Will I be able to truly free her from this? From all of it? The lies and betrayal, abuse and hurt, the shackles of our pasts and ties to the underground neither of us has the power to break?
I open the door and look down both halls. I want off this fucking ship. The men who hurt her are still here, some of them, anyway. And I don’t want them to breathe the same air she does. When we arrive in the dining room, Yakov sits in front of us with a woman on a leash. Her head is bowed, and though she’s clothed in her sheath, her neck bears his marks. He’s claimed her as his. I nod my approval at him. She’s his until we get to Boston, anyway.
The dining room is teeming with people, but I don’t look at any of them. I don’t trust myself not to murder the men who kept her. I don’t want to look at the women kneeling and crawling, chained to their masters.
It makes me want to rip that sheath right off her and fuck her, claim her, right here, right now, for everyone to see. I school my face with effort and grit my teeth. She’s being a good little girl, obediently bowing her head and walking by my side.
When we enter the dining room, Erik hails us over. His woman is kneeling beside him, the chain attached to her neck sitting in his lap. Yakov and I join him. I point to the floor for Marissa to kneel, and she does. It’s surreal, being in here, surrounded by men that bought women. I can’t fucking wait to get off this ship.
“Buffet or menu,” Erik says, tossing a menu to me. The buffet will get us back to the room and out of the sight of those aboard quicker. I throw the menu down and lead Marissa to the food line. While I fill a plate for both of us, a tall man with a receding hairline and heavy jowls sidles up beside her. I’m holding my plate in one hand, and gently put it down. Ready to defend her if he makes a move.
“Isn’t she beautiful,” he murmurs. He’s standing too close to her. I don’t like it. I tug her closer to me.
“She is,” I tell him. I give him a look that tells him to fuck off, but he only steps closer.
“The prettiest of the lot,” he says. Seems my non-verbal cues aren’t going very far.
“Sure as hell is,” I say. “And you’ll back the fuck off now.” He blinks in surprise before his dim, bloodshot eyes meet mine.
“Who the hell do you think you are? Do you have any idea who I am?” he snarls, and the bastard has the fucking gall to reach a hand out to touch her.
I don’t fucking care who the hell he is. I pull her to me, tuck her behind me, and wrap my fingers around his neck, pulling him straight up off the floor.
“It doesn’t fucking matter who you are,” I tell him. With one snap, I could break his neck and end him, but I have to control myself. “You keep your fucking hands off of her.”
“Stop,” she pleads when his eyes bulge and his face goes red. Yakov is at my elbow, pulling me away.
“Not worth it, brother,” he says, and it somehow pulls me out of my blind need to end this bastard. I drop him to the floor. Dishes clatter, and all eyes are on me, but no one makes a move.
“Do not ever fucking touch her again,” I tell him. If he does, the next time I will snap his meaty neck. A security guard is at my side, staring at the man on the floor then back to me in fear.
“He touched her,” I explain. Though nearly killing another guest aboard the ship isn’t exactly allowed, we just paid millions to own these women, and it’s pretty fucking clear no one else touches them.
“So sorry, sir,” the guard says, dragging the man up by his feet and away from me.
“Walk away,” Yakov tells me in a low voice. “Jesus, Aleks.”
“I should have killed him,” I say between gritted teeth, turning back to Marissa.
“Of course,” Yakov says, giving me a placating but pointed look. He drops his voice and whispers in my ear. “But this isn’t a warehouse, brother. And you don’t have your brotherhood behind you backing you up. You’ve got me and the douchebag.”
That actually makes me nearly smile. Fuck, he’s right. I can’t lose my goddamn mind so easily.
I turn to Marissa. She’s watched everything with wide, curious eyes, but she doesn’t say anything. I fill a plate with food and lead her back to the table. She kneels while I eat, like I’ve instructed, and when I’m finished, I pat my lap for her to sit on so I can feed her. She obeys perfectly. But I’m eager to get her alone again. I’d have preferred to have her alone, and it seems the natural way of things for a master to have his slave serve him food, but I need to make a public appearance. Still, I’m ready to drag her back to the room and out of the sight of anyone else on this ship.