Chapter Eleven
Misha
I have no idea what she’s trying to imply about my bedroom. Who doesn’t like a clean bedroom? And what the hell is wrong with brown? But the other part…
“I installed that especially for you, treasure. And I’m going to keep you in this room until I get what I want.” I take a step closer, so I can watch as her expression changes from confused to afraid. In three… two…
Why isn’t she afraid? She actually looks very angry, like I can see murder in her grayish blue eyes. I might get scared if she keeps looking at me like that. I can’t keep looking at her while she’s staring at me like she’s going to rip my heart out with her bare hands, and then eat it.
I clear my throat, and pull the ring out of my pocket. It’s something to look at besides her, and I know she wants it. It is a really pretty ring and it looks very expensive. Like something a famous movie star would wear. I’ve spent too much time obsessing over this damn ring in the last twenty-four hours. It’s time for her to tell me the secret behind it.
“If it’s money you want, I can make more than you can spend in ten lifetimes, princess.” I can, too. Murder is a very lucrative business, and although I don’t like doing it, it’s the one thing I excel at. I would do it too, every day, for the rest of my worthless life, if that’s what she wants.
Her expression becomes harder, her eyes becoming darker as I watch, like a stormy sky. Fuck, she really is going to murder me. She reaches out to slap me again, and I let her. She lets loose with all she has, and it causes my head to whip to the side. I want to see how hard she can hit when she’s really pissed. Bad idea, I realize, when I wipe my lip with my fingertip and I find blood. She busted my lip. I’m almost proud.
“Are you trying to hurt me? Because I like the rough stuff, princess.”
“Fuck you,” she says, and tries to scramble off the bed. She’s in a dress and high heels, and I’m at least a foot taller than her, and outweigh her by about a hundred pounds. When I grab her shoulders and toss her back onto the bed, she spits at me.
“Calm down, I’m not trying to insult you. Everyone needs something at some point in their lives.” I take a few steps away from her. She’s perched on my bed on her hands and knees, ready to strike. But she’s just making me harder because I want to fuck her so bad in that position, and I know she’s not wearing any underwear and the dress is barely covering her ass.
“I don’t need money. What I need is to get out of here right now! I have to meet Frankie at the church.” She’s yelling at me now, and her back is arched like a scared cat. I’d like to climb into that bed with her, and let her fight me, and scratch me, until she wears herself out, and fuck her raw until she comes over and over on my big dick.
“I know your brother is disabled, and your sister’s not right in her pretty head. Maybe they need special care.” When I mention her sister she turns away from me.
“My family is none of your fucking business, Russian! Remember that!” she hisses at me.
Well, I’ve obviously touched a nerve.
“So, you’re marrying the Moretti heir for your family,” I suggest. She continues to stare at the wall. She gives me no reaction to that statement. “Your sister already married a Moretti. Not the pretty one.” She turns to me with her beautiful blue-gray eyes full of disbelief. “Your older sister is not pretty. You are so much more beautiful than she could ever dream of being.”
She rolls her eyes at me. At least she’s not contemplating all the ways she’d like to murder me right at this moment.
My eyes stray again to the ring in my palm. “Tell me why you’re marrying a man you don’t love, and I’ll let you go.”
“Why do you care about the reason I’m getting married?” she spits back at me. She tugs at the dress she’s wearing, obviously uncomfortable. I walk to my closet and pull a hanger out, and toss the clothes onto the bed beside her.
Doesn’t she know? I told her she’s mine. I’m never letting anyone touch her beautiful skin ever again. It’s my skin. That’s my pussy. Doesn’t she believe me? Doesn’t she understand how desperate I am to be hers?
She lifts the sweatpants and sweatshirt off the bed, staring at them. “University of Maine? That’s my alma mater. How did you know?” Then I toss underwear at her, which I pulled out of my drawer. “This is my size,” she says, as she examines them. “Wait. These are mine! You broke into my house!”
“What, like it’s hard? Your security system is shit, not worth the money you pay for it,” I explain. “You should let me set up your security for you.”
“Fuck you!” she screams, and looks around me toward my bathroom.
“I’ve seen every inch of you naked, treasure.” And the mental images are making me so hard it hurts. Can you die from a hard on? “I’ve had my tongue deep in all of your holes, babe. There’s no need for false modesty.”
“I fucking hate you,” she mutters, as she removes the dress. “Do you have my tennis shoes too?”
“Of course,” I reply. I can’t look away as she’s wiggling out of the tight black dress, displaying her perfect tits. She’s magnificent. I finally turn away out of self preservation. I literally might die if I don’t fuck her, and she might kill me if I try.
“I have to pee,” she says, and I turn to find her in her clothes, completely dressed. She’s twisting her thick, dark, silky hair into a knot again. I want to order her to leave it down. When she’s mine it will never be up.
She’s completely dressed, and I want her more than ever. I catch her scent as she walks past me. She has a tiny bottle of her favorite perfume in her purse. She must have sprayed it on herself. She smells like fruit and flowers, like romance and desire. I pick up the dress she discarded onto the floor and sniff it, before I place it on the hanger and hide it in my closet. She’s never wearing that revealing piece of clothing ever again. We will argue about her habit of throwing her clothes around, but I’ll never get really angry at her.
“What the fuck is it with you and brown?” she asks after she leaves the bathroom.
“Who doesn’t like brown?” I reply. She scoffs, and points at herself. “It’s comfortable. It’s calming. You don’t have to think about brown.”
She shrugs her shoulders and takes another look around my bedroom. There’s nothing out in the open. Everything is in its place. “It’s very clean. Do you live here?”
“Of course.” She walks toward my bedside table and opens the top drawer. I cringe, but I say nothing. She can look around all she wants. I have nothing to hide from her. If we’re going to live together she’ll have to get used to my need for order. I don’t need to look over her shoulder to know what she’s seeing. Tissues, lotion, a charging cord for my phone, a pen and notepad, a flashlight, a gun, an extra magazine clip, and a knife. To my surprise she doesn’t grab the gun and pull it on me. I could disarm her before she even thought of taking the safety off anyway.
“Where are the condoms?” she asks, as she opens the next drawer down. My socks are neatly rolled up and placed in that drawer.
“In the bathroom,” I answer honestly.
“Why aren’t they by your bed,” she wonders aloud, as she opens the next drawer to find neatly folded underwear.
“I don’t have sex in my bed,” I reply. She turns toward me then, and I see a heady mix of doubt and challenge in her eyes. My cock twitches, reminding me it’s there and it’s hard, and it only wants her. “I’d fuck you anywhere you like, treasure.”
She grins at me, and moseys toward my dresser. “Who does your laundry?”
“Me.” I pause for a minute. It’s surreal having my walking, talking fantasy searching through my drawers. “I’ve answered your questions, now answer mine. Why are you marrying him?”
“You didn’t answer the most important question,” she argues. She returns to my nightstand and takes out a pair of my socks, pulling them onto her tiny girl feet. I try not to smile. “Wood floors are cold,” she explains. Instead of climbing back on the bed, she moves toward the chair in the corner, and curls up in it.
It should be obvious. I shouldn’t have to explain it to her. “If you tell me why you’re marrying that asshole, I can fix it so you don’t have to go through with it, and we can be together.”
“You can’t fix it.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “And if you think my father would ever let us be together, then you’re not only a psychopath you’re also crazy.”
I don’t think she knows the lengths I will go to make sure I wake up with her every damn morning for the rest of our lives. “Whether you think I can fix it or not, you will tell me the reason, or you’d better get cozy.”
“They’ll figure out I’m missing, dumbass, and when they track my phone and find out I’m with you, they will make you and your entire family pay.” She shrugs her shoulders, then gives me the most confident smirk. “By taking me, you’re going to start a war!”
So that’s why she’s been so self-assured, so brave. She thinks her family is going to come after her soon. She thinks her fucking Italian mobster prince charming is going to come rescue her from the big, bad, evil Russian. I smile at her, as wide and as wicked as I can manage.
I place my hand in my jacket pocket, and pull out the thing that looks like a walkie talkie, and show it to her. “Do you know what this is, princess? This is a cell signal jammer, and it has made you practically invisible since you left the hotel. I have a larger one that dampens the signal in the brownstone. No one knows where you are, or who you’re with. No one is going to find you.”
I continue to smile, probably looking like the psychopath she thinks I am. I walk to the bedside table and take the gun and knife out of the drawer. As I do, her face falls. She’s finally realizing that she’s stuck here with me until she gives me the information that I want.
“What do you want to eat, princess? The deli down the street delivers a delicious brunch menu. They even bring champagne. I feel like celebrating.”
“Fuck you, and fuck your entire family! I fucking hate you!” she screams, as I walk toward the door. She moves from the chair, as if she’s going to come at me. I turn, and she sees the weapons in my hands. “You won’t hurt me,” she murmurs. But her tone tells me she’s not sure. I finally see the fear in her pretty eyes.