King's Ransom (Ruthless Doms 3)

A car pulls up beside me, and I suddenly realize where I am and that I’m nowhere near safe. But when the driver’s window rolls down, I see Demyan.

“You let her go,” he says, and I swear there’s judgment in his voice. “Get in.”

I don’t say anything to him but walk to the passenger side and yank open the door. I slide into the back, and he shakes his head at me from the driver’s seat. “Why’d you let her go?” he asks, as he peels out of the parking lot.

So I tell him. I tell him everything. And when I finally finish, I realize he’s turning away from the compound and accelerating, not entering like I thought.

“Where the hell are you going?” I ask him. “We need to get back.”

“Bullshit,” he grits out. “You’re a fucking idiot for letting her go.”

“Hey!”

But he only shoots me a withering look and shakes his head. “Fucking idiot,” he says, driving so quickly I swear the tires are literally burning rubber, leaving streaks of black on the pavement in our wake.

“I can’t go with her,” I tell him. “If I do, we’ll never be able to stay away from each other. It’s too dangerous for me to be with her, and I swear to God if—”

“Too dangerous for her?” he asks tightly. “Or too dangerous for you?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand. “I’m not afraid of anyone coming after me. I can handle myself.”

He snorts, and I wanna deck him. “It’s not an outside danger I think you’re afraid of,” he says. “You’re afraid of falling for her. You don’t want to fall in love.”

“Fall in love?” I ask incredulously. “I’m not afraid of falling in love. That’s bullshit.” I huff out an angry breath. “And anyway, it’s too late.”

“I know it,” he says. “Christ, do you think I don’t know it?” He shakes his head again. “You know the girl we rescued? She begged to be yours. Said she’d be a third and serve you.”

He looks at me curiously.

“What?”

“She wanted to be yours. The man who was her master was killed today by Mikhal. She doesn’t even know it yet. She’s with Larissa at the compound.”

“Good for her,” I mutter. While I’m glad the blond douchebag is gone, I don’t want any other women for my own.

He smiles. “And that, my friend, is the right answer.”

He turns the corner and I suddenly see where we are. In front of us lies the runway, the plane with Taara on it right before me.

“Go,” Demyan growls. “Christ, Stefan. Go to her.” He shakes his head. “If I had a fucking eject button…”

But I’m already gone.

When I reach the plane, the pilot recognizes me and steps to the side to grant me access.

“Ride for two, sir?” he asks amiably.

“Thank you.”

I don’t know what I expect from her when I got on the plane. A hug? A kiss? A tearful reunion? It isn’t the stone-cold silence I get. She raises a brow to me, crosses her legs, and picks up a magazine from the selection beside her. Opening one of them, she scowls, then shoves it back in.

“I don’t know that much Russian.”

“There are American versions, too.”

“Oh? Excellent. I’ll have to get those when I’m back in America.” She spits the word out as if it’s a poison I just fed to her. “But at least you decided it was time to hightail it back, too, hmm?”

“Enough, Taara,” I tell her. I’m in no mood to spend the next twelve hours listening to her getting mouthy.

“I don’t even know why I’m going,” she says, her voice laced with fury, “Or why you suddenly decided to grace me with your presence, but I want you to know something. You can fuck. Off.”

And with that, she takes the one lone English magazine from the stack and practically buries her face in it.

I don’t bother talking to her. I refuse to tell her that her mother’s ill and may be dying. I don’t want her worrying the whole way. I also know that if we don’t make it in time, I’m the only one to blame. Christ.

We’re served food, and I think I eat it. I don’t pay attention. I’m blindly reading magazines in front of me, Russian and English alike, until the entire stack lays discarded on the table beside me. I look over, and Taara is asleep. Her head to the side, she looks so young. So innocent. Fuck, she’s still wearing the little white sheath for crying out loud.

I try to sleep, but I’m plagued with memories of the stand-off. My dreams are troubling, and I wake up to dark outside the window and Taara gently snoring. I stare into the darkness for hours, mulling over my choices. What I’ve done. What I have yet to do.