Page 37 of Disguised as Love

It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. And it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. One he’d made on the plane and was saying again now as if I needed the reminder. I was pretty sure I could hold my own with him, but it would be close. We’d both be battered and bruised in the process.

“We both want the same thing. I promise.”

I was surprised at how deeply I felt it. I didn’t just want to see her safe. I now needed to. With every fiber in my being. What a fucking disaster.

Ilia and I stared each other down for one last moment, and then I turned back into the room, shutting the door and locking it. Raisa wasn’t in the bedroom. I heard the water running in the direction of the bathroom.

I took out my FBI phone, opened an app, and started scanning the room for bugs. It wasn’t fail-proof, but it would at least let me know how big a show we needed to put on. When the room came up clean, I was as relieved as I was surprised. I stuffed the phone back in my pocket and felt along the wall for the secret door that led to my room. I found the latch in a part of the molding but was unsure how to lock it. Instead, I dragged a table in front of it. It would at least make noise if someone tried to come through it.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Blocking the hidden door.”

I turned and found her in a pair of leggings and a long sweatshirt. It hid her body. A complete opposite to the way it had been on display earlier in the black-and-white dress, and yet she still looked damn sexy?maybe more so because this was Raisa at her core. Her face was free of makeup for the first time, and her hair was down, swirling around her breasts. If she was stunning made-up, she was an exquisite portrait undone. She took my breath and captured it, making it difficult to speak or move as she crossed the room in sock-clad feet. When she got close, the air rushed back into me along with desire. I fought against every fiber in my being that was aching to pick her up, toss her on the bed, and kiss away her fears.

“I almost figured you’d demand to keep it open so you could get to me if you thought you needed to,” she said quietly, looking again at the hidden door. Her voice sounded almost wistful, as if it would have made her feel safe, but it also made me realize she thought I was staying in the other room. I watched as she made her way to the bed and started pulling pillows from the vivid blue comforter.

“I’m staying here. There’s no reason to have the door open,” I told her calmly.

Her cheeks heated. “You aren’t staying here.”

“I am.”

She tossed the decorative pillows onto the floor as if shedding layers of anger.

“I’m tired of men thinking they know what’s best for me.”

I crossed over to her and took a pillow from her hands. “Stop murdering the linens and tell me what happened with Volkov.”

She stilled, panic and disgust filling her face. “He wants me to marry his son. As a means of justifying his takeover of our home and Papa’s businesses. You know, keep it all in the family. ‘Help Malik.’”

She put air quotes around the helping Malik part, and if anger hadn’t been flying through me, I might have found it humorous. But I was filled with fury instead at the idea of Volkov trying to tie her to his son. The thought of her being wrapped in Damien’s slimy arms did things to me it shouldn’t have. Waves of jealousy I was unaccustomed to flooded my veins.

“I reminded him that Papa had banned Damien from our home, and he tossed it back in my face, implying I’d simply been a little girl afraid of the dark and crying wolf.”

She shivered at some unknown memory, but I felt the anger in me continue to build as I realized she was afraid of Damien for more than just his connections to his father and the mafiya.

“What did he do to you?” I growled, sounding jealous even to my own ears.

“Does it matter?” she asked, glancing at me before her eyes darted away again.

“Yes.”

She was quiet and then said, as if embarrassed, “I was fifteen and had a crush on him. He was suave, and beautiful, and around all the time because he was friends with Malik. One day, he found me as I was getting out of the pool…and he kissed me. I let him…wanted it…but then…”

She drifted off for a moment, and my heart about fell out of my chest, hoping he hadn’t taken her innocence with a cruel act. Rage grew the longer she talked and the quieter she got. “He kept going, tugging at the strings on my top, and I freaked out. I tried to push him away, telling him to stop.”

She twirled the locket at her neck with shaking hands as the memories assaulted her. Suddenly, death seemed too good for Damien Volkov.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice deep with meaning.

She looked up into my eyes as if she’d forgotten I was there and gave me a wry smile. “Sorry you asked, sorry men can be such assholes, or sorry I experienced it?”

“All of it.”

“Don’t feel too bad. The scar on his temple? That was me. I took a crystal vase and slugged him with it and then ran in search of Papa.” She said it smugly, and I didn’t know which emotion to process first: fierce pride that she’d bested the bastard, or even more worry that the man had held a grudge for fourteen years and was looking for revenge.

“You’re hell on wheels, little one,” I replied. My tone was deep and guttural, full of the emotions I couldn’t express.

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