Prisoner (Russian Tattoos Book 2) (6 page)

Chapter 10

The Wild Side

Sunlight warmed my face and woke me from a deep sleep. I hadn’t seen daylight since I’d been kidnapped and relished the warmth and energy of a beautiful spring day. Birds chirped outside the bedroom window, and the aroma of fresh baked bread wafted into the bedroom. Vladimir’s cozy, shabby-chic farmhouse was paradise compared to the dank, institutional feeling of the Dungeon Suite.

“
Dobroye utro,
angel.” The light spilling in from the window illuminated Vladimir’s vibrant blue eyes and highlighted worry lines on his forehead. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept all night. He opened the window and pulled back the lace curtains to let fresh air and sunshine into the room.

I sat up and noticed the t-shirt I had on was soaking wet. I wasn’t usually a night sweater, and I didn’t recall getting dressed. “What happened?”

“Nightmares. You had a rough night.”

I had no memory of any of that. The last thing I remembered was falling asleep while Vladimir held my hand. I wiped my hair out of my face and tossed off the blanket.

“How are you feeling? Can you eat some lunch?” He gathered up some pillows and tucked them behind my back to help me sit up. It was unnerving to be around him while my defenses were down. He had been nothing but sweet and helpful since my arrival, but I would rather be alone.

“I’m fine. I just need to rest.” If it were up to me, I would’ve holed up in the bedroom until it was time to go home. I spent the majority of my teen years barricaded in my room. It was my safe house, my drama-free sanctuary.

Boris ducked through the doorway carrying a tray loaded with a bountiful feast of red soup, a creamy potato casserole, a mouth-watering cinnamon bun, and a steaming cup of tea. “You will have nourishment, then rest.” He placed the tray over my lap, tapped a couple pills into my hand to take for the pain, and then pulled a chair up to the foot of the bed. Vladimir sat beside me in the window seat.

“You eat. I’ll talk,” Boris said.

I swallowed the pills and then scooped up a bite of warm, cheesy potatoes and slid it into my mouth. “
Mmm
…” My stomach had been rumbling since I'd opened my eyes, and I was grateful for a hearty meal. I shoveled in another bite, and while I chewed, I picked up the warm pastry, ready to take a chomp out of it as soon as I gulped down the casserole.

I glanced up and noticed Vladimir eyeing me like some pitiful mongrel rummaging through a trash heap and scarfing down food scraps. I didn’t want my malnutrition to reflect poorly on Dmitri, so I set down the sticky bun, licked the glaze off my fingers, and sipped my tea like a civilized human.

“My job is to protect you, and I failed,” Boris said. “You have my word, I will not be foolish again. The guards I stationed outside the shelter to protect you were the ones responsible for breaking in.”

“They weren’t from the Ovechkin
Bratva
?”

“The men I shot dead last night were on our payroll. While Vladimir was chasing you in America, our rivals did some recruiting. Men from our own
Bratva
have turned against us, shifting their loyalty to our rival
pakhan
, Maksim Ovechkin.

“We have traitors among our most trusted circle,” Vladimir said.

“As I conduct my investigation, you and Vladimir will remain sequestered here until I’m certain you’re safe.”

“Where’s
here
?”

“Our family dacha,” Vladimir said. “We’re miles from the city. There’s nothing to fear, Carter. No uninvited guests can penetrate our security here. We have our most loyal soldiers stationed around the perimeter, and no one comes or goes without my knowledge.”

***

After lunch, Vladimir led me to the bathroom where I took a hot shower. I washed my hair three times, gobbed on two handfuls of conditioner, lathered up my body with lavender soap, and scrubbed my greasy face clean with a citrus wash. If it were up to me, I would have spent the entire afternoon enjoying my luxurious me-time. The scented soaps soothed my stressed out body, but when the hot water ran out and the shower turned cold, my spa day was over.

I dried off with a fluffy towel and changed into fresh clothes. Instead of Vladimir’s t-shirt and sweats, I had a new wardrobe of dacha-style floral dresses, scarves, knee socks, and lace-up leather riding boots. I felt like a Russian Laura Ingalls Wilder. Thanks to the strong meds Boris had given me for the pain, the fresh air and sunshine, and the hearty meal, I felt better than I had since I landed in Russia.

When I padded out of the bathroom, Boris was in the kitchen having tea with a sharp-looking behemoth in his early twenties. At first, I didn’t recognize him. His dark wavy hair was slicked back behind his ears and a short black beard trimmed to perfection framed his chubby cheeks. His face had matured, but those golden brown eyes were unmistakably Pasha’s—the youngest of Boris’s brood and Vladimir’s younger brother in their blended family. Pasha’s picture hung on Vladimir’s bedroom wall back home.

I tried to avoid detection and sneak back upstairs to hide out in the bedroom, but Boris waved me over to the kitchen and introduced me to his son. Pasha’s eyes lit up when I shook his hand. “I already know you, Carter. Vova never stops talking about you. Welcome.”

Vladimir had described his little brother as a “saint.” There was a kindness to Pasha’s face that made him instantly likeable, and his docile aura lightened his staggering height. He favored his papa in appearance, but his inviting smile and gentle eyes were traits unique to him.

“Did you get enough to eat? The soup is still warm. I can brew another pot of tea.” Pasha pulled out a chair and gestured for me to sit.

“Leave us,” Boris said. “Check on your brother. I need to speak to Carter alone.”

“
Da
, Papa.” Without giving me another glance, Pasha ducked under the doorway to avoid hitting his head and went outside. Vladimir was in the yard with a small army of his crew, giving orders to his security team.

I took a seat across from Boris and balled my hands in my lap. His tone terrified me, and I had no clue what I had done to warrant the death rays he was firing at me. My plan with Boris going forward was to stay calm, quiet, and submissive. No sudden moves, no emotional outbursts. He looked haggard and war-torn from all the drama, and I didn’t want to set him off by adding any more weight to his mounting list of problems.

“I’ve seen video surveillance of the attack and the events leading up to it.” He set his phone on the table and tapped his finger on the screen. An intimidation technique, no doubt. “Anything you care to add to your story?”

His accusatory tone sent ripples of fear through my body. My heart pounded. My skin got clammy. I dropped my gaze to the floor, trying to figure out what I had done wrong that warranted his hostility. “I told you everything I remember.” I was so nervous, I slid my hands under my legs and dug my fingernails into my thighs, a self-destructive habit I had formed to relieve my ongoing stress.

“Everything? You’re sure?”

I sucked in my lips and nodded. I honestly had no clue what crime I had committed, but Boris wouldn’t be grilling me if I hadn’t done something horrible.

“When you noticed the shelter door was open to the outside, why did you not seize your opportunity to escape?”

I sighed in relief. I had started to believe I’d lost my mind. That was a no-brainer. “I was going to. Dmitri told me to run and lock the door behind me, but if I did, they would’ve killed him for sure.”

“What do you care if he lives or dies?”

His question caught me off guard. “Uh, because he’s a human being. I saw the gun on the floor and snagged it before the other guy could get to it. With a weapon, we had the advantage. I couldn’t skitter away like a cockroach and lock him in there with those killers.”

Boris’s expression turned murderous. “That was very brave of you. And you would’ve done this for any random,
good-looking
member of my team?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “Dmitri is my bodyguard, that’s all.”

Boris picked up his phone, tapped the screen, and turned it around so I could see it. It was video footage from my bedroom in the dungeon—where there wasn’t supposed to be a camera—of me clinging to Dmitri after he released me from the handcuffs. He was caressing my back, petting my hair, and whispering in Russian to calm me down.

“Boris, I swear to God—”

He raised his hand to silence me. “I understand you are frightened, and I know Dmitri has been communicating with you in English against my orders. You have bonded with your handsome protector. Under this type of pressure, your fragile mind might see things differently than what they really are. Have you heard of Stockholm Syndrome, dear?”

I nodded. I knew what he was talking about. In cases where a person is kidnapped, the victim might sympathize with her captor or even form affectionate feelings toward the person holding her hostage. That was definitely not going on with Dmitri and me. “I’m not suffering from Stockholm Syndrome. I was just scared.”

“Then you are seducing him to get him to turn against the family? Flutter your pretty eyes, cry your sad tears, cling to the big, strong fighter charged with protecting your broken little body. Build up his ego, show him affection, get him to do your bidding. It didn’t take long to work your charms and get him on your side, did it?”

The video footage of me burrowing my face in the crook of his neck and Dmitri soothing me played on. To me, it portrayed him as a kind soul showing mercy and companionship to a broken-up, emotionally damaged, kidnapped woman. But from Boris’s perspective, it probably appeared that Dmitri had succumbed to my alleged romantic trickery and was making a pass at the
pakhan’s
screwed-up little angel.

“How do you think boss will react when he sees you cuddled up and cooing in his prize fighter’s lap? Have you thought that through? You know what Vladimir is capable of, dear. Is that what you want to happen? In your messed up mind, does it make you feel loved when men fight over you?”

“No. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I am a reasonable man, Carter. I am willing to give you a pass on duping the fighter. You are in a desperate situation and your survival instincts caused you to offer your body to your captor in exchange for your safekeeping.”

His insinuation that I would use my femininity to sway Dmitri was an insult and in no way true, but I kept my mouth shut and didn’t interrupt him as he twisted his serrated knife in my gut and assassinated my character.

“
But
if your girly bullshit continues, I will make you suffer on levels you have yet to comprehend in your short life.” Veins were bulging out on the side of his head. “You coming here was not part of the plan. Vladimir never expected to see you again. Don’t make this harder on him than it needs to be. And if you have any plans of taking advantage of his fondness for you—”

“Boris, please. I would never do that.”

“I won’t let you destroy my son. Consider yourself warned.”

I dug my nails so deep into my thigh, I would’ve drawn blood had it not been for the protective layer of material from my dress shielding my skin.

Boris sealed his threat by staring directly into my eyes, melting my brain with his fiendish glare. “Do I make myself clear?”

I nodded obediently.

Boris leaned back in the chair and sipped a cup of tea, satisfied he had officially scared the life out of me. “You can go outside or back to your room. Guards are stationed around the perimeter. I am watching every move you make. My patience with you has run out. Don’t give me a reason to vent my frustrations on your delicate body.” He tugged on his belt, sending the message that he would pummel me with it like he had attempted to do the last time I tested his authority back home.

“I promise. I won’t do anything stupid.” I skittered through the living room to escape upstairs, but I got distracted when I glanced out the window and saw two of my friends from back home—
no way
. I flung open the back door and ran outside. “Goosey! Anastasia!” Vladimir’s sweet, giant poodles barreled toward me, cried with excitement, and danced in circles at my feet.

“Hi, babies. Mama missed you.” I sat on the back porch steps, and the dogs greeted me with wet kisses and trampled me with their muddy paws. They were no longer prim and proper and perfectly groomed like they had been at home. The dogs were shaggy and filthy, and their bangs were pulled back in ponytail holders. They had turned to the wild side since their return to Russia.

Vladimir left his troops and joined our reunion. He chastised the dogs in Russian. Obediently, the poodles sat at attention.
“Khoroshiye sobaki.
Good dogs
.
”
He sat beside me and admired my mud-smeared dress. “Now you look like you belong at the dacha.” He smiled in that loving way of his that used to melt my heart. “We’ve missed you, Carter.”