Stone Cold Knockout (House of Pain Book 1) (28 page)

“
You drink like a real Russian now,” Mikhail said.

“
Lucky me,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. They stood in silence for a few seconds, but it felt like hours. The silence roared in his ears, and his breath was frozen in his chest again.

“
Did you come here to fuck?” she asked, after a minute.

“
No,” he said, sliding the glass back on the counter and taking a step back, away from her.

“
Then why are you here?” She didn't let up with the questions, looking him right in the eye this time.

“
You know why.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Her blunt question had sent him for a loop. He hadn't come for sex, no. He'd come because he was a glutton for punishment. Because he couldn't leave New York without seeing her at least once. He didn't expect anything else, although he needed her like he needed oxygen.

“
I want to know about the man you killed.” She set her glass lightly on the counter, then turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. He cursed inwardly as the action forced the T-shirt to conform around her breasts, the nipples jutting out and taunting him.

“
He was another fighter,” Mikhail said without hesitation. He wanted no more secrets between them. He'd lost her anyway. There was nothing else to try to save. “We were fighting an underground match. Bare knuckle.” Involuntarily, he ran his thumb over the sore knuckles of his right hand, remembering how he'd broken his hand in that fight.

Gennifer gnawed at her lip, making her way to the couch and plopping down. He stared at her, remembering Itzak's face as he lay on the ground, a bloody pit where his eye once was. Splattered blood had covered his Mikhail's arms and chest. He would never forget the blood. Ever.

“Who was he? The fighter?”

“
A mob fighter. One of the Grekov family's men. They threatened my brother Vadim's restaurant, so I agreed to fight. It was an illegal boxing circuit. Lots of money to be made.”

“
What happened?” she asked, her eyes boring into his.

“
I hit him and I could feel his eye socket implode. Instead of pulling back, I continued hitting him. I didn't stop and he died.”

“
And afterwards, you left Russia?”

“
A year or so later, yes,” Mikhail said, matter-of-factly. “No one fucked with us after that, but I did not want that life anymore.”

“
Thank you for telling me,” she murmured. “You didn't have to.”

“
Does it scare you?” Mikhail asked.

“
I don't know,” she shrugged, running a hand across her forehead. “You left that life, so why are you fighting again?”

“
You know why,” he said, clenching his jaw to stop himself from telling her that what he'd feared had come true anyway. One way or another, he'd still lost her. She didn't care that he loved her. She didn't care about him. The thought was just as painful as the memories of the death he'd caused. Her eyes widened and she stood abruptly.

“
You're bleeding,” she said. “Hold on.” She rushed, barefoot, down the hallway to the bathroom and flicked on the light. He heard her open the medicine cabinet as he swiped at his nose, feeling the thick blood smear above his lip.

“
Sit down,” she ordered when she returned, carrying gauze and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

“
I am fine.” He brushed her off, glancing toward the door. He knew it was probably time to go, but he couldn't seem to get his feet to move.

“
Sit!” she ordered and nudged him with her hip toward the couch, like she was a cattle dog herding a stubborn bull. He reluctantly sat, and she leaned over him, dabbing at his nose with the gauze.

“
A tampon would be best, but I'm out,” she murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose to staunch the flow of blood. He grunted in pain. His nose wasn't broken, but it was bruised as hell. “Big baby,” she admonished, a small smile curling her lips.

“
Did you have a big man punching your face over and over tonight?” he asked.

“
No.”

“
Then do not tease.”

“
You should try protecting your face every once and awhile.”

“
Do not tell me how to fight, little girl,” he growled, half annoyed and half turned on. He wanted to grab her hips and throw her onto his lap. He wanted to spread her legs open wide for him. He wanted her moans in his ears. He wanted so many things.

"I think you were scared," she said, moving on from his nose to the cut above his eye.

"I am not scared," Mikhail corrected her with a wince as the alcohol stung him as she cleaned him up.

"You didn't tell me before because you thought I would hate you," she continued, and he focused his eyes on the front of her baggy T-shirt, so that he wouldn't look at her face. "Because I told you about my parents."

Mikhail didn't respond. His throat was tight; it felt like a fist was squeezing his windpipe closed. The love he had for her was slowly suffocating him. Well, it wasn't the love that was killing him. The fact that a wall had been erected between them and he didn't have the tools to tear the motherfucker down was what was doing it. Every day without her was one day closer to death.

The worst part was that when he looked in her eyes, he didn't see his Gennifer anymore. She might as well have been a stranger. He
was
scared, he realized, as he stared at the faded Mother Cabrini High School Emblem on her shirt. He was terrified that she was gone forever.

“
You thought I would leave you,” she said, her fingers light on his skin.

“
I killed a man! That has to mean something.”

“
But you didn't mean to kill him. That makes a difference.”A stray curl escaped over her shoulder, dropping to her chest. He stared at the thick lock, remembering how good her hair had smelled. His willpower was almost gone.  There was only so much a man could endure before he snapped.

“
I killed him and no one gave a shit. People disappear in Russia every day. He was a criminal. No one looked for him. No one cared that he did not come home that night,” he said, teethed gritted.

“
You cared,” she said softly.

“
I care about you. And it does not matter. You left me anyway,” Mikhail forced out, and just as he was about to touch her, she moved out of his grasp.

“
Do you know how hard it is to lose months of your life, just like that?” She snapped her fingers, angrily. “Do you know what it's like to want to remember so badly, but you just can't?”

He was on his feet in a flash, towering over her.

“I am still alone,
solnyshka
. You give me nothing!”

“
I'm not doing it on purpose!” she screamed.

“
It does not matter,” he said through gritted teeth. “The outcome is the same.”

“
Besides, you lied!” she said. “Whatever relationship we had was a lie!”

“
So I did.” His voice was low as he leaned closer to her, their noses almost touching. “But do not speak of that which you do not know.”

“
What don't I know?” she lowered her voice to match his, her eyes flashing dark fire.

“
You do not remember how we were together. You don't remember—” Mikhail broke off, his anger fading as the crushing sadness crept in. He knew then he had to go. It was why he left in the first place. He had to get the hell out of New York before he went mad. The ghost of his love was haunting him, driving him slowly insane. He had to go for his own sanity. Now he just had to convince his body to move toward the door and leave Gennifer for good.

How he would ever get through it, he didn't know.

“We were not a lie,” he finally said.

***

Mikhail's face betrayed his feelings for her. His blatant pain was impossible to deny. Staring up at his bruised and battered face, Gennifer knew exactly what she was going to do. She knew exactly what she
had
to do. She wanted to remember so badly. And she wanted Mikhail. She grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him to her. And then they were kissing, his mouth hard against hers. His beard was rough against her face, but she ignored the strange sensation. She let herself get lost in how he tasted and how he felt. She pushed herself up on her tiptoes as his hands roamed down to her ass, gripping the soft flesh.

“
How was your day?” Mikhail asked, flexing his fingers against her thigh. He tipped his head back and drained his glass of vodka.

“
Getting better,” she said. He chuckled, placing the empty drink back on the table. She snaked her arm around his neck and pulled him close. She kissed him softly but hungrily, tasting the alcohol on his lips. She dragged her tongue against his, cupping his stubbled chin. When she pulled away, he mumbled something in Russian. “Definitely getting better,” she said, rubbing at the lipstick on his lips with her thumb.

Gennifer jerked against Mikhail, moaning deep in her throat. She could feel his erection pressed against her thigh, and knowing how much he wanted her turned her on even more.

“What does '
ty dostavlyaesh mne radost
’ mean?” she said, mangling the Russian that he'd spoken to her in the restaurant—Mikhail's restaurant, Tsar. The new information was revealing itself to her like clouds parting in the sky. He stared down at her, his clear grey eyes unblinking. He repeated the phrase in his native tongue, saying it properly.

“
It means 'you make me happy',” he said, his voice hard.

“
Did I make you happy?” she whispered. He didn't answer; instead he captured her lips again, his tongue probing her mouth fiercely. She kissed him back, feeling her control quickly dissolving. She wondered vaguely if she'd ever had any control where Mikhail was concerned. He knew exactly how to touch her, exactly how to kiss her. She bet he knew exactly how to make love to her, too. A shiver of arousal ran through her belly as she thought about fucking Mikhail. She knew he was an animal in bed. She knew he would not stop until they both dropped from fatigue.

Neither would she.

“No, you do not make me happy,” he hissed, pulling away from the kiss and dragging his teeth down her jaw. “You torture me.” He ripped her T-shirt down her shoulder, exposing bare skin. He sunk his teeth into her flesh, his beard tickling her neck. She jumped at the strange painful-yet-pleasurable sensation. She heard herself moan, cradling his head, as he nipped and sucked at her skin. “I did not come here for this,” he said.

“
I know,” she murmured and then he found her lips again, and she felt herself starting to lose it. She wanted him. Badly. He was doing everything right. Very right. Lust had dropped her defenses, and she let them go without a fight. Her puny defenses were useless against the man anyway, and he took full advantage. His hands held fast to her ass, grinding her hips against his erection. His beard scratched at her as he dragged his cheek across hers. “I hate this fucking beard, Misha,” she murmured without thinking, raking her fingernails across his broad shoulders. She felt him stiffen against her and he pulled back to look at her.

“
What did you say?”

“
I said I hate your beard,” she repeated.

“
You called me Misha.” His eyes were wild now, and he hiked her up against him like she weighed nothing. He carried her into the bedroom, like he'd done it before. He knew exactly which door was her bedroom, too. He kicked it open and tossed her on the bed in the dark, the only light the triangle of light from the hallway. She sat up on her elbows, her chest heaving. He pulled his shirt and hoodie over his head. She watched him, his muscular form silhouetted against the light, as he kicked off his sweats. Then he moved around the bed and flicked on her bedside light.

He stood before her completely naked, a perfect specimen. He had a few bruises on his ribs, and surgical scars on his lower left side, but even those imperfections made him look good. She longed to run her hands over his skin, learning every inch and every tattoo. And his cock
—it was mouth-watering. Big. Thick. Beautiful. He grabbed her ankles, yanking her toward him. Her eyes were wide as she stared up at him, licking her lips when she thought about sucking his perfect cock. He caressed her cheek, clenching his jaw as he looked down at her. “I am going to make you remember me,
solnyshka
,” he finally said.

God, she wanted to remember.

“Okay,” she said simply. A small smile curved his lips and then he bent and yanked her pajama pants down her legs. She tossed her T-shirt over her head and then his big body was on top of her, pinning her down. She arched her back, whimpering.
Please
, her mind was saying.
Please love me
. She felt like she was going crazy with need. She'd never wanted anyone as much as she wanted Mikhail.