The volatile warning stroked my skin, but I couldn’t move or force my gaze from Ivan’s. Self-loathing and panic bit at my veins, overwhelming me, though when Ivan gave me a look that told me to listen, numbly, I sat. Complying then only intensified the strain in the air. Each second was pulled taut and stretched to impossible limits.
“Pochemu ty zdes?” Ronan growled at Albert.
By their curt words and severe body language, I recognized Ivan wasn’t supposed to be here, in the same home as me, as well as the fact Ronan knew Ivan had been found while he sat beside me and sipped his tea indifferently through breakfast. He wasn’t planning to share the knowledge with me.
Apparently, Ivan had other ideas.
I almost wished for ignorant bliss. If something happened to Ivan; if my selfish act of coming to Moscow got him killed . . . My stomach threatened to expel the small contents inside.
Ivan’s stare conveyed he wasn’t convinced I was unharmed, and he was now probing for mental wounds instead of physical ones.
I’m okay, my gaze promised. But what about you?
Seeing the tears running down my cheeks, his split lip lifted in an unconcerned smile. The sight didn’t alleviate the tight sensation in my lungs. After a strained beat, I realized the men had stopped talking and were now watching our silent conversation.
“Ubiraysya otsyuda,” Ronan snapped impatiently. Get out. “Take him downstairs for now.”
Downstairs? Was there really a dungeon in the house? My heart twisted.
Ivan shrugged the hands from his arms and headed down the hall. As cold and still as a block of ice, I watched him until he disappeared around the corner with Albert and Viktor following.
“How does he know where to go?” I wasn’t aware the emotionless words had escaped until Ronan answered.
“He doesn’t.”
Clearly, he did, but my curiosity dissolved beneath the heavy pressure on my chest. As Ronan stood and nonchalantly slipped his phone into his pocket, my entire being whirled with an idea of how to talk him out of whatever he planned for Ivan.
“I’ll beg you,” I blurted.
He glanced up, the look darkly amused but conflicted by a hint of something cold and terrifying that leaked into his eyes. “I’m not sure it would feel very sincere.”
I wanted to scream at him that this wasn’t a game, but he was already out the door. He was going to go about his day as usual and desert me to slowly die inside.
On my feet, I reached him in the hall and stepped in front of him so he had to give me his full attention.
He stilled, a muscle tightening in his jaw. I understood then, the ticking time bomb wasn’t an elusive, mystical warning. It was him, as tangible as his eyes, posture, and presence. The darkness inside was close to devastating this home to stone and ash, and it would take me with it. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about humiliating myself. Pride no longer mattered—not with Ivan’s life in jeopardy.
I dropped to my knees in front of him, my blood going colder than the hard marble. “I’m sincerely begging you,” I said, a tear leaking down my cheek. “If you let Ivan go, I swear, you can have anything you want from me.”
Ronan had me where he wanted me—a worthless commoner at a king’s feet—but there wasn’t an ounce of pleasure in his stare.
“I can already have anything I want from you.”
“There’s a lot you couldn’t have.”
He held my gaze to the sound of my desperation consuming the hall. “You’re not really known for telling the truth, are you, malen’kaya lgunishka?”
Frustration pushed at me. If I couldn’t convince him with words, then I would try with actions. I reached for his belt buckle, and as I worked to undo it, I realized my hands were shaking.
I didn’t have the faintest idea how to give oral well, but I needed to figure it out because I knew Ronan wouldn’t guide me. He didn’t believe I was innocent in regard to sex. My stomach was so unsettled, I was afraid if he gagged me, I’d throw up. I was going to ruin this. At the thought of losing Ivan on top of my papa, a quiet sob rose up my throat.
Ronan grabbed my wrist to stop me. “As much as this is turning me on, I’m going to pass.”
He wasn’t turned on. He was angry—deadly even, given the ice-cold, heartless look in his eyes. With a low, furious sound, he tugged me