I picture it. The bindings. The chair. The small room stripped to nothing.
She looks past me, into the memory. “He stood right in front of me. Close. I could hear him smiling under the mask.”
A short breath leaves her. “He didn't introduce himself. Just said his name. He didn’t threaten. He just watched me… until he felt like speaking.”
“He said his name like it amused him.” Her lips press together.
“Courier,” she says. The word leaves her mouth with a faint tremor. “He let out a little laugh, like this was all entertainment. Then he lifted the camera. Took a picture while I tried to stop shaking. Said it was ‘for keeps’. Then he walked out.”
She falls silent for a moment. It hangs heavily between us.
“I cut myself free,” she says at last. “There was a strip of metal under the chair from the construction. It sliced my wrist, but I didn’t care. I just needed to move.”
I remember the renovation. The exposed beams. The dust. I remember how close that unfinished wing sat to my own rooms.
“When I got loose, I looked around. Plastic on the walls. Bare concrete. I realized I was inside your mansion. I thought ifI found you, it would matter. That you’d see me. That you’d know.”
Her voice falters, and something sharp twists in my gut.
“But when I reached your office…” She swallows. “You weren’t alone. You were working. Focused. Untouchable. You didn’t even look up.”
Her hands start to shake. The tremor is small, but unmistakable. Without thinking, I reach out and close my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse hammers against my thumb. She looks at my hand, then at my face, and the heat between us rises like it never left.
“He told me he’d come for me again when the stakes would be higher,” she says, almost a whisper.
My grip tightens before I force it to loosen. Shame hits like a punch. I let another man cut her, bind her, hurt her, and walk out of my house alive.
“He said you’d miss rehearsal,” she whispers. “So he would build a bigger show.”
Her voice breaks. She bites it back, but it shakes the air between us. Her hand rises toward her throat, stopping just short of the rope mark.
“He did it here,” she says. “In your walls. And you didn’t even see it.”
I move my hand from her wrist to her throat. My fingertips find the faint roughness where the fibers bit. She draws in a breath. Her throat shifts under my palm. “You’re mine to punish and protect,” I say, my voice dropping. “No one touches you inside my house and lives.”
Her eyes flare. Gold catches in them like a spark taking. The corridor narrows around us. My blood thumps in my ears. I can see every line of her face, the way her pupils widen when my thumb traces the edge of the scar.
“Why are you shaking?” I ask, worry creeping into my voice.
“Because I still dream this,” she whispers, shaking her head like a tiny, cornered animal in pain. Her hair spills like muted light on her shoulders. “I still dream of you, Sergei,” she whispers. “That is the part I can’t forgive.”
The space between us breaks. I catch the back of her neck and pull her toward me, pinning her against the cold wall. She meets me halfway. My mouth finds hers after five years.
5
RAINA
Sergei’s hand clamps the back of my neck, yanking me forward until my mouth crashes into his. His lips crush mine, teeth scraping, tongue forcing its way inside to dominate every inch. I taste whiskey and rage on him, five years of bottled fury exploding between us. My hands fist his shirt, pulling him closer even as my back slams against the freezing tile wall. The red alarm lights pulse over us, painting his face in blood-red flashes.
“You ran from me,” he growls into my mouth, his free hand ripping my thin shirt open. Buttons scatter across the floor. “Five fucking years, Raina. Hiding like a coward.”
“Fuck you,” I spit back, but my body betrays me, arching into his palm as it shoves under my shirt and squeezes my breast hard. Pain shoots through me, sharp and perfect, making my nipples peak instantly. I bite his lower lip and he hisses, then laughs low, the sound vibrating against my throat as his mouth drops there, sucking the faint scar from that old rope.
“Mine,” he snarls, teeth sinking in until I yelp. His fingers twist my nipple, pinching until tears prick my eyes. “This throat. These tits. This cunt. All mine, and you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget shit,” I gasp, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he grabs both my wrists in one massive hand, pins them above my head against the wall. The position arches my back, thrusts my chest out. Cold air hits my exposed skin. His hot mouth follows, latching onto one nipple. He sucks hard, then bites down, rolling the peak between his teeth.
“Sergei!” My hips buck wildly, seeking him. He grinds his cock against my thigh through his pants—thick, rock-hard, straining. I feel every inch of it, remember how it splits me open.
