His jaw clenches and he grips the steering wheel so tightly, his knuckles turn white. He says nothing in response.
"Nicolai, I feel like there's something I should know," I say, my voice shaking a little. "I don't get why you would do this." Tears fill my eyes, and I hastily swipe them away. "Please."
A moment of silent passes, and I try one last time. "What are you doing?" I whisper.
His features are granite, immovable.
"Be quiet, Marissa," he orders.
I don't even bother hiding my tears. I cry freely, as my heart shatters into pieces.
I thought I loved this man. I thought he couldn't stand me. And now, not only do I know this to be true, but he isn't the man I thought him to be.Chapter 3Nicolai
Laina gave me the information I needed, but it wasn't until I spoke with Rafael—my friend, who went by the name of Maksym in another time and place—did I fully understand the severity of the threat against Marissa.
If I tell her why she needs to leave, she will never believe me. And I don't trust her not to run to her boyfriend or friends, or to say something to her father. Against every fucking instinct I had, I decided to take her.
"Where to, brother?" I asked Raf. I needed an out. I even considered taking her back to our compound in Russia, but Raf cautioned me against that.
"They'll look there," he says. "They might expect you to go home. Go to Boston."
"Boston?"
"In Boston, we have Bratva connections. They're neutral."
Neutral... loyal to neither us nor our enemies. Neutrality is far from safe. On a dime, with enough incentive, they could turn.
"And if you go to Boston, you can grab a flight out of Logan easily to damn near anywhere if you need to."
"Fuck. They'll find out," I protested.
"Soon," he said. "But not until you've ended the threat against her safety."
I hate this. I fucking hate this.
So I'm taking her to Boston, to the compound Rafael has recommended to me. It's a two-day journey at best, four-day at worst. I'll have to keep her hidden. Stay under the radar of the fucking Bratva of Atlanta, the most formidable group in the states.
But I'll do everything I can to keep this girl safe.
"Here I am, thinking you are the one who is supposed to protect me," Marissa prattles on. A part of me hates seeing her tear-stained eyes, ringed black from the smudged mascara lining them. A part of me longs to console her. To tell her the truth. But if I did, all could be lost.
"I said be quiet," I tell her. "I'm not telling you again."
"Are you threatening me?" she asks.
"No," I tell her calmly. "I'm warning you. You're in danger, Marissa. You will do exactly what I tell you."
"Or what? You'll hurt me?" She doesn't sound angry, though, but hurt, and hell if that doesn't kill me.
My thoughts immediately turn to really hurting her, of causing her pain, draping her over my knee and watching her skin redden beneath the heft of my palm... punishing her while she begs for mercy. I breathe in and let the breath out, schooling my features and ignoring the rampant desire that consumes me.
She's a fucking child.
It can't happen. It won't happen.
But she must do what I tell her.
No, I won't promise I won't hurt her.
I'll do whatever the hell I need to keep her safe.
"You wouldn't hurt me, Nicolai," she says, her voice tinged with the betrayal written in her eyes. It's more of a plea than a statement.
"I wouldn't test that theory if I were you."
She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Turning away from me, she looks out the window and watches the houses go by in silence. So quietly I almost miss it, she takes her phone out and sends a message.
I reach over, snatch it out of her hand, and tuck it into my pocket.
"Hey! Seriously, Nicolai, what the hell?"
I don't respond at first. She stomps her feet on the floorboards of the car and clenches her hands in fists of rage, growling like an angry kitten. Marissa isn't used to not getting what she wants.
She's swiping angrily at the tears that fall down her cheeks.
I want to kiss those tears away and pull her to me. Tuck her into my chest and promise her she'll be okay. At the same time, I'm tempted to turn her over my knee and teach her to behave.
But not now.
"I thought you were one of the good ones," she says. "I've always thought you were a good man."
I don't respond. Maybe if I ignore her completely, she'll give up on the damn chatter. I'm trying to fucking think.
"And now you've taken me from my home. You know this is illegal, don't you? You know you could go to jail for this, don't you?"