I won’t lose her.
“You will never do this again.” My voice is low and hard as I grip her shoulders and pull back to meet her startled gaze, the fear inside me swamped by fierce determination. “You will not run from me, Sara. Ever. There’s nobody out there who can help you, no place you can hide from me. And if you try this futile stunt again, you’ll regret it—I give you my word on that. You think you know what I’m capable of, but you haven’t even scratched the surface. You have no idea of the lengths I’ll go to, ptichka, no clue what I’m willing to do to have you. You’re mine, and you’re staying mine—now and for as long as we’re both alive.”
I can feel her muscles tensing as I speak, and I know I’m scaring her. It’s not what I want, but I have to keep her from these escape attempts.
I have to keep her safe.
“Peter, please…” Her soft hazel eyes fill with tears, her palms coming up to press against my chest. “Don’t do this. This isn’t love. Even you must realize that. I’m sorry for everything you’ve lost, for what George did to your family. And I know—” She swallows, holding my gaze. “I know there’s something between us, something that shouldn’t be there… something that doesn’t make any sense. You feel it, and I feel it too. But that doesn’t make this right. You can’t stalk someone into loving you, can’t intimidate her into caring. For as long as you’re keeping me here, I’m your captive, no matter what you make me say… no matter what you coerce me into. Whether I run or not, I’m not yours—and I never will be. Not like this.”
Every word she speaks is like a knife puncturing my liver. “How then?” My words come out harsh and desperate, violent in their intensity. “Tell me, Sara. How can I have you? What other way can we be together when I’m a wanted man?”
Her gaze mirrors my torment. “We can’t,” she chokes out, her delicate nails scraping over my skin as her hands curl into fists against my chest. “This isn’t meant to be, Peter. We’re not meant to be. Not with the past we share—not with who and what we are.”
“No.” My rejection is visceral, instinctive. “No, you’re wrong.”
Realizing I’m gripping her shoulders with biting force, I release her and step back, then turn away to turn off the water, using the small task to regain some control. Now that I’m no longer freezing, my body is starting to respond to her nakedness, my hunger for her sharp and dark, aggravated by the volatile brew of anger and frustrated longing. If I don’t calm down, I will take her, and I will hurt her.
I will f*ck her until she breaks and admits she belongs to me.
She’s crying when I turn back to face her, the tears mixing with the wetness on her cheeks. “Peter, please…” She reaches over to grip my hand, her slender fingers wrapping around my palm imploringly. “Please, just let me go. This isn’t what you want, not really. I can’t be your family. I can’t be their replacement. Can’t you see that? It’s just not meant to be. What you want is not—”
“You are what I want.” Tugging my hand out of her hold, I fist it in her hair and wrap my other arm around her waist, molding her against me. She sucks in a sharp breath, her peaked nipples brushing against my chest, and my cock throbs, hard and ready against her stomach as I say thickly, “You, Sara, are everything I want. I don’t give a f*ck about the past, or what is or isn’t meant to be. We make our own fate—we choose our own destiny—and I chose you. I don’t care if the whole world thinks it’s wrong, if I have to fight an army to hold on to you. I found you, I took you, and I’m keeping you—and I’m never going to set you free.”
19
Sara
* * *
I expect Peter to f*ck me then, right there in the shower, but he releases me and steps out of the stall, jerking a towel off the rack and wrapping it around me as I follow him out. He dries me with brisk motions, and then he grabs a towel for himself. His movements are rough, uneven, his eyes glittering darkly as he finishes toweling off and throws our towels back on the rack.
He’s angry or hurt or a combination of both, none of which bodes well for me.
Clasping my elbow, he leads me to the bedroom, and when we get to the bed, I fall onto it, my legs refusing to support me for a second longer. A wave of dizziness sweeps over me, my stomach growling with emptiness, and I realize I haven’t had anything to eat since those peanuts on the trail.
Peter must realize that too, because he stops and eyes me with a dark frown. “Do you want dinner?”
I nod and force myself to sit up, wiping the tears off my face with the back of my hand. “Please.”
“All right.” He strides to the closet, grabs a robe, and throws it to me before putting one on himself. “Let’s go eat.”
* * *
As we consume the stir-fry Peter quickly made, I fight the disconcerting sensation that I’m waiting for the guillotine to fall. My captor hasn’t said a word since offering me dinner, and I have no idea what’s going through his mind. Whatever it is, though, he’s watching me with a hard, intent stare, and that scares me.
The dinner delayed whatever he was going to do to me, but he still plans to do it.
It’s possibly the worst timing ever, but I can’t put it off any longer. The clock is ticking in my head, every passing hour increasing my anxiety. “Peter…” I put my fork down, trying not to look as nervous as I feel. “Did you get the pill?”
His jaw tightens, and for a second, I’m convinced he’ll say no. But he just gets up and walks over to the counter, where a white paper bag is sitting next to a laptop.
Picking it up, he brings it to me, and I eagerly grab it from him. Inside is a pink pill in glossy white packaging with Japanese writing on it. Only the manufacturer’s name is in English, but I’m certain it’s the pill I need.
Tearing through the packaging, I pop the pill out and swallow it with half a glass of water. With any luck, we’re still in the safety zone, and the pill will do its job. Not that it matters, given what Peter says.
Child or not, he’ll never let me return home.
The despair threatens to overwhelm me again, and it’s all I can do to tell him in a semi-normal tone, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
No matter how strained things are between us, I have to keep in mind that he didn’t have to give me this pill—that he could’ve forced his will on me in this matter, too.
Peter nods curtly and begins clearing the table. I’m still dead tired, but I make myself get up and help him just as Ilya and Yan come down the stairs, discussing something in Russian. Yan is laughing, but Ilya looks pissed, making me wonder if the two brothers are having an argument.
Peter barks something at them, and Yan glances at me with a grin before replying in rapid-fire Russian.