LOGINStaring down danger over a tea party is a great reminder that life loves throwing curveballs when you’re least prepared. But on the bright side, I think I’m finally sure he’s six-foot five.
I swallow the lump in my throat as those muddy, red eyes penetrated through my very being, sending electricity shooting down my spine.
I could see the way his gaze swept over me even with the man in front of him still speaking to him. It’s like he was weighing my every secret. It’s scary, I want to look away, but I can’t.
As they say, the most dangerous connections are the ones that make your skin crawl in fear and your body to heat in arousal.
“Evangeline . . .”
It’s both disgusting and confusing. I can’t believe he, a total stranger, would be able to make me feel so small under that lethal gaze.
“Evangeline . . .”
My heart hammered wildly. My hands, trembling despite my efforts to keep them steady, clenched into tight fists on the new dress my father paid for. Is he seeing me do that? Does he think I’m afraid of him now?
His gaze was intense, almost predatory and it’s making my skin crawl and tingle at the same time. Who is he, really?
“Evangeline!”
I jolt at the voice just beside my ears and I turn to one of the women who called. “Are you even listening?” The Mayor’s daughter snapped her fingers right in front of me and somehow pulled me out of my hazy state.
I wipe the side of my lips. I know I wouldn’t drool but I really can’t trust my body after what that man did with it with just his gaze.
“I said I’m planning to ask him out.” She smirks at me as though I’d get jealous. Maybe, she’s right. Maybe not.
“Perfect, then go on.” I smile and tried to remind myself what I came here for. “So, where did your father go?” I clasp my hand right in front of me, trying to stay calm. I can feel his gaze on my body. It’s inducing both fear and precum.
“S-scotland . . .” she stammered, still confused.
“Oh, that’s great. Isn’t he like building a casino in Tverskaya?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m going to be one of the shareholders. Twenty percent.” This time, her lips form a crooked smile.
“Any idea about the casino? Who’s going to invest in it? You know, maybe I’ll try to invest as well.” I ask as casually as I can. Taking a soft sip on the tea they’ve brought. What I truly need is a shot of tequila from that hot gaze that’s heating up my entire body.
“The Congressman, the co-founder of Eden, someone from Italy and—wait a fucking minute!” she shakes her head from answering all my questions and glares at me. Shit, did she notice I was prying too much?
“You’re you okay with it? That I’m asking him out?” The Mayor’s daughter grumbled.
Okay, she did not notice. But what the hell? Is she stirring up trouble on purpose?
I shrug, “Why not? Like you said, he’s hot.” I beam and if I could see smoke coming out of their ears and nostrils, I would assume they’re fuming.
Well, I was known to be the best woman in stealing men. That’s just because I need them for info, but it’s not like I have anything to gain from ‘that’ dangerous man.
The women looked at me with wide eyes while the Mayor’s daughter clenched her hands on the table cloth.
My mind drifts back to myself being stuck in that closet. “But I think I hear he’s about to be engaged.” I mutter unconsciously. “Aha!” They all instantly stand up with fingers pointed at me.
“I knew you were jealous! I-I . . . I was just trying to ask someone out and y-you . . . think I’m not that worthy of him, don’t you?!” tears began to collect in the corner of her eyes and my brows furrowed.
“What? I didn’t. I just—” I heard them talking about an engagement while being stuck in his goddamn office.
I can’t say that.
“See? You can’t even come up with evidences! He’s not engaged, he never will and you’re the one stirring up stories to-to—I don’t know—seduce him, maybe!” She screams right in my face. The others instantly stands up to follow her, glaring at me as they console the crying Mayor’s daughter.
Goddamnit, I’m tired of this shit. The heavens hate me, that’s for sure.
“Wait!”
“Just sit the fuck down. They were right about you.” The nicest one among them who came to greet me to my seat earlier glared. Now everyone hates me, yipie!
“O-okay . . .” I push the hair out of my face and glanced at the other table. The strange man, Konstantin Morozov, huh? If you’re the one who’s messing this up for me, I’ll make sure to pay you back with fucking force.
I cannot let my Mom starve.
He raised his brows and the coldness on his face intensified as he crossed his arms on his chest, muscles bulging out of that long sleeves. “Look what you did.” He mouthed and I instantly whip my head away.
What a jerk.
I stood up from the table and called a waiter. “A shot of Tequila, please.” I sighed.
“But it’s a tea party . . .”
“I know. Now, please get me a shot of Tequila.” I mutter. She shifted her shaky glance at me and nodded, albeit confused.
I look back at the bathroom, when will they be back?
A few minutes later, the waitress came back with a teacup in hand. It had the same design as all the cups on the table. “I said a shot of—”
“It has Tequila on it.” She whispered. I nodded, taking the hint, and took a sip.
Time ticked.
And ticked.
Suddenly, I felt dizzy. My senses were shutting down, but I heard the clicking of stilettos heading back from the table. My gaze turned hazy. I could already tell where it was from.
The Tequila was spiked, and it was spiked with hardcore sleeping powder.
I wasn’t an amateur to not tell the difference after being with so many men around me upon my father’s orders. The waitress put something on it. But what’s the reason, why would they—
“Now, now. Stop crying. Drink something-here—” I didn’t hear them coming beside me but they took the cup with the tequila in it for the Mayor’s daughter’s hiccups. Her face was puffy from crying.
“No!” I stood up and instantly shoved the cup away from their hands and it came shattering down the ground.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” They all turned to me, more serious this time. I swallowed the lump in my throat. Why is it always me?
I could feel the hot gaze on me turning cold as I look back at the man. He’s disappointed at my actions. “That drink-that drink was . . .” spiked, by your own maids? Is that even believable?
“That drink was what?! We knew we shouldn’t have invited you!”
“That drink was . . . mine.” I mutter. If they want villainess me, then let’s just let them have it.
“Fuck you, Bennington. You’re nothing but a bitch.” She mumbles and tears begin to build up in the corner of my eyes.
I am. I probably am.
“I-I’m sorry . . .” I reached out to them and they all stepped back. The Mayor’s daughter turned around and ran away, “I’m sorry if I’m not good enough then, Eva!” She yelled and wiped her tears while running.
It didn’t take long for her to bump into something, or someone though. With my nauseated state, I still found myself looking up at the intense presence that surrounded our table.
It was him. Konstantin Morozov was making his way towards our table when someone got in his way. Or in other words, the weeping Mayor’s daughter bumped into him.
Shit, shit, shit. I don’t think this will end well. I’m pretty sure this mansion being the Mayor’s will do nothing if he wreaks havoc in here, which I am a hundred percent sure he will.
“I-I am so sorry! Oh God!” She squealed in excitement, yet tried to conceal all this with a cry for pity. However, it didn’t take long before her petty crush turned into her biggest fear when Konstantin Morozov glanced down at her shivering state.
“Get the fuck away from me.” He growls and all four of us, including the business man he was talking to earlier, staying in his seat, silenced.
“W-what?” The Mayor’s daughter stuttered.
Anger was flowing out of him in waves as he advanced towards our table, particularly where I was. His bloody eyes were situated on me and I just know I’m going to die.
Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god. I should have asked for another mission from father. I couldn’t have goddamn know he’s going to be here, at a freaking tea party!
Konstantin Morozov pulled something out of his jacket and handed it to the Mayor’s daughter.
“Wipe those tears and bring little daddy here or I’ll be the one bringing his lawyer’s head to Scotland to deliver the message.” He growled, and with shivering hands, the Mayor’s daughter accepted the handkerchief.
My knees instantly buckled in fear. I wonder if she still likes him after hearing him say that?
The question didn’t last long when all of a sudden, those crimson eyes turned to me. My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as he marched towards me.
“And you-” he leaned over beside my ear. I could smell the expensive cologne wrapped around him as well as the smell of cigarettes, a mix of fear and something more dangerous coiling in my chest.
“You’re going to have to tell me why you were sneaking inside my office closet.” I inhaled a sharp breath at his deep, raspy voice tickling my ear.
Shit, shit, shit. I should go, maybe I’ll try to call my driver and—
“And don’t you know not to run away from predators, sweetheart. We like the hunt, and once I find you, you’re going to be killing yourself just to have a merciful death.”
Oh God, please help.
I turn the brass knob on the sink and splash icy water onto my face.The shock cuts through the fog in my head.I wipe my wet skin with the sleeve of my wool sweater, staring at my bloody knuckles in the mirror before I turn the latch and step back out.Miranda is sitting on the edge of the sofa, swinging her bare legs like a child.Babushka Elena hands me a basin of warm water and a clean washcloth.“She needs a sponge bath,” the old woman whispers. “I’ll fetch clean clothes.”I take the cloth, dipping it into the warm water, and kneel in front of my mother.I scrub the black soot off her cheeks, wiping down her frail shoulders while she picks at a loose thread on her sleeve.Pyotr sits by the wood stove, cleaning his pipe with a pocketknife.“Do you have a phone?” I ask, my voice gravelly. “A landline? Anything?”Pyotr shakes his head, sliding his knife back into his pocket. “No wires up these mountains, girl. No cell tower signal either. Rain cuts out the old radio half the time.”
The diesel exhaust slams into my face first.HONK!The headlight turns the grey rain into a wall of blinding white.The ground shudders under my bare soles as tons of steel roll down track four.“MOM!”I hurl my body across the iron rail.The cowcatcher of the locomotive is twenty feet away, grinding against the wet tracks with a shower of orange sparks.I drop to my knees beside the wooden rail tie, my raw knuckles gouging into the wet hemp rope binding my mother’s waist.The fiber is soaked and swollen tight.Pain blasts up my arms as my torn wrist tendons strain, but I don’t feel it.Adrenaline burns right through the agony.I grab a jagged piece of rusted steel band from the ballast rocks, jamming the sharp edge between the rope and her waist, sawing frantically back and forth.Click-click-crack!The rope snaps.I wrap both arms around my mother’s frail chest, shove off the gravel with my bare heels, and throw us both backward into the mud embankment beside the tracks.BOOM-CLACK-
EVANGELINEThe heat hits before the sound does.W-what’s happening?It creeps down through the cracks in the ceiling, thick and heavy, reeking of scorched oil and pine wood.My lungs burn on the first inhale, coughing so hard my torn back muscles scream against the soaked bandages.Smoke pours down the stone stairs in rolling grey clouds.Fire. There’s a fire somewhere. Shit.“Konstantin!” I scream again, my voice tearing down the middle. “I’m down here! Konstantin!”Nothing comes back.No heavy boots on the stairs. No orders barked in Russian.Just the violent crackle of wood collapsing on the floor above me.The guards are gone. Sofia is gone.And if I stay chained to these concrete iron rings for another three minutes, I’m going to bake alive.I pull against the right cuff.The iron edge bites deep into my wrist, gouging through skin down to the tendon.Pain flares white across my eyes, but I don’t stop.I jam my right thumb inward, forcing the joint down until the bone pops out of
“Where?”I don’t wait for Carlos to answer. I’m already out of bed, shoving past him into the hallway.My thumb flicks the safety off my Glock. I slide it into the holster at my spine, grabbing my jacket off the chair without slowing down.“Old industrial plant near the south canal,” Carlos says, sprinting beside me down the stairs. “One of our scouts spotted two unmarked Bennington SUVs pulling into the loading bay twenty minutes ago. He saw armed guards on the roof.”“Get them,” I order, my voice flat and cold. “Four cars. No negotiation. Every breathing soul in that building dies today.”Two minutes later, we’re tearing through the rain-slicked streets of Saint Petersburg in the back of a black SUV. The engine roars under us, water splashing against the wheel wells. Nobody in the car speaks.I reach into my jacket and pull out the lace handkerchief Evangeline left on her vanity three days ago. I wrap it around my knuckle, feeling the cotton against my bruised skin.Hold on, moya d
KONSTANTIN3 Days Ago* * * The heavy silver breakfast tray feels ridiculous in my hands, but I take it from the young maid anyway.“Mr. Morozov, I can carry that up for Mistress Evangeline—““I’ve got it,” I cut her off, my voice flat. “Get back to the kitchen.”She nods quickly and backs away, smoothing her apron before disappearing down the stone corridor.I shift my grip on the polished handles, turning toward the east wing.The morning air inside the manor is damp and freezing, smelling faintly of pine soot and wet concrete from the courtyard outside.When I reach Evangeline’s bedroom, I don’t see her.I see six-year-old Leonid standing on his tiptoes in front of her door, his small fingers straining to reach the heavy brass latch.He’s wearing his oversized flannel pajamas, his dark hair sticking up on one side, clearly trying to sneak in to bug her for breakfast.“Leonid.”The kid jumps half an inch off the floor, gasping as he spins around.In his sudden panic, his small hand
I lose count of the hours.I lose count of the days.Time down here isn’t measured in minutes.It’s measured in the heavy swing of braided leather and the wet, metallic slap of iron hooks against my skin.Every inhale stings my throat, short and shallow, while blood trickles down my waist, pooling cold against the cement floor.“Can you endure any more, princess?” a gruff voice grunts above me.I force my cracked lips open, swallowing the copper taste in my mouth. “No... please... no more...”The guard lets out a dry snort and lands one final, brutal crack across my shoulder blade.Pain flares up my spine, blinding and hot.“That’s enough,” a voice orders near the doorway. “Patch her up. We still need her breathing.”The whipping stops.Heavy iron chains are padlocked to rings on opposite sides of the room, keeping my arms stretched wide and yanked tight.My bare knees dig into the icy concrete, holding my body suspended in a forced kneel—the exact same posture my father and Caesar fo
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When you dig your own grave, you better be ready to lie in it, but damn, this is one deep hole.Bloody pupils that look and feel like it’s seen murderous things penetrated right through the small slats of the closet. He doesn’t move, nor does he stray his eyes away from mine. Instead, his lips, ca
I’m getting married to Konstantin Morozov, the merciless billionaire crowned as the bloodthirsty King in all of Russia, or in other words, my life is going to end today.A stark difference to the dark cell I thought it would be ending, but instead it’s here—in this beautiful church adorned with flo
Blending in has never been my strongest suit, especially when it involves pole dancing and psychopaths. I was taught to dance by world-renowned professionals from all over the world, but not this—no, not this. As much as my father wanted me to seduce men, which would mean dancing like this in a nu







