ready to test out his newfound ‘no killing the wife’ policy.

Until she had a solid escape plan, she wasn’t going anywhere quite yet. Even if she managed to make it to police protection she knew he would come after her, gunning down anyone in his path. He had said as much before leaving her, “Anyone that helps you leave me is a dead man.”

Tasha shifted uncomfortably, flinching at the rattle of the handcuffs against the headboard. She shivered in the cool evening, though David had turned the heat on in the cabin before he left. The room was beginning to warm up. She wore only a lightweight spring coat over her dancing outfit. She was definitely not dressed appropriately for the tail end of a Rocky Mountain winter, which was far colder than the city. Not wanting to waste time at the gym, David hadn’t let her change before leaving. He’d pushed her arms through the sleeves as though she were incapable of helping herself, belted the waist, picked up her gym bag and ushered her quickly from the building without a backward glance.

The new David was both infuriating and… perhaps a little exciting, now that he wasn’t out to kill her anymore. Thinking about it, she realized he had always had a cruel streak. He’d just never let the brunt of it touch her. Until now. He was a different man these days, thanks to her. Or perhaps he was the same man he’d always been, only she had never seen this side of him. This David certainly seemed to be more of a sadistic bastard than she remembered.

Two years ago, David had been the kind of man that opened doors for her, ensured her comfort over his own and worshipped the ground her slipper-clad feet had walked upon. From the moment he had swept her away from the Bolshoi dance company and traveled with her around the world she had been his princess, his delicate dancer. He had married her only a month after introducing himself to the company’s principal female dancer and ensured that she was so happy she never wanted to look back at the life that could have been.

They traveled around the world for four months in a haze of bliss. Or so it had seemed to Tasha. The only unhappiness she knew was when her husband had left her alone in strange cities, sometimes for days at a time, to “attend business.” Now she knew exactly what he’d been doing during those absences. She shuddered and drew her knees up to her chest, accidentally yanking down on the handcuffs. She winced when they bit cruelly into her flesh.

She had been so naïve back then, living a blind life in the lap of luxury. Pouting when he’d told her he would have to leave for a few days and that she was to amuse herself in Rome, or Versailles, or Mumbai. He had given her access to credit cards with seemingly unlimited maximums and he had paved her way into any studio in the city, which would give her access to dance space. His stipulations were simple. She was to never go out after dark, talk to strangers or dance for other people.

Only once had she broken a rule.

Tasha shivered at her memory, at her first glimpse of the cruel part of him he kept hidden from her. She had been using a borrowed studio in Nice for several days, bringing the notice of the sophisticated dance choreographer that ran the place. The local company was down their prima ballerina as well as her understudy. The girl that was left was not nearly experienced enough for the part. Would Tasha agree to take the principal’s place in the production? For just one night, until they could replace her?

When Tasha had demurred, the woman smiled knowingly. She had flattered the young ex-dancer and slyly told her she knew who the other woman was. That hiding her unique style and talent was impossible, and that Tasha should not be hidden away from the world by a jealous husband. She should take her place once more on the stage where she belonged.

It was perhaps unfortunate that this speech came at a weak point for Natasha. She had been only twenty and at the very height of her career when she had disappeared suddenly from the stage. Most dancers retired before thirty and she had only a few good years left at the top of her profession. She and David were just past their honeymoon phase where reality begins to intrude. Tasha was beginning to realize what she had given up to be with him. During his longer than usual absence it was hard not to resent him for taking professional dancing from her.

Tasha had capitulated and agreed to dance on stage. She excitedly threw herself into learning the program. It was a familiar dance with some new choreography that she picked up without any problems. The choreographer and director had both seen her dance before in Russia and were quite enthusiastic to be working with her. Once more flattered, Tasha thrust her absent husband and his overbearing edicts into the background.

Her one night on the stage had been such a success that she did another night, and another. David had called and said he would be another few days away. With only slight misgivings, Tasha signed on for another three nights, hoping her husband would stay away for the length of time he said. She would finish her run Saturday night, the before David was due back. He would know nothing of her transgression.

Except, somehow, he did.

She was later to learn that David often hired someone to watch her whenever he was away. He had known of her plan to dance on the stage again almost right from the moment of its conception. He would have put a stop to it much sooner except business kept him away. He came back to Nice the moment he could.

She had been nearing the end of her last dance of the evening when the spot light above her had shifted momentarily, illuminating the audience. It flashed over David’s features for a split second. Long enough for her to see both the aching desire for his wife and the blazing fury reflected in his face. To her credit, she didn’t falter once during that last dance. If anything, she soared higher and danced more flawlessly, knowing the end was near. That glimpse of danger, of searing hunger, she had seen in him sent her heart racing in anticipation. David was angry but he wanted her. And, as he always did after staying away, he would have her. It would be delicious.

David’s anger was terrible. He treated Tasha as though she was a child that couldn’t understand how to listen to her father. She had tried to argue back that he wasn’t her keeper, that she had every right to dance if she wanted to. Neither of them gave way to the other until David, frustrated, had thrown her down on their bed and proceeded to force her compliance using the best methods he could think of. She had exploded under his hands that night and agreed to do anything he asked.

“Crazy little chattel…” she breathed, remembering the love-sick idiot she used to be.

Of course he hadn’t wanted her dancing on stages across the globe. She had been too high profile. Half of Europe knew who she was. How could he work while toting a near-celebrity around? Finally, she had allowed him to convince her that their life of obscurity was what she truly wanted.

Tasha squirmed, attempting to find a position that was more bearable while cuffed. She gave up with an annoyed huff when the belt twisted and the knot bit into her waist between her body and the mattress. She froze when she heard the front door rattle and then open. She listened nervously as David crossed the floor to the kitchen. She heard the muffled sound of bags and the opening and closing of cupboards and the fridge. She held her breath as footsteps finally made a path to the room she was held in. David opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, his brown hair slightly damp from early spring snow. He shook his head, sending droplets flying. He paced to the bed, stopped and looked down at her bound disheveled figure as though trying to decide what to do with her.

The thought was terrifying. Mostly because Tasha was convinced David had planned on killing her. That bringing her back with him was never his intent. Now that she was here, laying in his bed, helpless and tied up for his pleasure, he was struggling to contain the darkness storming within. Would he… could he still kill her? Was she safe from the possibility of death at his hands? Her throat still throbbed where his hand had squeezed the breath from her earlier, reminding her of exactly how vulnerable she was. As if sensing her thoughts, he finally spoke to her.

“I watched you with another man, Natasha,” he said, his voice a seething snarl. His accent noticeable. “You allowed his touch with such ease and familiarity that I wanted to snap his neck in that moment and then claim my wife next to his dead body. Jordan Kent was closer to death than he will ever know.” He paced away from her. Tasha’s eyes followed his every movement, the way a terrified rabbit would watch a predator until her opportunity to run arose. Only Tasha was well and truly ensnared. “It was fantasy though. Because you were to die. A bullet through the brain by these very hands, Natasha.”

He held his hands up to show her. They were the beautiful, long-fingered, veined hands that had always captured her interest and fascinated her, almost to the point of obsession. The hands that could pull so many feelings from the depths of her, both emotionally and physically. A pang hit her hard as the light glinted off the wedding ring on his left ring finger. He still wore that symbol of their marriage.

“David,” she whispered, imploring him. “Please uncuff me… I’ll try to explain…”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “You do not get to talk to me. You can earn your freedom another way.”

She wanted to ask him how and even opened her mouth the ask the question, but stopped herself. This was the David she had seen kill someone. This was David without the veneer of civilization. This was his ice-cold anger colliding with the searing rage of losing his wife for two years. This was his reclamation. She only hoped she survived the experience.

His dark eyes never left hers as he unzipped his coat, pulled it off his broad shoulders and tossed it over a chair. Tiny drops of melted snow fell on her as he threw the jacket. She shivered from the impact. He followed the movement, tracing every inch of her prone body from her feet, which she’d tried tucking up onto the bed, to her hands, cuffed above her head. He lingered on the metal attached to her wrists, the sight bringing a sadistic gleam to his eyes.

He reached for the buttons on his shirt, starting at the top and unbuttoning them one at a time. Her lips parted and the breath caught in her throat as he once more revealed to her the work of art that was his chest and stomach. The years hadn’t changed his physique by much, except perhaps to chisel him even more. Each muscle was honed to perfection. Not too big like a bodybuilder, but lean and targeted for sleek strength. It was like his time apart from Tasha had driven his workout regime to even higher peaks. Now that he revealed the musculature beneath his shirt, each shadowy dip and hollow told the story of a man pushing himself to extremes. He had always been built to perfection, but this…

He leaned over her prone body, his chest just barely brushing the tips of her breasts, until his lips were inches from hers and he whispered in Russian, “Vremya dlya oplaty, moya lyubov.”

Her heart froze in her chest as his words hung between their parted lips.

Time to pay, my love.