strange and electric when his thumb slid down the side of my neck. The action dulled the toxic heat in the air, smothering it with a simple soft touch.
“So ready to go home . . . What’s waiting for you, kotyonok?”
A heavy diamond on my finger and a monotonous life behind golden gates that glimmered beneath a Floridian sun. In truth, without my papa, I had nothing of worth in Miami, but I refused to let this man know that.
The words escaped between pants. “My life.”
“This is your life now.” His voice lowered to a dangerous level. “I’ll release you when I’m finished with you—no sooner.”
We only breathed in each other’s fury for a few seconds before he freed me. I fought to not rub my throat and remove the heat his hand left behind. Frozen in fading adrenaline, I watched him bring a teacup to his mouth. Tattooed fingers and fine china. It felt like I was Persephone dining with Hades, except the goddess came to love the ruler of the underworld.
And this wasn’t a divine romance.
“The sooner I tire of your presence, the sooner you’ll get to say goodbye to your papa. For his sake, I would do a better job of appeasing me.”
A naked jaunt through Chernobyl sounded better than “appeasing” this man.
My dress was soaked, my neck was probably red, and my temples ached from the hatred in my eyes. A well-balanced person would take pity on me and release me from this twisted tea party. Unfortunately, Ronan was as rational as Mr. Hyde.
“Eat.”
Somehow, I found an appetite—or just enough pride to pretend so. The devil sat back in his chair in Givenchy, an iPhone in hand, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, he was playing a game. I could only imagine it was a twisted version of Pac-Man, but instead of dots, his emoji ate up souls.
“If you’re finished, Yulia will escort you to your room.”
On cue, she appeared in the doorway, dispensing all doubt the walls of this house were alive, fueled by Russian tea and black magic.
I pushed my chair back and dutifully followed Yulia to my room, where, with a jingle of keys like a headmistress, she locked me in my cage.
sapiosexual
(n.) one who is attracted to or aroused by intelligence in others
Ronan and I did the same dance for three days.
We ate breakfast together like a couple with serious marital problems, then he went to Moscow to manipulate and maim most likely, and I was escorted back to my room.
In an effort to earn some freedom and a way out of this nightmare, I behaved as best as my mouth would allow even though I wanted to scream inside.
Ronan, Yulia, and the silent maid were the only faces I saw day in and out, and it was starting to mess with my head. I didn’t know when the shift happened, but I began to look forward to breakfast if only to escape the mind-eating boredom.
On the third morning, I came to a realization.
“I know what you’re doing,” I announced at the dining table.
Ronan lifted his gaze from the iPhone that was probably glued to his hand. If “Tasty!” and “Delicious!” in a deep Candy Crush voice weren’t coming from the stupid device, it constantly pinged with texts and emails.
A brow rose. “And what am I doing?”
“You’re trying to Stockholm syndrome me.”
I thought he wanted to laugh. “I don’t think that’s a verb.”
“Like I need grammar advice from someone who uses ‘fuck’ as a noun, verb, and adverb in a single sentence.”
“Fuck is versatile.”
“Not that versatile.”
The full weight of his gaze could rival a shock wave. “When I fuck you, kotyonok, I promise, you’ll use ‘fuck’ in more ways than I ever fucking have.”
Turned inside out by his words and the intensity in his stare, it became a battle not to avert my gaze or shift in my seat. The crass promise slowed my breath, but what sent an annoying surge of liquid heat to the pit of my stomach was the fact he knew how to use each part of speech properly. He even got the adverb right.
“Versatile enough for you?” he asked.
His expression spoke volumes.
Ronan: 1
Mila: 0
Unable to give it up, I muttered, “The ‘fucking’ was a little gratuitous.”
“Thought you weren’t a sore loser.”
I silently mused on his response. I’d never been a competitive person, but every conversation with Ronan seemed like a fight I needed to win. Maybe being kidnapped by a Russian mobster changed a girl, or maybe I