Page 8 of Twisted Cage

Cupping my neck, he lowers his forehead to mine and rocks his head from side to side, brushing his nose against mine.

“I made a promise before God to protect you, Nikoletta. Lord help me, I will keep that vow.”

The sound of my name on his lips, not the nickname you give a child, but my given name, has me dizzy and swaying against him. “I’ve missed you.”

Sliding my hands inside his jacket, I clutch at his shirt for balance. His muscles jump at my touch, and he sucks in a ragged breath. Not just the kind that comes from fear of losing a loved one. No, the hiss from his lips—the sound he tries to swallow back is the visceral reaction of attraction and temptation.

Hope swells in my chest.

He feels it. I know he feels it now. This is different. We’re different. I’m no longer that little girl and that desire for him only pulses stronger now than it did then.

“Trust me, Pcholka.” The flash of awareness between us quells under his childhood nickname for me, but it was there, and it will be there again.

I nod and slide my cheek against his. “I do.”

“Then we go.”

“Where? He’ll find us. There’s nowhere?—”

“Underground. We go underground and we don’t come up until Nikolaj brings his army.” He presses a kiss to my forehead, his fingers sliding from the back of my neck to my shoulders and giving me a reassuring squeeze. “Come now.”

Taking my hand in his, he rushes me through the alley. His men, the same men he’s had at his side since I was in grade school, check the street and give us a nod. Dmitri moves first, leading the way up the sidewalk along a series of wrought iron fences and Grigori slips in behind us.

My heel catches again, breaking clean off this time. I gasp, my hands shooting out in front of me, but before I fall, Konstantin’s arm is there, locked around my middle, keeping me upright. “I hated those heels on you anyway.”

“You hate that they make you see me as a woman.”

With one swoop, he lifts me off my feet and just as he turns, I hear a soft click that has him going rigid.

“Leaving so soon, Malikov? Is that any way to start our new business relationship?” The voice drips with confidence and a hint of disdain. Each word is a taunt from the shadows until the man steps out into the light of the streetlamps, his gun aimed at Konstantin’s head. “She must be valuable if you’re willing to break our deal for her.”

I keep my head hidden by the hood as the man moves in closer. I catch a quick glimpse of dark hair slicked back, a jagged scar trailing down his cheek that sends a shiver down my spine.

“The night is young, Moretti. Go back inside and get yourself a drink. Before you find the bottom of the glass, the deal will be done.” The words rumble through the night, calm and sure, but I feel the change in his heart. The ominous thud in his chest as the adrenaline in his blood surges to a whole new level.

Moretti’s dress shoes click in time with the clucking of his tongue. “This looks a lot more interesting.” A cool hand glides over my calf. “Why don’t you do whatever it is you need to do, and I’ll keep the girl company.”

“Hands off.” A growl echoes from Konstantin’s chest. With a quick jerk, he yanks me free, spins me, and dumps me in Grigori’s arms.

The cat and mouse games die the minute Moretti laid a hand on me. With one move, Konstantin meets the challenge of battle and our quiet escape plunges into chaos. Shots split through the hum of the air as Grigori’s feet pound the pavement.

“No! We can’t leave him.”

I push against his chest, fight him with everything I have, but he only tightens his grip, a curse of frustration on his lips. “He’s fine. Dammit. Stop moving.”

Digging my nails into his flesh, I thrash against him, my every movement shifting the cape until it binds me while more shots ring through the night. Konstantin could be dying right now. In the street, alone, bleeding, and I never had the chance to tell him—to show him—what he means to me.

My lungs ache as I fight back frustrated tears. I can’t stop tearing at his skin, his blood slick under my nails, his pain-laced hiss the only sign I’m having any effect on him. Within minutes, he’s taking the steps two at a time and ducking into an apartment building.

Dropping me to my feet, he snatches my hands away from his neck and holds them up between us, his eyes widening at the sight of blood coating my fingers almost to my palm. “Fucking hell. Damn women. More fucking trouble than they’re worth.” With a grunt, he drags me over to the door under the stairs that lead to the second floor. Shoving me through, he drags it shut behind us, plunging us into darkness.

My heart hammers in my ears, the sound of his mutters blurring at the edges until they disappear under the thunder of my own panic. I spin around and reach out, searching for something, anything to ground me. My fingers scrambling for something familiar.

When I spin again, he flicks his flashlight on, the beam hitting me right in the eyes. The dull glow offers sweet relief from the darkness, and the panic threatening to sweep me under recedes, just a bit.

I blink down just as Grigori yanks open a panel in the floor. “Go.”

There’s no light, just stagnant air and silence.

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