Moving Target (Target #3)(14)

Anguish flashes in his eyes before they turn as hard as gemstones. “No.”

“I hate you,” I spit at him, shoving against him and beating my fists against his chest. “Let me go or I’ll—”

“Or you will what, kitten?” He grabs my wrists. “You’re weak. Barely standing. You have to do what I say.”

My emotions careen wildly from anger to sadness, and then finally, capitulation. “I will. I promise I’ll stay put while you get me something to take the edge off. Wouldn’t it be better to slowly wean me off this?”

“I said no.”

“Asshole.” I slap his face. My eyes widen at the red handprint on his cheek. A vein pulses in his forehead. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” I start to sob, my head lowering to his chest. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You’re going through withdrawal, day two.”

I can barely process what he’s saying. Slowly, I peer up at him. “I’ve blacked out an entire day?”

He nods once before he admits, “I gave you valium to help you sleep. I shouldn’t have, but I had no choice.”

I whimper as another cramp plows through my gut. “How much longer?”

“I’m not sure exactly. You’re not a user, so it could be tomorrow, or the next day.”

“When I’m better, will you take me home?”

He pushes my hair out of my face. “Yes.”

I sag against him. “Thank you.”

Then I let him wash me. His movements are clinical, no extra touching or lingering anywhere, despite the massive erection he’s sporting.

After he towels us both off, he scoops me up again and places me in bed, kissing my forehead.

I touch his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He places his hand over mine. “I know.”

Weariness invades my body. “Have you given me any more drugs today?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep, dushka.”

“Is anyone coming to get us?”

“Nyet.”

I search his face. There are shadows under his eyes, but his hair is no longer black. “You’re a blond again.”

“Like I told you, the color was temporary.” He stands. “Go to sleep. I’ll keep you safe. My cousins are assisting me. When you are better, I’ll share everything.”

“Okay.” Pain lingers in my joints. Even my hair hurts at the roots. “If I can’t sleep, will you help me again?”

He doesn’t answer me at first. “Not like I did before. I was weak and you were screaming in pain.”

“Mario would scream in pain. At the hospital and sometimes at home. He tried to be strong, but it hurt him so bad. Had to be worse than this.” I yawn, the movement hurting my mouth. “So much worse. I can be strong.”

“Good girl.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Go to sleep, krasavista.” Dima touches my face, his fingers lightly sliding over my eyes and making them close in response. They feel too heavy to open, so I don’t bother and let sleep claim me.





8





Dmitry

I extend our stay at the hotel in Turin for three more days before I am convinced Chloe is well enough to leave. The staff assumes we are lovers on vacation and have left us alone.

In fact, no one has bothered us, not even Leonid or Konstantin, who expected this package delivered four days ago.

Yet another mystery to solve.

I clean my gun one final time before putting it back together.

She sits up in bed as I put in the last bullet. “What are you doing?”

“Staying busy.” I slip the gun into my holster and pull the side of my jacket over it. “How are you feeling?”

“Mostly better. Hungry.” Her gaze is riveted to my side, as if she expects me to take my gun out and use it on her. “It hardly makes any sense to keep you alive only to kill you now.”

She flushes and looks away. “I guess not.”

“I took the liberty of purchasing clothes for you. Please put them on as quickly as possible. I’d like to leave within the hour.”

She gives a sharp nod and rises from the bed, her nude body golden in the sunlight. My cock stirs at the sight of her nipples peaking in the cool air. I force myself to look away, to finish gathering our things—meager at best—while she dresses.

“How did you know my sizes?” Chloe asks as she emerges from the bathroom in a pair of dark jeans and a cashmere sweater that nearly matches her eyes. Tall boots complete the look.

How could I not? I’ve held her in my arms in every position imaginable, every memory seared in my head. “The clothes you were wearing were a bit baggy, so I went down a size.”

“Oh.” My answer seems to disappoint her.

Perhaps I should have shared what I was thinking, but it will do neither of us any good at this point.

“What have you found out about my abduction?” she asks, clasping her hands in front of her. I don’t miss the slight shake to them.

“You have time to eat.” I gesture to the cart by the table, then move to it, taking off the domes. “Sit.”