Devil's Lair (Molotov Obsession 1)

Nikolai is here.

He came for me.

I must make some kind of noise because he pulls back, eyes fiercely golden in his taut face. “Almost there,” he promises, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. “The doctor is already waiting.”

As he speaks, I become aware of a throbbing pain in my right arm and the general feeling of lightheadedness and extreme weakness, along with the sensation that I’ve been beaten all over with a club. The latter must be from jumping out of the car—and also from being tackled to the ground by the younger killer. My heart rate triples as I recall his face above me, the twisted hunger in those flat, dark eyes.

How did I go from there to here?

How is it that Nikolai—

Abruptly, my mind clears and the memories rush in, each more nauseating than the next. The older man with his skull blown off… Nikolai leaping toward me, gun held like an extension of his hand… His interrogation of the man who planned to rape me; the threats Nikolai made and the brutal, skilled way he wielded that switchblade… And the screams, those raw, blood-curdling screams…

I begin to shake as my gaze sweeps the car, taking in Pavel’s stone-faced presence next to us and the two dangerous-looking men up front. I’ve never seen them before, but they must be guards from the compound. My eyes snap back to Nikolai’s face, that perfectly sculpted face that can look alternately savage and tender, and I notice a reddish-brown streak over one high cheekbone.

Blood. Dried blood.

My shaking intensifies. Misinterpreting the cause, Nikolai strokes my jaw, his fierce expression softening. “It’s okay, zaychik, you’re safe. They can’t hurt you.”

But he can. I’m painfully, acutely aware that I’m at the mercy of this beautiful, terrifying man. Being held on his lap only highlights the size and strength differences between us; his large, powerful body surrounds me completely, the muscular band of his arm at my back as inescapable as any iron chain. Not that I’d be able to escape in any case—not with his men here, not while the SUV is driving at full speed.

I’m better off not knowing, but I can’t hold back the question. “It was you, wasn’t it?” My voice emerges as a strained whisper. “You shot him in the head.”

It’s as if a veil drops over Nikolai’s face, all hint of expression disappearing. “I had no choice. If I’d only injured him, he could’ve killed you while I dealt with his partner. With the two of them there, I had to eliminate one, fast.”

“And the other man…” I swallow down a surge of nausea at the recollection of the screams. “Is he…?”

“Dead from his injuries, yes.” There’s no remorse in Nikolai’s voice, no sign of guilt in his level gaze, and shards of ice form in my veins as I realize he’s done this before.

He’s killed and tortured others.

Including, most likely, his own father.

“Stop the car!” The words fly out of my mouth before I can consider their wisdom. Ignoring the dizzying flare of pain in my arm, I wedge my hands between us and push against his chest—which, for some reason, feels like it’s plated with steel. Desperate, I resort to begging. “Please, Nikolai, let me out. I need… I just need a minute.”

He doesn’t budge, and neither do any of his men as he says quietly, “We’re almost home, zaychik. Just a few minutes longer.”

Home? My panicked gaze jumps to the window, and fear squeezes my chest as I recognize the road leading up to the compound, the steep curves of which I navigated just this morning as I fled from the man holding me… the man I didn’t truly believe was a killer.

“Don’t worry. I had the doctor and his team come out here,” Nikolai says, addressing a question that’s just started forming in my mind. “They brought everything they need to treat you.”

I take in his implacable expression, my fear growing with each passing second. “I would prefer a hospital. Please, Nikolai… just take me to a hospital.”

“I can’t.” His chiseled features might as well be made of granite. “It’s not safe.”

“Safe? But—”

“Those two were just hired guns. There’s plenty more where they came from.”

My throat goes dry. In my panic, I almost forgot about the mystery of the killers’ motivations. “Is that what he told you? The man you… questioned?” Is my theory right, after all? Did my mom witness something she shouldn’t have?

“Yes, and Chloe…” He frames my cheek with his large, warm palm, the tender gesture belying the hard set of his features. “They were there to kill you both.”

“What?” I jerk back. “No, that’s not poss—”

“That’s what the assassin said. If you hadn’t been late coming home…” He drops his hand, a muscle flexing violently in his jaw.

“But that doesn’t—” I stop short as fragments of the conversation I overheard that day surface in my mind.