Page 37 of Hostage of the Russian
He held her through it, never stopping, coaxing every last tremor from her with slow, deliberate movements until she slumped against him, wrecked and gasping.
His lips brushed her ear, tender and possessive all at once. “You’re fucking beautiful like this.”
But as the fog of pleasure began to clear, reality came crashing back. She remembered where they were, why they were here, and most importantly, the fear in her voice when she’d begged him to take her away from the party.
“You knew,” she said suddenly, pushing against his chest. “You knew he would be here tonight.”
Kostya went very still, and the guilt that flashed across his face was all the confirmation she needed.
“You set this up.” The betrayal hit her like a physical blow. “You brought me here specifically so I would see him.”
“Azriel, let me explain...”
“No.” She shoved him away more forcefully, anger replacing the vulnerability that had made her so desperate for his touch. “You used my trauma as some kind of test. You watched me fall apart, and then you... we...”
She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t voice what they’d just done while her emotional wounds were still bleeding. The intimacy that had felt so real moments before now felt manipulative and cruel.
“It wasn’t like that,” Kostya said, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch me.” She jerked away from him, straightening her dress with hands that shook with rage rather than desire. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
She left him standing there in the darkness, but she could feel his eyes on her as she walked away, burning into her back like a brand.
Chapter 13 - Kostya
Three days had passed since that night at the alliance party, and Kostya found himself replaying every moment, the way Azriel’s body had trembled against his, the soft gasps she’d made when his fingers found their mark, and then the cold shock in her eyes when she’d pushed him away. The taste of her still lingered on his lips, a constant reminder of how she’d felt so right in his arms before everything went to hell.
Now she moved through his house like a ghost, keeping to her room, taking her meals in silence, and avoiding him with the precision of someone who’d mapped out his daily routine. The few times their paths crossed, she’d offer nothing more than a polite nod before disappearing again. It was driving him insane.
The woman who’d bickered with him over greasy diner food, who’d defied his orders to take her exams, who’d kissed him back with a hunger that matched his own, that woman had vanished. In her place was this hollow version who looked at him like he was a stranger she couldn’t quite place.
Kostya pushed back from his desk, the financial reports he’d been reviewing forgotten. He’d tried giving her space, thinking she needed time to process what had happened between them. But patience had never been his strong suit, and watching her retreat further into herself was eating him alive.
The way she’d reacted to seeing her father, the fear that had flooded her eyes, the way she’d practically crawled out of her skin when Danny tried to touch her, it painted a picture that made Kostya’s blood run cold. He’d assumed Danny Hartford was just another greedy piece of shit who’d gotten in over his head. But the terror on Azriel’s face suggested something much darker.
He needed answers, and if Azriel wouldn’t give them to him, he’d get them from the source.
The warehouse on the south side had always served as neutral ground for meetings with lower-tier associates. Kostya arrived expecting to find Danny Hartford waiting for him, probably sweating bullets and ready to grovel. Instead, he found Viktor leaning against a stack of crates, his expression grim.
“He’s gone,” Viktor said without preamble.
Kostya felt his jaw tighten. “Gone how?”
“Cleared out his apartment, closed his bank accounts, disappeared into the wind. My contact at the airport says he caught a red-eye to Miami two nights ago. From there, who knows?”
“Son of a bitch.” Kostya drove his fist into the nearest crate, wood splintering under the impact. He should have seen this coming. The moment Danny laid eyes on Azriel at that party, the moment he’d seen the fear in her reaction, he should have anticipated that the coward would run.
Viktor watched him with knowing eyes. “This is about more than the money he stole, isn’t it?”
Kostya flexed his bruised knuckles, thinking of Azriel’s trembling hands, the way she’d flinched when her father had reached for her. “Put every resource we have on finding him. I don’t care if he’s hiding in a cave in Afghanistan, I want him found.”
“Already on it. But Kostya...” Viktor hesitated, which was unlike him. “Maybe focus on the girl first. Whatever happened between her and Danny, she’s the one who’s here. She’s the one who matters now.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Viktor was right, Azriel was here, she was his wife, and instead of hunting down ghosts, he should be finding a way to bridge the chasm that had opened between them.
He made it back to the mansion just as the afternoon light was beginning to fade. The house felt too quiet, too empty, even with the staff moving about their duties. He found himself climbing the stairs to Azriel’s room, then stopping outside her door like some lovesick teenager.
The sound of muffled voices from downstairs caught his attention. He followed the noise to the kitchen, where he found Marta, his longtime housekeeper, setting a tea service on a tray.
