Page 70 of Craving Dahlia

I wanted nothing more to do with you after that night, and nothing has changed.

But Evelyn and Dimitri will know I’m gone, I tell myself. They’ll know soon, if they don’t already, depending on how much time has passed. And even if Alek doesn’t care that I’m gone, even if he never bothers to look for me, they will. Surely Dimitri will have a way to find me.

But what happens until then?

I’m shivering so hard it hurts. I hear the sound of a key in the lock, the doorknob turning, and I jump, shuddering in the ball I’ve made of myself sitting in the middle of the mattress. I pull my knees and arms as close to myself as I can, wanting to hide as much of myself as possible from whoever is about to walk through that door.

The man who walks in is tall and well-built, with white-blond hair buzzed close to his scalp, wearing cargo pants and a tight shirt. His icy blue eyes meet mine, and I’m reminded of the man who talked to me at the speakeasy, who offered me money to hand over Alek.

“Dahlia Kennedy. Or should I say Yashkov?” He says my name, looking at me for a moment before he goes to grab the chair next to the wall, and I flinch. I can’t help it. I want to be tougher than this, to sit here on the bed without hiding myself and stare him down, but I’m terrified. I’ve never been this fucking scared before in my life.

I could try to get out, try to run, try to fight my way out of this room—and maybe I could even pull it off—but I have no idea what’s waiting for me outside. I very much doubt that he’s the only man in this place, that there isn’t heavy security, and I also very much doubt that whatever the ending of this is supposed to be, it ends with me not badly hurt in some way if I try to run.

“How do you know my name?” I wish my voice wasn’t shaking, but it is. Every word trembles as it comes out, and theman’s face remains impassive as he drags the chair over to face me, about six inches from the bed where I’m sitting.

“You already know that we know a great deal about you,” he says calmly, his voice as accented as the man in the speakeasy’s, as much as the men who grabbed me last night. “Dahlia Kennedy. Daughter of a D.C. politician. Pregnant with a child fathered by the second son of the Yashkov Bratva—and a man that we are very interested in speaking to. You were made an offer, Dahlia. Have you reconsidered it?”

I stare at him for a long moment. A near-hysterical giggle bursts past my lips.

“You think I’d give you anything afterthis? After you…you send men to drug me, and hurt me, and kidnap me? After?—”

His mouth twitches, and his eyes flick to the bruise on my cheek. “If you think a slap ishurtingyou, Dahlia, then you have a great deal to learn about what pain really means.”

I lick my lips nervously. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”

“Don’t you?” he raises an eyebrow, and I can see his jaw tighten ever so slightly, as if he’s already losing patience with me. “You’re married to Alek Yashkov. You know enough about him to tell us how to get to him. Or, alternatively, you can agree to bring him to us, at a time and place that you’re told, and you’ll be let go without any further—disagreeable interactions between us.”

Another too-high-pitched giggle escapes my lips, and I wonder if I’m in some kind of shock. “Alek isn’t going to go anywhere with me. Despite everything you seem to know, you clearly don’t know enough if you think he’s going to fall for a plan like that.” I frown, twisting my hands together to try to calm their shaking. “How do you know all of this, anyway? How do you know any?—”

The man is on his feet and in front of me before I can scramble backwards, his hand striking my cheek exactly wherethe bruise is. I press my lips together hard to try to keep from crying out, but a whimper escapes anyway, and my eyes burn. He grabs a handful of my hair, yanking my head backwards, and I can see from the frustrated anger in his eyes that whatever small amount of patience he had has run out.

“You are not the one asking questions here,suka,” he growls. “I am. And I haveallkinds of ways of making you talk. All kinds of ways of making you wish that you had, if you keep refusing to give me what I want.” His gaze drags down my half-naked body. “I don’t even need to do it myself. My men will enjoy punishing you for me. They’ll enjoy using you until you’re desperate for any way to get out of what they’ll do to you.”

He looks right at me, and I can see that this isn’t an idle threat. He’ll do everything he’s promising, and it terrifies me. I don’t want to be hurt, trapped, used by these men—but I’m also not going to turn Alek over to them.

He’s lied to me, yes. He’s been an asshole for most of the time we’ve been married—but that doesn’t mean he deserves whatever these men want with him.

And I know there’s something he’s hiding. Something that ties back to all of this, something that makes him act the way he does. The scars on his skin that I felt, the pain I see sometimes in his eyes or hear in his voice when he lets it slip through and doesn’t realize I’ll pick up on it—there’s something that happened to him. And I remember the way he looked when he realized that I came to him with the information about the man who tried to get me to bring him back to the bar, instead of taking the money.

Someone hurt him—in a lot of ways, I think. And regardless of the conflict between us, I’m not going to be the one to add to that.

I lift my chin, looking into the man’s eyes. “You can do whatever you want,” I tell him contemptuously. “I have nothing to tell you.”

This time, when he hits me, it’s hard enough to knock me back onto the bed. The next one leaves me shaking, and the next, tears of pain dripping down my cheeks until, finally, I’m knocked out cold.

24

ALEK

After I leave Dahlia’s room, striding back to my own in a rush of frustrated anger, I can’t sleep. I lay in bed for a long time, feeling regret tangle in my chest over the way I spoke to her.

What else was I supposed to do?

It’s clear that anything between us will only put her in more danger. And whatever has started to make me want more with her needs to be quelled before it causes me problems that I no longer want in my life.

What I need to focus on is how to put an end to the threat to myself once and for all. To bury the remains of this part of my past so deeply that it can’t ever come back to haunt me again. But instead, I’m staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the look in Dahlia’s eyes when I told her that I wanted nothing to do with her.

Inexplicably, a hot wash of rage towards the woman I once loved runs through me, making me grit my teeth.You ruined me,I think bitterly.Now this is my life. Anger and hate and loneliness and pain.And I can’t escape it.

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