Chapter 27: Devil’s Lair: Chapter 27

I sit at the small round table in my office, and Chloe sits across from me, regarding me with those pretty, wary brown eyes. Her hands twist together on the table as she waits for me to initiate the conversation, and I let the moment stretch on, enjoying her nervousness. Lying next to her on Slava’s tiny bed had been torture; if not for my son, I wouldn’t have been able to control myself. As is, I’m still hard from being next to her, feeling her warmth and breathing in her crisp, sweet scent. It takes everything I have not to reach over and grab her right here and now, spreading her out on this very table.

With effort, I rein myself in. It’s too soon, especially since I’m leaving in a half hour and won’t be back for several days. A quick fuck isn’t what I’m after. It won’t be anywhere near enough.

Once I get Chloe into my bed, I intend to keep her there for hours. Maybe even days or weeks.

Besides, that’s not why I called her into my office.

Placing my forearms on the table, I lean forward. “About last night…”

She stiffens, the pulse in her neck visibly quickening.

“… was it about your mother?”

She blinks. “What?”

“Your nightmare. Was it about your mother’s death?” The question has been tormenting me all morning, and since Konstantin hasn’t come through with the report, there’s only one way I can learn the answer.

At the word “death,” her chin wobbles almost imperceptibly. “It’s… yes, in a way, it’s about her…” She swallows thickly. “Her death.”

“I’m sorry.” Whatever she’s hiding, her pain is unfeigned, and it tugs at me like a dull fishing hook. “How did she die?”

I know what the police report said, but I want to hear Chloe’s take on it. I’ve already dismissed the possibility that she might’ve killed her mother—the girl I’ve observed for the past two days is no more a killer than I’m a saint—but that doesn’t mean something didn’t go down. Something that made her drop off the grid and sent her on a cross-country trip in a car that should’ve been junked a decade ago.

Chloe’s hands lace tighter together, her eyes glittering with painful brightness. “It was ruled a suicide.”

“And was it?”

“I… don’t know.”

She’s lying. It’s clear as day that she doesn’t believe a word of that police report, that there’s something she’s not telling me. I’m tempted to press her harder, force her to open up to me, but it’s too soon for that as well. She has no reason to trust me yet; if I push too hard, it’ll only backfire.

The last thing I want is to frighten her, make her want to run while I’m gone.

“That’s tough,” I say softly instead. “No wonder you have nightmares.”

She nods. “It has been kind of tough.” Cautiously, she asks, “What about your parents? Are they back in Russia?”

“They’re dead.” My tone is overly harsh, but my family is not a topic I care to delve into.

Chloe’s eyes widen before filling with expected sympathy. “I’m really sorry—”

I hold up a hand to stop her. “You don’t have a phone or a laptop or any kind of tablet, right?”

She looks taken aback. “Right. I didn’t bring any with me on the trip.”

I get up and walk over to my desk. Opening one of the drawers, I take out a brand-new laptop, still sealed in a box, and bring it back to the table.

“Here.” I place it in front of her. “I’m leaving for Tajikistan in”—I consult my watch—“fifteen minutes. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but it’ll be at least three to four days, and I want you to keep me posted on Slava’s progress.”

“Yes, of course.” She stands as well, her brown eyes gazing up at me. “Would you like me to send you a daily email or…?”

“I’ll videocall you. Ask Alina to set up an account for you on the secure platform we use. Also”—I pull out my business card and hand it to her—“here’s my cell number in case of emergencies.”

I plan to watch her through the cameras in Slava’s room as well, but it’s not going to be enough. I already know that. I need more contact with her, need to hear her talking to me, see her smiling at me, not just my son. The videocalls won’t be enough either, but it’s the best I can do short of bailing on the trip altogether, and I’m not that far gone yet.

No, this will have to do, and keeping up to date on Slava’s progress makes as good of an excuse for these calls as anything.

My chest tightens again at the thought of my son, but this time, the ache is accompanied by an unsettling sort of warmth. Slava laughed with me, looked at me with something other than wariness this morning… and it was because of her, because she was there, lending me her sweetness, her radiant magic.

I want more of it.

I want to take all of her sunshine, use it to light every dark, hollow corner of my soul.

Slowly, taking care not to spook her, I step closer and gently curve my palm over her silky-smooth cheek. She stares up at me, unmoving, hardly breathing, those soft, pouty doll lips parted, and my guts clench on a violent surge of need, a hunger as intense as it is dark. As much as I want to fuck her, I want to possess her even more.

I want to own her inside and out, to chain her to me and never let her go.

Something of my intent must show because her breath hitches, her throat moving in a nervous swallow. “Nikolai, I…”

“Keep the laptop on in the evenings,” I order softly, and dropping my hand, I step back before I can give in to the dangerous maelstrom inside me.

To the beast that no amount of refinement can hide.