Chapter 6 SIX

MY EYES went wide, but I bit my tongue before the scream could crawl out.

Oklahoma?

Specifically, Nichols Hills?

What the hell were we going to do there?

I hadn’t set foot there since I fled at eighteen, and every time I heard that city’s name, it made my stomach twist.

All I could think about was my father’s men shadowing every step I took, watching me even when I tried to live a normal life. Nichols Hills had always been a nightmare. I could still hear the whip of my father's belt in my head, the burn of every lash, the feel of blood dripping down my back whenever he punished me for acting inappropriately.

And the screams.

Jesus…

The screams of his tortured men…

….the sound of my mother’s anguish sobbing and prayers in a home that housed demons as men. She prayed specifically for God to “Restore her home” after father started looking at her—his trophy wife—less and going about his business even more aggressively. Mother had been so religious that she had engaged in endless fasting and prayers, as if the Lord would give in to changing the will of a man who had just decided, after two decades of being together, that he was tired of his aging toy.

And in her desperation to gain that back, she neglected her kids and focused solely on being as slim and pale as she'd been when they got married.

Whilst that happened in my late teenage years, growing in a home like that: with a controlling, violent father and a neglecting mother, left you with deep emotional bruises.

I felt sick to my stomach from the mention of the trip.

And now, as if taunting me, Sergei Morozov threw a smirk over his shoulder before stepping out of the doorframe.

“Any questions?” he asked, throwing the bait out like a challenge.

I shook my head.

“Any objection?”

I kept mute, breathing hard, knowing that was a trick question.

He didn't wait for an answer, just left, and groggily, I followed behind him.

Because I had no choice?

Because even if I tried to fight back, he could break me in half?

I had no idea, I just followed, rendering all father’s training of protection and self defense very useless. I had made it too easy for these men. Or rather, my lack of will to actually live has made it very hard for me to fight back.

I wanted nothing, absolutely nothing to do with the idea of wrestling against Sergei Morozov—shoulder blades flexing in his shirt now as he walked like a giant hulk ahead of me—or his equally giant jokester of men.

While we walked down the hallway he’d carried me through yesterday, dark from the lack of light overhead, the silence got to me.

In comparison to how Judea had screamed all through the night, there was only silence, the sound of my heavy breathing, and the sound of my shoes dragging over the tiles as I followed in exhaustion.

It made me wonder what the hell had happened to my brother.

However, the next few minutes were a blur.

While I still reeked of my own cold sweat, I was launched into a massive vehicle and my eyes widened.

It had to be customised.

It was more lounge than vehicle, a stretched, armored SUV that had seats from across one another and enough leg space. You know those customized Executive SUVs that aren't technically limos, but are built like private jets inside? That kind.

Sergei sprawled in the seat across from me, watching me from beneath the baseball hat he had pulled even lower as we sped down narrow mountain roads.

Soft music played quietly in the background. RnB, Ed Sheeran singing about how he found some love.

Meanwhile, I was queasy from Sergei's unwavering gaze.

I squirmed in my seat, partially from the stifled questions, and more from the moisture I felt against the silk material of my underwear.

As much as I felt shame crippling over my skin from being attracted to him, I couldn’t stop the thoughts that filled my head from every shift of his bulk as he slouched into that leather seat.

He was taking up too much space, his legs wide and long, and every mini thrust of his waist—in those jeans— against the backrest made me gulp shamelessly.

When we left the mountain estate, his men hadn’t been there and neither had there been any trace of Judea, which left just me, him and the driver upfront together in the speeding vehicle.

After a long moment of awkward silence and the psycho watching me without blinking, finally he spoke.

​“You look like you have questions.”

​   I shook my head, jaw tight. “No.”

“Demands?”

“None.”

​    “Don’t lie, Anya,” he said gruffly.

​I couldn't stop the strain in my voice as I responded. “I think you need to make up your mind if you want me asking questions or if you want me mute.”

​    He gave a low, dismissive sound in his throat. “Your previous silence was a necessary precaution.”

“And now?” I snapped.

“Now, we are past that. I offer you a chance to speak.”

​    “And why the change?” I challenged, pressing my thighs together in an attempt to minimize the throb in my core. “Are you bored, Sergei? Do you require entertainment on the way to my personal hell?”

​    He pulled the brim of his hat up just slightly, intense grey eyes fixated on me. “I require you to focus on the things that actually matter. Right now, you are a distraction to yourself.”

​“I’m focused!” I bursted out. “....on the fact that you’re taking me to Oklahoma! The fact that I don’t know where my brother is or…or if he's still even breathing!”

​   “You are agitated,” he corrected calmly. “And I see precisely why. It has little to do with Nichols Hills, and everything to do with what you are feeling right now.”

My breath hitched, eyes widened, cheeks burned.

Oh, God… I gulped.

He knew…!