Sordid (19 page)

The hand came down again. I heard the slap of skin against skin before the agony thundered up my body.

“Luka,” I cried. Angry, shocked tears sprung into my eyes. I could take the pain, but the humiliation was too much.

A hand latched on my shoulder, yanked me to my feet, and shoved me down. He flung me back into my seat so hard, the chair squealed in protest across the floor. I gripped the sides until my knuckles were white and ached, but I needed something to hold on to. I’d shatter into a million pieces if I didn’t. I sat dumbfounded, staring at Luka.

What had he just done?

“Are you sure,” Dimitrije said, his gaze lingering on Luka, “you want to go to all this trouble? If you’re looking for a girl to have fun with, it can be arranged.” His focus snaked over to me. “This one is messy.”

Luka shook his head as he marched behind my chair and shoved me back up to the table. “I can handle her.”

As he dropped down into his seat beside me, my hands clenched into fists on the armrests and my fingernails dug into my palms. The pain kept me centered and my vision from going red. I’d never been so embarrassed or humiliated in my life.

“Fine. I’ll help you make your point with her,” Dimitrije said. He turned and called out through the arched doorway which lead to the kitchen. “Michael.”

Luka’s voice was tight. “It’s not necessary.”

But it was too late. A brawny-looking man appeared, who seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face and ears too large for his head. He wore slacks, a black polo shirt, and a gray sport coat. When Dimitrije summoned him, he stood right beside his boss’s chair, looking alert and wary.

“Take out your gun,” Dimitrije said, “and set it on the table.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. He reached inside his coat and produced a very black and very scary looking gun. It had heft to it, because it made a deep thud when it was set down with the barrel pointed toward me.

“Do you have a family—” Dimitrije glanced at his son. “What did you say her name was again?”

Luka stared blankly at the weapon. “Addison.”

His father resumed his focus on me. “Do you have a family, Addison?”

My vocal cords pulled as tight as piano wire. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s good. Family is important.” I didn’t miss his thinly veiled threat. He set his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I don’t know what you think happened, and I don’t really give a shit, but you should know I’m not going to let you put my family in jeopardy.”

His face was menacing and almost as scary as the gun that rested between him and Luka. Dimitrije’s gaze was consuming, and the walls of the dining room closed in.

“If you try to destroy my family,” his voice was a low growl, “be assured I’ll return the favor. My family owns Chicago. There’s no escaping. You can’t hide from us.” His head cocked to the side as he scrutinized his son. “And you should keep in mind,
Addison
,” the long, drawn-out way he said my name was chilling, “Luka is particular. Do what he says, or I’ll make him put a bullet in you.”

The emotional impact was so strong, so overpowering, my shoulders collapsed under the weight. I couldn’t look at anyone, and although my eyes filled with tears, I tipped my head up to the chandelier and blinked them back. I willed the tears back into my body by shear force. Crying wouldn’t help my situation. It would only waste time, and give both of the Markovic men more power over me.

I was smarter. I would survive them.

The final word was a sneering challenge from Luka’s father. “Understood?”

My teeth locked tight together as I pinned my gaze on Luka. I said nothing with words, but hoped my determined look was enough for Dimitrije to receive my confirmation. Luka wouldn’t meet my unforgiving gaze. He sat motionless with a blank expression, not even blinking.

“Fine,” his father snapped. “Michael.” He gestured for the gun to be removed, and then asked for dinner to be served.

I had no appetite, but a meal was placed before me, and Luka ordered me to eat. I did, only so I could keep my strength, but my brain refused to acknowledge the taste. The men spent most of the dinner speaking in the foreign language. Tori drank three glasses of wine and picked at her nails that were painted a garish orange-red.

The gun was gone, but I still felt its looming presence.

My skin had hardened into a shell and I retreated inside until the horrible dinner was over. I didn’t fight Luka’s hand on me as he grasped my wrist and dragged me up the stairs. My feet shuffled over the carpet in the hallway and into the room he’d been keeping me in. It wasn’t until the door was shut that I came back to life, and Luka seemed to fall apart.

His hand remained on the doorknob, his head turned away from me. “Jesus fucking Christ, Addison. I told you not to say anything.” His face was a mystery to me. He looked both angry and relieved at the same time. “Are you all right?”

Was he serious? And . . . when did he start caring about that? He’d hit me so hard, I still felt the dull heat on my skin.

When I had no response, he let go of the door and encased me in his arms. “You don’t know how dangerous that was. I’m sorry if I upset you, but you didn’t leave me a lot of options.”

I pushed his arms away, but they came back, stronger and persistent. They kept me captive in his embrace and pressed the length of my body against his.

“I told you,” he said, his voice like steel, “I’m trying to avoid your death. I had to show him how far I was willing to go to keep you in line. He would have had you killed otherwise, and I . . . don’t want that.”

He admitted it like it was embarrassing, and the idea that not wanting me to die was shameful left me reeling. My eyes had to be impossibly wide as I stared at him.

Luka frowned. He moved, forcing me to backpedal until I hit the bed and fell to sit. His hands braced on my shoulders, steadying me or possibly himself. “Fuck, let’s just do this. We’re going to have an honest conversation.”

He straightened and pulled his shoulders back, making him look confident and comfortable, although I was certain he wasn’t. He began to pace a tight, controlled circuit as if even his unease was metered out carefully.

“Are we?” I said, my voice choked with rage. “What language was that?”

“Serbian.”

“Explain what you meant when you said you ‘tried that with me, but all it did was make me sick.’”

He halted his pacing. “When you started to freak out about the sex, I roofied the beer I brought you.” His dark gaze swung to me. There wasn’t an apology in his eyes, and the chill made me shiver. Part of me had already figured it out. Three shots and half a beer didn’t account for the massive blackout I’d experienced.

“I’d hoped,” he returned to his pacing, “you’d forget last night. I’d seduce you in the morning and you’d think it was your first time.”

I sucked down a deep breath. It explained why he’d been different when I’d woken up. He’d been trying to be sweet, disguising the monster who waited beneath.

His hand coursed through his hair and unsettled it. “It was pretty obvious you remembered, though.” He exhaled loudly, resigned. “If you decided to go to the police and say I forced you, they’d be crawling all over the house in a heartbeat. The FBI has been up our ass ever since my cousin’s trial, and this is the excuse they’re looking for to exploit. They tried to get a warrant after Vasilije got busted with weed, but he’d been living at the frat.”

His cousin’s trial? The FBI?

I closed my eyes as I mentally kicked myself. There was another reason why the Markovic name had a familiar ring to it. It was why Luka hadn’t been keen on sharing his last name. This house said Luka’s family was dirty rich. I just hadn’t realized how much of the emphasis was on the
dirty
.

I couldn’t recall all the details. It’d been the spring of my hectic sophomore year, I thought, when I’d heard about it. A federal judge presiding over a high profile case had been assassinated, which was noteworthy enough, but the defendant in the case had the last name of Markovic. The local news had sensationalized it because he’d been related to the popular chain of car dealerships in the Chicago area.

Luka’s cousin.

The Markovics were mob.

“I can’t make you forget,” Luka said. He squared his shoulders to me and set his hands on his hips. “But this arrangement will work.”

“What are you talking about?” I bit out through clenched teeth.

His expression was intense and serious. “I said I control everything, including your choices, but that’s not true until you make this final one.” His feet carried him to me, and he cupped my face in his hands. “You live under my rules. You might even learn to like them.” His long fingers caressed my face. My skin wanted to crawl away, yet also enjoyed the sensation. How could any part of me like this? Was there a darkness inside me that responded to his darkness, like our connection was magnetic?

“Or you can fight.” His eyes were hard. “That doesn’t end well, and I don’t want that.”

“Why?” I whispered.

“Because,” he said, annoyed, although it seemed self-directed. “Because I fucking
like
you, all right? I have for a while.” The muscles in his fingers tensed, clamping on my jaw. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m not.”

“Shut the fuck up. You’re perfect
for me
.” He slammed his lips over mine in a harsh kiss. “So choose.”

My choice was to live under Luka’s thumb, or not at all? What kind of choice was that? And I couldn’t run, could I? Luka’s father had threatened my family. He’d said he’d find me, and even if he didn’t, I’d have to throw my whole life away. Everything I’d worked for would be
gone
.

Luka’s whisper wasn’t a request. It was spoken softly, but filled with so much command, it rang loud in my ears. “Pick me.”

“Over death?” I closed my eyes in a long blink, and a rogue tear slipped out. I moved quickly to brush it off, horrified, but he beat me to it. His thumb swept over my cheekbone, smearing it away. He’d changed the course of my entire life with one thoughtless act. Did he realize? “You took
everything
from me last night.”

“I know.” His eyes were honest. “I had to have you, and I wasn’t thinking about anything else.”

I noticed it wasn’t an apology. If he could do it all over again, he still would. He lowered to kneel by the edge of the bed, bringing our gazes level. There was nowhere else I could look but at those intense, deep eyes. Maybe I could take some comfort in the fact that his life had changed, too. He was saddled with me now, at least until his father ordered him to kill me. Then he’d have to carry the weight of my death forever.

“I’m not going to be easy for you,” he said. “As much as I try not to be, I’m like my father. Most of the time I don’t give a fuck about feelings, and I expect you’ll hate me like I hate him.” His voice was weirdly hypnotic. “But your hate will fade until you can learn to live with it. You won’t even notice it after a while.”

I gave him a wary look, conveying how unpersuasive his sales pitch was.

“Maybe,” he continued undeterred, “one day it’ll change from hate into something . . . different. We got a hint earlier of what you and I could be like together.” His lips met mine, brushing in the briefest of kisses. “Just a taste.” His teasing mouth lingered a breath away. “I want more. You can tell me you don’t, but I said no lies.” His eyes darkened from a flat black to a rich, layered one. “I can give you anything you want, including your freedom.”

The familiar tremble he caused in me was back, shaking my foundation. I needed to know who I was surrendering to, and my voice was a ghost. “Have you ever killed someone?”

“No.”

I blew out a long breath.

His emotionless mask cracked and darkness seeped out at the edges. “I came very, very close once.”

It was clear he wasn’t talking about our episode in the bathtub. The temperature in the room plummeted and goosebumps pebbled on my bare arms. “I’m going to be a doctor. I want to save lives, not take them. I can’t be with someone who could do that.”

The air swirled around us and thickened as he considered my statement. His voice was sharp. “I haven’t, but the world’s not all black and white.”

“And I’m not halfway in love with you,” I blurted out. “You raped and drugged me. What you did at dinner—”

“Was to save your fucking life. One word from my father and Michael would’ve been standing behind you with his gun. You’d have been dead before your head hit the table.”