The Bastard's Bargain Page 13

  She lifted the hem like it was some bastardized version of a ball gown and hurried down the stairs. No footsteps sounded behind her, but she didn’t doubt for a second that Dmitri would send someone to fetch her. Even this small rebellion would be crushed.

  It took precious minutes to reach her bedroom, lock the door, and head for the bathroom. She sank onto the floor and opened the cabinet, moving fast enough that she knocked over the vodka bottles, but not caring. She picked them up with shaking hands and lined them up in a little row on the floor in front of her crossed legs. Not enough. But it would have to do.

  She unscrewed the first cap and inhaled slow and deep. The rubbing alcohol smell should have repelled her, but it smelled like a different sort of home. Like penance. Keira lifted the bottle to her lips.

  It never made contact.

  It was ripped from her grasp, leaving her gaping at Dmitri as he flung it into the sink hard enough that it bounced like a pinball. She gasped. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “One could ask you the same thing.” He pointed at the sink where the little bottle lay in a pool of liquid that she could smell from where she sat. “What. The. Fuck. Are. You. Doing?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “I would think that’s obvious.”

  “Oh, da, it’s obvious enough. One bump in the road, one hint of a fight, and you almost fling yourself down the stairs in your haste to get to the bottle.”

  He’d been following more closely than she realized if he’d seen that misstep. She held perfectly still, even though every fiber of her being screamed at her to grab another bottle before he did something unforgivable. “If I want to drink—”

  “Finish that sentence.”

  She’d never seen him so threatening, not even when he was actually threatening her or someone she cared about. Dmitri’s gray eyes blazed at her, daring her to do exactly as he commanded. She lifted her chin. “It’s my business.”

  “Wrong. So fucking wrong. You do not get to drink yourself to death, using me and everyone around you as an excuse while you do. That is where this road ends, Keira. It doesn’t stop at the bottom of this bottle, or the next, or the next. It ends with you in a coffin and every single fucking person who cares about you standing around as they lower it into the ground. Your brothers. Your sisters. Charlie. Me.”

  She stared, trying to process. “It’s one fucking drink.”

  “Lie to yourself if you must, but you will not lie to me.” His gaze flicked down to the cabinet she’d been hoping he would forget about, and he moved forward with purpose. “I thought withdrawal would be enough to deter you. I was wrong. If I have to assign you a babysitter to ensure you don’t backslide, I will do it. Do not think I won’t.”

  It wasn’t a bluff. If he thought for a second that she was a danger, he’d ensure that she wouldn’t have access to anything resembling alcohol. Keira leaned back against the wall with a thud as Dmitri grabbed the remaining pair of bottles and set them on the counter next to the sink. She snarled. “God forbid your possession be in less than perfect working order.”

  He muttered in Russian and poured the first bottle down the drain. Keira watched the clear liquid disappear and had the uncomfortable urge to drag her hands over the surface of the counter to drink whatever she could manage. Fuck me, I’m a mess.

  It took less than two minutes to empty the two remaining bottles and wipe down the spilled vodka from the counter. Only then did he turn to her. “What do you want, Keira?”

  Shock stole her breath for several long seconds. Had anyone since Devlin ever actually asked her that? It took two tries to find her voice. “I don’t know.”

  His expression softened for a split second before he set his jaw. “You don’t want to be a possession? Fine. Figure out what you do want to and go for it. Stop being a victim and fight.”

  “I have no power!”

  His eyebrows rose. “No power.” Dmitri huffed a laugh. “For fuck’s sake, Keira, you have more than you know and I’m a damn fool for telling you as much.”

  Surely he didn’t mean…

  She didn’t have power over him. That was absurd. He owned her as he was so fond of telling her. It wasn’t the other way around.

  Except…

  She’d seen Dmitri with nearly every member of her family, and he’d never acted around them the way he acted around her. Even as early as their second meeting, he’d indulged her, just a little. She dropped her arms to her side, letting the robe gape open. It was hardly indecent, but his gaze followed that slight of skin all the same. “You want me.”

  “You’re stating the obvious. Again. Why? You know how to play the game, Keira. You’ve proven you have brain in that beautiful head of yours. It’s only that poison that dulls it.” He slashed a hand through the air toward the sink. “Choose now—perpetual victim or the role you were always meant to play.”

  What game was he at now? She tried for a belligerent tone. “And what role is that.”

  “My motherfucking queen.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dmitri didn’t sleep. Instead, he went to his office and cued up the monitors surveying the rest of the house. The whole night had been one giant mistake, from climbing into bed with Keira to letting her convince him that it wasn’t too soon for sex to laying one of his most valued cards on the table.

  He’d misplayed things badly.

  He knew she wasn’t ready, but he’d let his own desires override his plans. Just like he had time and again when it came to Keira O’Malley. Following her into her room and finding that bottle at her lips had stopped his fucking heart. It didn’t matter that she would hardly drink herself to death tonight—if she took that sip, eventually she would. He might have threatened to put someone on her night and day, but the truth was that if she wanted alcohol or drugs, she’d find a way to get them no matter how tight the security.

  The only thing that would stop her was if she made the choice herself.

  He couldn’t make it for her. She was right—she wasn’t a possession that he could put in a glass box and only take out when it suited him. His life would be simpler if that was what he wanted from her, but he’d told her the truth. He didn’t want a toy. He wanted a queen to his king.

  The problem was that he didn’t know if it was bait enough.

  She wanted power. She’d as much as said it herself, but wanting something and being willing to take it were two very different things.

  His phone rang, and he was pathetically grateful for the break. “Romanov.”

  “Answering your own phone at this hour? Tsk-tsk.”

  He went still. He knew that voice, but he wouldn’t have guessed that the bitch had the audacity to phone his direct line. “Alethea Eldridge. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “I think it’s hardly that. Did you get my present, Romanov? I picked it out just for you.”

  Now it was his turn to tsk. “We both know who sent that gift, and it wasn’t you. Though it begs the question—did you command your daughter to do it, or have you lost even a modicum of control over her?”

  “It’s a moot point. The gift got its point across.” Alethea paused. “How is your darling wife, by the way?”

  He expected the dodge, and allowed it. Alethea was too smart to admit she’d lost control of her daughter, even if they both knew it was true. Dmitri considered her words. “I have no doubt that you love your daughter, but if she so much as touches my wife, I’ll skin her alive while I force you to watch. You be sure to let her know that.”

  “So quick with the threats. You must really care about the girl.” Alethea laughed. “Though I don’t know that I’d be making threats I can’t follow through on, Romanov. You don’t have ready access to Mae, but I do have access to something you lost. Or should I say someone?”

  He went still. Fuck. “I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

  “Don’t you? He was remarkably difficult to break, but my Mae is gifted. Mikhail Sokolov. He didn’t give u
s much more than that, but I laid down boundaries to what my daughter could do. Make one wrong move on your part, and she’s under orders to kill him in whatever creative way her twisted little mind can come up with—and we both know Mae is an artist when it comes to such things.”

  An artist was one way to put it.

  He wanted to call her bluff, but Alethea wouldn’t have contacted him over anything less than a sure thing. Which meant Mikhail was under their tender care—and had been long enough for them to force his name out of him. Knowing the man, it took more than simple torture to get even that much.

  Dmitri had failed him. He’d sent him off and immediately become so enthralled with Keira that he hadn’t checked in or sent anyone else to do the same. Another misstep. He tried to think fast and find an angle to exploit, but ultimately Alethea had him painted into a corner, and she had to know it. She wouldn’t have waited until now to make contact if there was a way for him to regain the upper hand. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

  “You do that.”

  He gritted his teeth and then forced his face to relax so that tension wouldn’t bleed into his voice. “In the meantime, any damage done to my man from here forward will be repaid in kind, so think carefully about what you want to accomplish, Alethea.”

  She laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “We both know that the second you get your hands on me, you’ll repay in kind regardless of whether he’s further injured. Don’t toy with me, Romanov.”

  “You will bring him to me. I’ll consider sparing you if he’s not irreparably harmed.” Mikhail might very well die despite everything Dmitri had to throw at Alethea. The thought made his hands shake, and he had to press his free one to his desk to keep from throwing something. Dmitri didn’t make mistakes, but he’d made a massive one when it came to Alethea—two now, if he was keeping track.

  “I’ll take that under consideration,” she parroted back to him, and hung up.

  Dmitri roared and swept the shit off his desk. “That fucking bitch.” She’d outplayed him. He could blame his distraction on Keira, but the only one responsible was Dmitri. He’d incorrectly assumed that because the Eldridges were in hiding, they were weak and focusing on surviving.

  He should have known better.

  * * *

  Alethea hung up the phone and turned to the man handcuffed in the dingy tub. “You know, I think Romanov might actually care whether you live or die. Fascinating.”

  Mikhail stared at her with hateful eyes. She’d gagged him before making the call—no one liked interruptions—but now she reached over and unbuckled the strap holding it in place. He coughed and turned his head to the side to spit. “He won’t deal with you. Not for me.”

  “Perhaps.” It would bother Romanov if this man died, but he was too smart to risk himself or his wife for a mere second in command. That wasn’t what this was about. She needed Romanov off-center and expecting an attack from any quarter while her mole inside his operation did what was required. Expecting an attack from the outside would keep him busy in the meantime.

  Mikhail studied her. “You can’t win. You have to know that.”

  “Do you have any children, Mikhail?”

  His expression instantly shuttered. “Nyet.”

  It was a lie, but she chose to let it stand. Mikhail was only a means to an end. Hunting down his family was a waste of time and resources—but it wouldn’t hurt for him to think otherwise. “It wouldn’t matter. Fathers are wonderful, but ultimately replaceable. There’s nothing in this world as pure as a mother’s love.” She picked up the scalpel Mae had left behind and cleaned it in the bathroom sink. “My mother created a safe space for her children to grow up in. I merely expanded it for mine. All I wanted was the freedom to operate as I saw fit. I’d bend a knee to Romanov, but being his lapdog was too much to ask.”

  “You are not special. Everyone who swears allegiance to him is treated the same.”

  “And if they’re not, he plots their deaths.” She set the scalpel down on the sink with exaggerated care. “He would have killed Mae and me simply for being too good at running our territory within his territory. I won’t stand for it.”

  “Mae is psikh. She will kill you in the end.”

  She shook her head and forced the ball gag back into his mouth. “That’s enough out of you. I know my daughter’s faults better than anyone. It changes nothing.” She would move forward with her plan through sheer self-defense. Alethea took no pleasure in the thought of killing every man and woman inside the Romanov household, but she’d do what it took to survive.

  To do anything else went against her nature.

  * * *

  After Dmitri had walked out and left her sitting there on the floor, a few things had become clear to Keira—the main being that Dmitri was right. He’d thrown her a life raft, but he couldn’t force her to climb in. He hadn’t been playing a game or a part when he’d stormed into her bedroom. With the exception of the two times they’d hooked up since she arrived in New York, it was the first time she’d seen him without his carefully mocking mask firmly in place.

  If she didn’t know better, she would have thought he cared whether she was sober or not—and not only because he needed her not to embarrass him.

  He’d offered to make her his queen.

  She didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t have to make her his partner, even if it was the illusion of being a partner. Queen to his king. All the power she’d craved, but no more freedom.

  There was no freedom for Keira. It was time she made her peace with that.

  She pulled herself from the floor. Nothing good came from poking at their last interaction, to go over it again and again, peeling the layers away to try to get to the good stuff beneath. He’d offered her what was essentially a business transaction, but if she didn’t set the terms now, he’d try to steamroll her just like he had in the past. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. Dmitri was a force of nature, and her being his wife wouldn’t save her from his machinations.

  If anything, she was more at risk than anyone else.

  She padded downstairs on bare feet, praying she wouldn’t run into anyone on her way to Dmitri’s office. The door was closed, but no one was around to tell her to stay out, so she opened it and slipped into the room.

  And stopped cold.

  Papers and pens and the phone lay on the ground, scattered as if Dmitri had swept the whole thing off his desk in a rage. Considering how clean said desk was, that had to be exactly what he’d done. He bent over it, his hands braced on the shiny surface, his shoulders heaving as he dragged in a breath. Oh my God, I’ve broken the Russian.

  “Romanov?”

  He didn’t look at her. “Now is not a good time.”

  She skirted the junk on the floor and sank into the chair across from him. Last time she’d seen Dmitri, he was furious, but this was something else altogether. Her gaze fell to the phone. “Something happened.”

  “Keira…” He dropped into his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. She could almost see the wheels turning, see him considering if he should tell her or order her out of the room. Holding her breath wouldn’t do a damn thing to push him one way or another, but she did it all the same. Finally, Dmitri sighed. “You know the feds arrested Mae Eldridge after what she did to Charlie.”

  “Yes. They all but caught her red-handed. Even if the Eldridges have people in the FBI, if they hadn’t arrested her, it would have been crazy.” She had a feeling Aiden was behind the suspicious timing of the police showing up just as he was rescuing Charlie, but there was no point in confirming. He’d gotten Charlie out safely. Mae was arrested.

  He nodded. “They most definitely have someone on the payroll, or managed to use some sort of leverage against the judge, because Mae made bail.”

  “What?” That didn’t make any sense. There was a reason people who were exceedingly violent or posed a flight risk weren’t granted bail—and Mae fit both categories.

 
Dmitri cast a look at the empty cabinet set against the wall perpendicular to the door. She’d bet her last dollar it used to have alcohol in it. With his current level of frustration, it made sense that he was craving something that would burn down his throat and warm his stomach.

  Stop that. You’re sober. You didn’t just have this revolutionary moment so you could stumble now.

  “I sent one of my men, Mikhail, and a small team to attempt to flush her out. It went bad.”

  “They have him.” She stated it as a fact, instantly connecting the dots. If she wasn’t the reason Dmitri was pissed right now, it meant something bad happened to his man. “Is he alive?”

  “Da, though I don’t know if he’ll stay that way.” The icy gentleman-murderer was nowhere to be seen. The fury lacing his tone was white hot and ready to strike out at his enemies.

  “Do you know where they are?” Keira leaned forward, thinking fast. “A rescue isn’t a good bet, but maybe you could tip off the cops. It obviously won’t keep the Eldridges locked away, but it might save your man.”

  He shook his head, though his gaze sharpened on her as if seeing her for the first time since she walked into the office. “I’ll look into it. Thank you.”

  She nodded and then hesitated. She’d had a purpose coming down here, but it seemed bad timing to throw her personal revelations at Dmitri. Her shit could wait until they had Mikhail back safely. She moved to stand, but his voice stopped her.

  “You have something to say.”

  Keira hesitated, but if he was asking, she might as well get it out. “I’m not ready to drink myself to death. That was never the goal.”

  “It never is.”

  Keira sighed, and let her legs slide to the ground. “I don’t know how to do any of this, Dmitri. I don’t know how to be in anything resembling a relationship, even if it’s for show. I don’t know how to lead. I don’t know how to be a partner. I’ve only ever been a pawn.”

  “Never a pawn. A queen in waiting.” He spoke softly, the intensity of his gaze on her making her shift. As if he saw something more than that woman sitting there in a borrowed bathrobe. As if he saw the queen he’d called her.