You Don't Own Me (The Russian Don 1)

She kills the call and looks at me. ‘He’ll have to ask Zane first, but he thinks there should be no problem putting the word out.’

‘How long before he asks Zane?’

‘Zane’s there now. He’s doing it right away.’ She sees my message and forwards the photo on to Noah.

I bite my lip. Part of me is utterly terrified for my sister and yet another part of me is suddenly wildly alive at the mention of Zane.

‘I’m going to get you a brandy. You look as white as a sheet.’

She pours us each a large shot, and I chuck mine down my throat. It burns all the way to my belly. Nothing feels real.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper to Stella.

‘You’d do the same for me,’ she says, cracking a smile.

The phone rings and we both jump like startled cats. She picks up her phone, looks at the screen and announces, ‘Noah.’

‘Hello,’ she says, listens, then says incredulously, ‘He does?’ She listens again while looking at me with a surprised expression.

‘What?’ I mouth silently.

She raises her palm to indicate I should wait until she finishes. ‘OK, I’ll bring her now.’ She ends the call and looks at me, her eyes as big as dinner plates.

‘Zane wants to see you, now.’

-I pick my poison … and it is you-

Six

Dahlia Fury

We take a taxi to Zane’s house. The trip is almost surreal, winding through the familiar streets, my heart filled with anxiety for my sister, and something totally inappropriate—throbbing excitement at the prospect of seeing the Russian again.

My hands are shaking so much I can’t even separate and pull out the correct notes from my wallet. Stella takes my purse out of my useless hands and does it herself. We step onto the pavement and the taxi drives off. I look up at the impressive façade of Zane’s home. There are three floors above ground and every one is lit up.

Stella looks sideways at me. ‘Ready?’ she asks.

It’s not cold, but I shiver. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

She straightens my collar and says in that English way of hers, ‘Chin up. You’ll be all right, duckie.’

We walk up the white stone steps and Stella rings the bell.

Noah opens the tall door and we enter the grand hallway with its black and white chequered floor, massive glittering three-tiered chandelier, and its curving double staircase. How different this place seemed to me on my first trip here. Then I went down the stairs, vaguely irritated to have been manipulated into the situation I found myself in, to that small, dim room, and learned how little I knew myself.

‘He’s through there,’ Noah says to me, pointing to a door down a corridor.

Even he looks different. I had seen just a big goon the last time. Now he seems like a helpful figure that I want to envelop in a great hug and thank him profusely. ‘Thank you for your help,’ I say guiltily.

He nods gravely. ‘No worries. When you’re finished come and find us in the kitchen through there.’ He points a stubby finger to another corridor in the opposite direction.

Stella squeezes my arm. ‘Good luck,’ she whispers, a deep longing swimming in her eyes. She wants to be the one going in to see Zane.

‘Thank you, Stella,’ I murmur gratefully. I know how much it must cost her.

I straighten my shoulders and walk down the corridor. Every step I take makes me feel more and more jittery. My back is rigid, my insides are all twisted into hard knots, and my heart is banging like it’s about to burst. I stand in front of the door and turn my head around nervously. Stella and Noah are still standing where I left them. Stella nods encouragingly and mouths, go on.

I raise my hand and knock on the door.

‘Enter,’ the voice I have wet-dreamed about and longed to hear again, calls out.

I turn the knob and push the heavy door open. It is a large cavernous room, but I can only see Zane. My breath catches, and as soon as my eyes find his I feel myself exhale. Aching and weakness roll through my body. I feel as if I have not really been alive the last three months.

My eyes greedily drink him in. He is sitting behind a desk and is wearing a black shirt, the first two buttons distractingly undone, with a finely tailored dove grey jacket. His hair is slightly shorter than I remember. Although his hands are lying on the desk top, relaxed and loose, his face is expressionless, his eyes glittering like blue stars. Suddenly I think of him the way I last saw him. Naked and ferociously finger fucking me. What little control I have slips away and heat rushes up my neck and face.

He says nothing. Simply leans back in his chair and watches me. Palpable tension starts rising between us and he allows the feeling to build. It is feral and primal. I get lost in its hypnotic pull, and for a few seconds I forget why I am really here. I swallow hard. Get a grip, Dahlia. You’re here for Daisy. Laughing, freckle faced Daisy. Not to fall into the trap of his attraction.