Page 15 of Ruthless Vow
She deflates a little at this, but her eyes don’t lose their spark. She’s pissed, and she isn’t going to back down.
“I’m not your problem,” she deflects. “But you’ve become mine. Let me go now, or this is going to be so much worse for you.”
“What are you going to do?” I challenge, leaning closer.
At this distance, I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. I can count the faint freckles on her nose. I’m completely aware of the way her chest rises and falls with every breath. It throws me off balance.
“What I do or don’t do isn’t your concern,” she nearly spits at me, leaning forward herself to get in my face as she pushes her finger into my chest. “You need to end this now, or you’re going to be just as deep in hell as I’ve been for the last three months.”
It’s meant to be a threat, but she’s also revealed a deep, unconscious truth. She’s just as unsettled as I am, but probably for a different reason.
I take a step back, needing the space to clear my head. If I stay in her orbit for much longer, I’m going to do something I’ll regret. I turn back to the bed, pick up the first aid kit, and shove it into her hands.
“In case you need any more mending,” I tell her, before I turn on my heel and leave the room.
She’ll probably thinks she’s won this encounter, and that’s fine. She can believe whatever she wants, because I can’t let her know the truth.
I want her.
That wasn’t the plan. I can see this all spinning out of control very quickly if I give in to that urge. As much as I’m flying by the seat of my pants, I can’t throw in the added complication of succumbing to those desires.
I’ve already opened myself up to Mikhail’s wrath just by taking her. If I let myself have her, I’m crossing a line that there’s no coming back from. Mikhail won’t just start a war; he’ll trigger an annihilation. Everything I’ve ever worked to build will come crashing down around me.
The farther I get from her, the more I’m able to breathe, and the more I can tell myself that wanting her isn’t an option. It’s a death sentence.
8
ANYA
Iavoid Viktor as long as I can. I completely skip dinner and don’t come down again until it’s well after midnight and I’m hopeful he’s gone to bed.
I pad down the stairs and look into the kitchen to ensure he isn’t there. I grab some food and a couple of water bottles and head back to my room, prepared to stay there as long as I can. I close the door firmly behind me, wishing I had a free hand to flip the camera off before I do.
The problem is, now I really feel like a prisoner. I don’t want to leave my room and risk running into him again. If it were up to me, I’d never see him again, but that’s not an option in his house, with his guards, and his rules.
I force myself to go to sleep, even though all I want to do is scream for hours. Not into my pillow, either. I want him to hear my screams all night long. I want them to keep him up and force him to lose sleep because of me. It’s the absolute least he deserves for this.
In the morning, I pace the bedroom, wondering what I should do to really punish him today. I could always try to run again, but that would end up being more of a punishment to me. I know, now, that leaving the safehouse isn’t an option. I’ll have to find another method of escape. I’ll have to practice a supernatural amount of patience to wait for my moment.
In the meantime, I just want to destroy everything in this house. Unfortunately, there isn’t much to destroy. The furniture is all so bare, and there’s nothing remotely sentimental here to wreck. So, I continue to pace, stomping on the floor as loud as I can.
Then I realize that there’s only one advantage I have over Viktor. He needs me alive if he has any plans of using me against Mikhail. There’s no way to really injure myself here, so I opt for a hunger strike. I push my small dresser against the door and lay in bed, determined that I won’t come out of my room again.
That lasts for all of two hours, when a guard bangs on my door.
“Ms. Malenkova, you’re needed downstairs,” the guard says through the door, though his voice is muffled by the dresser.
“Tell Viktor to fuck off,” I scream back, crossing my arms and staring at the wall.
I hear the doorknob rattle and the guard tries to open it, but it’s blocked by the dresser.
“Ms. Malenkova,” he tries again. “I must insist that you open the door.”
“And I must insist that you go fuck yourself,” I shoot back, glaring toward the dresser.
I hear him walk away, but I know that isn’t the end of it. He’s very likely gone to get backup.
Sure enough, a few minutes later, there are more footsteps. It takes three men to push the door open, but I don’t try to fight them. It’s just a waste of energy, and I’m trying to conserve as much as I can. After all, a hunger strike requires a lot of work.
