Page 4 of Dangerous Vengeance

This woman is fantastic, curves like a Maserati, complexion of a goddess. I might just have a taste of her if time allows.

“Get off me,” she growls, and I use my tongue to trace a line up her neck to her ear.

I whisper, “Oh, I’ll get off. Don’t you worry about that.” She probably thinks I will rape her, that I’m some disgusting monster. I would never. Not after what my mother went through. But I will give her exactly what she wants, and right now she wants to be free of these restraints, but if she doesn’t stop pulling away from me, she’s going to get a hard smack.

Natalie backs up a step, using her shoulder to push my chest away. I hold her more tightly and work on the ropes to untie her. “Look at my face, Natalie,” I hiss. This close, there is no way she will ever forget the details of who I am. I want her to have a very good look. “Look at me!”

Slowly, her eyes turn to take me in, drinking in every inch of my face. “Have a good look. Because once you memorize every line and every wrinkle, it will be the thing you hate most about what you know. People who learn who I really am don’t live long enough to tell anyone who I am.”

Even after her wrists are free, I pin her against my body. My dick throbs. It’s been a while since I fucked, and this close proximity to someone so stunning is arousing. She licks her bottom lip, and her eyes search my face. “I don’t think you’ll kill me,” she whispers, but I hear the quiver in her tone. She does think I will kill her, but she is hoping the hard cock against her thigh may be her salvation.

“Then you haven’t done enough research.” I pull away, shoving her hard onto the couch. She bounces and the force is enough to push air out of her lungs in a squeak. “Maybe we have the wrong reporter. Who’d be scared of you?” I walk past her, picking up my glass to refill it. The instant I’m one step away, she leaps off the couch, racing to the door. She doesn’t know how that angers me.

I turn and set the glass back down and in three long strides in there, grabbing her around the waist. She claws at my arm and beats on my hand, and I turn her in my grasp and smack her hard across the face. “Stop fighting me. You don’t want me to get angry.”

Natalie drapes herself over my arm, heaving, and I pick her up over my shoulder again and carry her upstairs. The entire time she is pounding my back, kicking her legs. “You can’t do this! Let me go!” she protests, making it difficult to keep her on my shoulder.

“I can. And I am doing this.” In the room prepared for her, I toss her on the bed, and she scrambles to the headboard as I walk toward the door. “Be quiet or I’ll come back with the gag.”

As I lock her in, I think about how just a little more time with her in my den may have brought down her defenses enough for me to read her. I’ll have to be more patient, though my cock has zero patience. I want her bad. Believe me, if I see the first hint of desire in her eyes, I’m taking full advantage of that.

3

NATALIE

Ihave lain in this bed for nearly two hours now watching out the window. The view is beautiful, though I don’t see a house in sight. I wonder where we are, how far out from the city we are. It can’t be too far; I wasn’t in the car for more than an hour and we made a stop to pick Matty up on the way. I don’t even know what time it is. There is no clock in this room, and they smashed my phone. I’m cold too; they have the air conditioning set too low, and this comforter feels more like a sheet than a blanket.

My first move as soon as I realized he locked me in here was to go to the window to escape, but there isn’t a chance of that. With the damn fifteen-foot ceilings that makes the windowsill of this second story nearly twenty foot high or more. I’d break a leg jumping, and there is no trellis to climb down, no emergency ladder in case of fire. Not to mention the rose bushes beneath the window. Who would want to jump into that thorny mess?

If I thought I could get to freedom I may take the risk, but I’ve never been one for adventure seeking and I have weak ankles. So, I’m trapped. Stuck here like a prisoner waiting for execution. If what I know about the family is correct, I’m not leaving either. Matvey’s warning, given in my grandfather’s native tongue of Russian, wasn’t just a threat. It’s a promise. They don’t mess around with shit like this. And I’ve seen his face too—another reason to be afraid.

I push myself up from the bed and try to shank off some of the anxiety and heaviness. I’ve been cowering, in shock over being snatched off the street. I should be forward thinking, snooping for any information I can in this room, looking for a weak spot and planning an escape. Death is certain if I stay, but with a little thought and patience, I know I can find the hole in Matty’s defense.

My limbs are heavy, drained of energy by the emotion of the past few hours. I have to force myself off the bed, telling myself positive things to keep motivated and hopeful. It isn’t easy, not with the weight of grief over Hal and my knowledge of the atmosphere I’ve been subjected to. But I manage to open a few drawers with shaking hands. There is nothing here but empty drawers. The old Civil War era bedroom set is void of any clues. The old wood is worn too, faded and in need of refinishing.

The carpet, however, is expensive. I stoop to touch its soft texture—Persian if I had to guess. Any man who spends this amount on furnishings—updated or not—is not afraid of anyone entering his home to take it. Which means he’s probably not afraid of my threats to expose his family. That’s why I’m here, locked up like an animal. They were afraid, and now they aren’t. With me off the streets, the threat is gone.

Fuck’s sake, why didn’t I give myself insurance? I should have given Sheffield a copy of all of my files. As it is, if they get my laptop, I lose my research and they’ll never be exposed for their crimes. I pace the floor now, walking past the ornate fireplace surround. Intricate decorations have been carved into it, a retelling of the days of creation starting near the bottom left and arcing up beneath the mantle to end on the bottom right. He had to have paid a pretty penny for that. It’s a work of art, not a simple home furnishing.

“Get it together, Nat,” I tell myself, moving to the bathroom. I haven’t relieved my bladder since this morning. I’m bursting at the seams. The idea occurs to me that I will need to eat and drink—screw that. They’ll probably try to poison me. That means less mess to clean up when I finally die. I wonder how long they will keep me alive, how hard they’ll press to get my information.

I walk into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door and yank my skirt down so I can pee. Even the bathroom is luxurious. It has been updated, marble counters and bath surround, claw foot tub and glass shower. The entire wall is mirrored, making it a bit creepy to watch myself sit on the toilet and do my business, but I can see how practical it would be if I had this in my apartment as I got ready for work each day. I try not to watch my reflection in the mirror, but I notice how tired I look, how disheveled my hair is.

“He’s getting to you. You can’t let him win. Stay strong, Natalie.” I give myself a pep talk as I wipe and pull my skirt back up. I flush then fix my shirt and turn to the sink to wash my hands just as I hear the key turn in the lock. He’s back. The hair on my arm stands on end.

I don’t know how to respond to this man. Matvey Gusev is dangerous, angry and determined. I’ve seen the things he’s done in his business practices. He’s ruthless and cutthroat, and my god is he attractive too. I thought that the first time I saw a picture of him. All of the Gusev men are, but Matty stands out. His chiseled jaw has a dimple in it, dark, stormy eyes see right through me. If he wasn’t holding me hostage, I’d be aroused by him, or maybe I’m still aroused by him. I don’t even know. I’m too scared for my life to let that side of me think right now.

“I’ve brought dinner.” His voice is stern still, commanding. Any other man with that tone of voice would have me eating out of his hand. I like the bad boys, the ones who take what they want and never say they’re sorry. I always have, so my attraction to my captor is no shock to me. Still, I’ve only allowed my fantasy to entertain me in books and movies, nothing more. My body is a temple to be safely guarded until the right man comes along.

“I’m not hungry.” I rinse my hands and dry them, but before I take a single step out of the bathroom, he’s there, staring at me. His eyes hungrily rake over my body, as if memorizing me.

“You’ll eat because I said so.” Matty blocks my path to the bed which is the only place in this tiny space I’m allowed to feel safe. As if I could feel safe here.

“Move,” I tell him, standing my ground. He’s changed clothes, now wearing a plain white tee and black jeans. His stockinged toes point at me squarely, his shoulders back so the shirt stretches over his muscled chest. He catches me checking him out and takes a step toward me. “Move,” I repeat, this time my resolve waning a little. This whole thing is a façade. I’m trembling inside, but I won’t let him see me weak or scared. I have to come across as confident and aloof or he will eat me alive. That’s how these guys work. I know too much about what he’s done to believe otherwise.

“Is that really what you want?” His question strikes me as odd. Of course, that’s what I want. He’s in my way and I want to lie down. But I also want to go home and pretend this never happened. Part of me also wants to call off the story altogether and play it safe by joining the sports section of the paper and never thinking of organized crime again.

“Yes,” I say resolutely, but he takes a step closer to me again. I can feel his hot breath across my chest. It makes goosebumps rise on my arms and the back of my neck. What is he doing?

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