Thief (Boston Underworld #5)(13)
As a testament to that, I’m prepared to continue my routine as best as I can within the confines of my room. I need to warm the muscles in my body before moving onto static stretches, all of which can be difficult with the brace. A few of my favorite dynamic movements are shoulder rolls and leg swings, now aided by the assistance of the dressing table. But before I can even begin, the lock disengages on the door.
Ice blue is the first thing I see, and subsequently feel when chills crawl over my body. My captor doesn’t need words when his energy is dark like this. It billows into the room like smoke and chokes the life out of everything inside.
Running is not an option, and I am not one to quickly forget difficult lessons learned. My first instinct is to curl into myself. But the wolf at my door doesn’t move. He doesn’t even appear to breathe. His legs are planted wide, his nostrils flared, and his eyes are so flinty I’m desperate for the sanctuary of my bed.
“Zvezda.” His irises track the lines of my body like a true hunter, indexing my weaknesses. “Your father took specific care to inform me that you were a good, obedient girl. He said you had been raised to do as you were told and would not be any trouble.”
I swallow, and the lie comes out with a choked quietness. “I am.”
Nikolai tilts his head to the side, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Do good girls lie, Nakya?”
My heart thrashes against my ribs, and my stomach churns. I don’t know what he knows. He is toying with me, and the unpredictability scares me more than anything. In my own environment, I have come to know what to expect. But this is not my natural element, and I truly don’t know what this man is capable of.
“No.” The word is a whisper. A hope that the simple acknowledgment will make him disappear.
“No,” he agrees. “They do not.”
The space between us looms quietly. Nikolai is not in any hurry to break the silence and the long stretch of time only compounds my nerves.
“You seem intent on defying me,” he finally says. “And naturally, I am left to wonder why you are obedient to your father but not me. Do I look like the kind of man you want to trifle with?”
I shake my head.
“Use your words, princess.”
“No,” I say, too loudly.
And again, my instincts urge me to run. But Nikolai won’t allow it, and he makes it known when he stalks toward me. I screw my eyes shut because it’s always better not to see what’s coming. But the draft moves past me, and curiosity gets the best of me. When I open them again, he’s disappeared into my closet.
He’s touching all my things. I am left to bear witness as he jerks my ballet clothes from the racks and bundles them into his arms.
“Those are mine!” I move on autopilot, stealing what I can from the racks, tossing each piece into the corner and guarding them with my life.
Nikolai turns and sizes up my pathetic little pile to the one he has already claimed. “It appears I haven’t made myself clear, pet. So let me do so now. I own you, and I can do whatever I like.”
My head rattles, and I’m at a loss. It feels like he’s stealing my soul. I don’t know how to deal with this kind of insanity. “Please—”
“You have disobeyed me. Save your begging for someone who might listen. Right now, you are wasting your breath.”
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” I declare.
His eyes tell me otherwise. “You flushed your breakfast down the toilet, did you not?”
I flinch, and that’s when it occurs to me. He has cameras in my room. Possibly my bathroom. And he’s watching me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before.
The truth is too raw to accept. I don’t want to know what he’s seen. My private moments. My grueling workouts, followed by the horrific breakdowns. My obsession with food. These struggles are mine, and they are intimate.
“You are sick!” I yell. “How dare you watch me in my private moments? How dare you spy on me? You are filthy, and disgusting, and it’s no wonder you fill your life with meaningless encounters. Who could want you—”
My tirade is cut short when Nikolai tosses my clothes onto the floor and produces a flask from his jacket pocket. I watch noiselessly as he douses the pile of leotards and tights in fluid and strikes the wall with a match.
For a few stunned moments, I’m immobile, unable to fully comprehend the sight before me. He truly is a madman. He is without mercy, tossing the match onto the pile and igniting my life in flames. My thoughts are scattered and disconnected, and all reason has escaped me when I fling my body toward the flames in a desperate attempt to salvage what I can.
Nikolai intercepts, capturing me around the waist and pinning me against the wall. I claw at his hands and then, when that doesn’t work, his face. I’m not thinking about the consequences. I’m only thinking about the crime he has committed against me. His actions have inexplicably split me wide open, stirring to life the dormant rage that lives inside me.
When I draw blood, I’m quick to discover that I have the capability of stirring Nikolai’s rage too. All men want to be powerful, and my captor exerts his by collaring me around the throat with the meaty flesh of his palm. His methods are brutal and effective. I fall limp in his arms, waving the metaphorical white flag. He’s made his point, and I have learned my lesson. But he isn’t done. He isn’t even reachable right now. His dead eyes are looking right through me. My hands move to his, feebly attempting to remove the block against my airway.