If she had tried something, I wasn't sure what I would do, but it would have caused a need for more payoffs and a bigger cover-up than Kostya's little shootout. Blood money and silence bought at a price that even I would feel.
Her cheeks flushed a beautiful pink color, and she held up her chin in defiance. Christ, even the streaks of rose gold in her hair seemed to glow like embers, highlighting her ire. It didn't matter. She could be as angry as she wanted. It wouldn't change a goddamn thing.
Tonight she was going to be reminded of exactly who she belonged to and what the consequences of her actions were. I thought I had been perfectly clear before. The punishments I gave her obviously hadn't been enough—hadn't carved themselves deep enough into her memory.
Maybe my mistake was making her come after her spanking, or maybe it was being too gentle when I fucked her in my office, letting her believe pain and pleasure could be separated.
No, my true mistake was in letting her think she had some freedom. I was trying to be nice. I was trying to give her some space after our dinner, but never again. Every time I gave her some leniency, some independence, she did something fucking stupid and put herself in danger.
It was going to be a very, very long time before I trusted her again. If ever.
As soon as her feet hit the platform, I switched my grip to the back of her neck, fingers digging into the tender flesh where her spine met her skull, and frog-marched her through the marble lobby.
She had proven over and over to be far more resilient than she should have been. And fucking crafty. Her mind worked in ways that left me both furious and impressed.
I wasn't letting her get away. She wasn't going to make a run for it or slip into the bathroom and then out of the window or something equally ridiculous.
Maybe it would be better to leave her naked and chained to my desk. At least then I would know where the fuck she was. The image of her bound and helpless sent a jolt of heat through me that I pushed aside. This wasn't about pleasure—this was about control.
The train station was mostly empty now, as the last train of the night pulled out of the station with a mournful whistle. Still, the few remaining people openly gaped at us, their eyes widening before they quickly averted their gazes and gave us a wide berth. Fear and recognition flashed across their faces in equal measure.
No one said a word to us as I pushed her out into the cold air and directed her to my waiting car.
The second I slammed the door closed, she turned on me.
Her eyes blazed with blue fire as she began her verbal rampage, full of indignation. As if she were the one who had been wronged. As if she were the one who had any right to the anger that had been pounding through my veins since the second I found out where she was, each heartbeat a hammer striking against my restraint.
"What do you think you are doing?" Viktoria snapped, rounding on me like a caged animal, the scent of her expensive perfume mixing with the metallic tang of fear. "What gives you the right?"
"Are you kidding me? Do you know how much trouble you're in right now,moya ptashka?" The endearment felt like acid on my tongue, corrosive and burning.
She turned her back on me and tried to open the door to run out the other side. The child locks for that side had been engaged.
She wasn't going anywhere.
Not tonight.
Not ever again.
Viktoria let out a scream that raked against my eardrums and pounded her balled fist against the glass. My driver started the car and pulled out into traffic, his eyes carefully fixed on the road ahead, pretending he couldn't hear her rage.
When she went missing, I felt my first real taste of fear. A cold serpent that slithered down my spine and coiled in my gut.
Once we caught her on a traffic camera and I knew where she was going, that icy fear melted into a red, fiery rage the likes of which I had never felt. It consumed every thought, burned away every shred of mercy.
"Let me go," Viktoria screeched, the sound bouncing off the leather interior.
Her hand went up like she was going to slap me again.
Instead, I grabbed her by the jaw, my grip punishing as I dragged her close to me, close enough to count the silver flecks in her irises, to see the broken capillaries from her tears.
She tried to squirm away, her nails digging crescents into my wrist, but I wasn't having it. She was going to listen. She was going to understand.
"Do you have any idea what could've happened to you?" My question cut through her defiance.
"I could have been free of you," she hissed, the fight melting from her like snow in flame, uncertainty dancing in her sapphire eyes.
She didn't want to be free of me. Not really. She wanted to fight me, and she wanted me to win. She wanted me to prove that I was worthy of her, that I was monster enough to keep her safe but man enough to be worthy of her submission.
