Page 18 of Scarred (Russian Sinners 2)

“I would like to know the plan for this supposed kidnapping,” she demanded in her soft voice. I wondered how high-pitched her voice could go in the height of pleasure. Fuck, I couldn’t wait to hear her screams of pleasure. “I want to know the expectations and boundaries. I cannot lose what little control I have of my life and I refuse to be available at your every whim.”

I couldn’t say her comment surprised me. Having choices taken away from her made for a painful lesson. But I loved her little spark she still maintained after her bitter life experiences. I would enjoy igniting that spark and watching her burn under my expert touch. I would not rest till she could see past her own hurt and fear and see the woman I see in front of me. An incredibly strong young woman.

Focusing on her question, I answered her. “The two of us will drive to a private airport. My private plane will take us to Russia,” I hoped I was detailed enough for her, I thought with a hindered smile. “We’ll land in Moscow. I’ll take you to my house. About my expectations, there is only one. That you follow safety rules in my house. There is staff around the house that care for my niece. But she misses a younger woman in her life.”

She watched, waiting for me to continue. “And there is no expectation for you to be available at my every whim,” I continued. Although I hoped she’d come around and have the same whims as me eventually.

“Olivia, this is the best possible outcome,” her brother claimed softly, grabbing her hand. “You’ll be safe.”

With a hesitant nod, she turned to her brother.

“You’ll get Mom?” she asked him, worry etched on her beautiful young face. She was protective of people she cared about.

“Yes, the moment you leave with Nikolai, I’ll go get her,” he vowed. “Knowing Dad’s gambling habit and hooker schedule, we have till early morning hours.”

And there was my confirmation. Again. Their father was a scumbag.

“Ilya, please notify the pilot to be ready in an hour for take-off.” It was time to take Olivia away from here and into the safety of my home.

Olivia glanced down at herself and muttered under her breath, “I should have worn yoga pants.”

“We’ll get you some,” I offered with a smile, but she didn’t smile back.

The distrust in her eyes made me wonder what exactly she endured under her father and Malcome Schmidt. The background I ran found visits to the hospital, but only in the instances where she required medical attention. There were many scars that wouldn’t have required medical attention. Would she have taken care of them herself… suffer through them alone? God, I hoped not. She hid herself behind her armor, but there were cracks all over it.

“I want your word that I’m free to leave whenever I want,” she demanded in a sure voice. This woman surprised me. She waited for me to give her my word and it made me wonder how she guessed that when I gave my word, it was a solemn promise I never broke.

“You have my word, Olivia,” I promised without any hesitation. “Are you ready to leave for the airport?”

She nodded with a sigh and turned to hug her brother.

“Make sure you take care of her,” she whispered in a shaky breath.

“I promise,” he retorted with fury in his voice. “That bastard won’t ever hurt her or you again.”

He was right about that. Neither one of them would have a chance to get close to Olivia again.

She hugged her brother goodbye one more time and we were on our way.

Chapter Five

Olivia

Nikolai and I drove to the airport in silence. I wasn’t thrilled to be under another man’s control. The day I called my own shots would be the day I could finally take a free breath. My experience has taught me that men only cared to control me.

Every so often, my eyes drifted back to Nikolai’s scarred face. Harsh lines were evidence of a hard life, regardless of the scar. The oddest thing was that I found him safer than most of the people from my own social circles. I had a feeling if Nikolai threatened someone, he wouldn’t sneak and backstab… he’d go full force. Honestly, I’d prefer that more than mind games and backstabbing.

“So, you’re Russian?” I asked him, breaking the silence. It wasn’t the best icebreaker but too late. The question was already out.

“Yes,” he replied, a slight sarcasm in his voice. “And you are an American?”

There was no doubt in my mind that he purposely made his accent more detectable when asking the question back. As if he challenged me to discount him as a person because he wasn’t an American or someone with a different background and upbringing than my own. I didn’t give a crap about any of that.

“Yes,” I answered. “How long have you lived in the States?” I asked him, ignoring his obvious attempt at sarcasm.

He glanced at me and I swore he saw right through me, as if I pleased him for not jumping at his bait.

“Permanently?” I nodded. He thought for a second and then replied. “About fifteen years or so, although in the beginning my brothers and I traveled a lot back and forth between Russia and the U.S.”

---