Red Alpha: A BWWM Russian Alpha Billionaire Romance (17 page)

For a brief moment, pure murder shone in Cadence’s honey eyes. Then, slowly, it faded. Lifting her chin into the air the young woman eyed him defiantly. “Untie me.”

This time, Demyan knew better than to underestimate her. He would be careful – and he would make sure the agreement they made was solid. Slowly, he rose from his chair and made his way up the length of the bed. Consequently, the same bed in which they had spent their first afternoon together exploring one another’s bodies. Despite the complications that had arisen, he found himself struggling against similar urges. Demyan had been interested in Cadence when she was soft and mild – attracted to her bravery and intelligence. Now, to know that behind it lay a calculating, lethal American agent…he doubted he’d ever been so aroused in his thirty eight years.

Carefully, he first cut the zip ties holding her feet and then those holding her hands. Once the young woman was free, she rubbed her sore wrists as the feeling rushed back. Then, gently, she touched the bruise rising on her jaw.

She gazed up at him, her expression unreadable. “You
hit
me.” She finally murmured lowly, touching the raw spot on her lip.

“I did.” He replied simply, tensing in preparation for her retaliation.

“You called me a
cunt
.” She shook her head slowly. “A ‘deceitful American cunt’, if my memory serves me correctly.”

That made him wince slightly. “I was angry. Very angry.”

Cadence appeared to consider him, giving him a long once over. “You know, you’re not very much of a gentleman, Demyan.”

He smirked. “Well you,
kukla
, are the
perfect
politician.”

She slapped him – but, of course, he’d expected that. Compared to the threat of snapping his neck with her thighs – which he fully believed her capable of – the injury was mild. It also offered him an opportunity to capture her wrist and render her immobile on her stomach on the bed. She wiggled little, but it was enough for the shoulder of the shirt he’d dressed her in to slide down to expose the lovely line of her bare shoulder.

Taking liberties, he ran his free hand down her spine to palm the luscious curve of her behind, his erection throbbing. “Don’t you fucking
dare
, Boykov,” she challenged him in a hoarse growl. “You fucking
choked
me. You clocked the hell out of me.”

“If you feel so vindictive,” he released her arm to take hold of her hips and raise her lower half into the air so she was situated on her knees. In a smooth motion, he undid her slacks and slid them down her legs to pool on the bed. She was wonderfully bare beneath and, as he had estimated, already glinting with moisture for him. “You’re welcome to snap my neck. I’ll give you ample opportunity.”

Before Cadence could reply, he lowered his mouth to cover the sweet heat of her and a low curse escaped her wonderfully sordid mouth.

As taken as he’d been with the dark-skinned woman before this little revelation, now she intrigued him all the more; and so, he took a moment.

To assuage his hunger.

They had precious little time.

The agreement Demyan had reached with Cadence was that they would remain in Moscow for only a single day more. She would report to her superior officer and they would leave by train, travelling through the European Union to avoid suspicion. If they tried to leave via the Moscow airport, Osip would never let them board the plane. His spies were everywhere. Instead, on the guise of taking her to see the countryside, they would slip away.

At least, that was the plan.

There were several complications – for one, the necessity to explain to Osip where they’d gotten their injuries. Demyan’s jaw was bruised, and his lip split. Cadence could almost have been his twin – and luckily, she used her womanly wiles and a bit of makeup to cover the evidence. Demyan found himself caught somewhere between awe and wariness at her presence. Luckily, she hadn’t broken his neck the previous night. Rather, he had remained quite intact - and perhaps a bit too content – between her thighs until the morning light.

At which point they’d hatched their scheme.

It wouldn’t do for either of them to pack extensively. He would take a single bag – the most important belonging would be the black book, which he sewed into the lining of his coat. From the wary glances Cadence shot him when she passed him in the Kremlin, he knew that she didn’t trust him completely. He didn’t know if he blamed her. It was quite the feat, to claim that he knew something that not even the Minister himself knew – that the man trusted him with such an important piece of information and he planned to betray him.

But, ultimately, her trust didn’t matter. What mattered was that Osip’s plans to brutally murder millions of people by the years end would never come to fruition. That Russia would remain intact and, perhaps, in the US, Demyan would have a semblance of freedom that he had never hoped for. He could live the way he chose and, for the first time in his life, not fear the retribution of those closest to him.

And he would be with Cadence.

That, he knew, was dangerous thinking. No doubt as soon as they reached the United States, they would separate and that would be that. They had slept together and the sex between them was a thing of convenience. Now, one could say that it was even a semblance of comfort. Even Demyan could admit that there was something…odd about the way they had gone at one another after being at one another’s throats. Not even the weight of the danger they were in could dim their hunger.

He found himself wondering what kind of person Cadence
really
was. If she had been feigning the innocent all this time, how had she come to be an American agent? Where was she from? What was her background?

And who was Alessia?

He remembered poignantly that the young woman had whispered the name just before she had fallen unconscious. Whoever it was must be significant for them to be the last person Cadence thought of before her assumed death. A friend? A lover? The latter option made him bristle more, perhaps, than he was comfortable with.

Even so, when he left the Kremlin around three that afternoon, Demyan was profoundly uneasy. Cadence would be alone with Osip for the next four hours, and who knew what could happen in that time? Now that she had been exposed, he wondered if Cadence could keep up her charade.

As he sat at the desk in his study, arranging for their travel, he tried to keep his mind clear. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

When his phone rang, he answered it errantly, his spine stiffening when he realized that it was Osip.

“Three more weeks with the American, yes?” The minister laughed lowly. “Such an insipid little thing. If this is an indication of the future of US political leaders, I worry far too much.”

“Indeed.” Demyan’s tone remained carefully neutral. He had feigned closeness with Osip his entire life. What was a few more hours?

“I see you plan on taking her to the north for a few days.” The minister went on. “Perhaps it will give me time to discuss things with our mutual friend in preparation for later this year.”

Demyan swallowed thickly. Osip hadn’t once chanced the mention of his plans since Cadence had arrived. It was obvious that her coming departure had relaxed him somewhat.

“Certainly, Osip. I’ll do my best to entertain her so that your business remains undisturbed.”

The minister all but cackled. “Don’t try to deceive me, brother. I see the way you look at her.” Demyan’s stomach tightened as he cursed inwardly. Was he really so transparent? “You want a piece of that sand rat ass. By all means, fill her with our Russian hospitality. Give her something to take home.”

The dark-haired man found himself simultaneously relieved and disgusted by Osip’s comments. Christ, the man thought of women as nothing more than pawns – objects to be used and abused. “I believe I will.” He had to force his reply, his fingers curling into a tight fist on his desktop at Danshov’s answering chuckle.

“Godspeed then, Demyan. Report to me when you return.”

When he hung up, Demyan breathed a sigh of relief. As stalwart as he could be, the prospect of acting after years of waiting made him nervous. In his life, he had stolen, he had killed and he had embezzled. He had lent all of his resources to the family who had all but destroyed his own. If there was one person that least deserved salvation, it was him.

But still, he would try. Even if he lost his own life, perhaps others would be saved.

That was all he could wish for.

“Good evening, dearest brother.”

Lowering his glasses, Demyan looked up at the unexpected entrance of his sister. He’d seen surprisingly little of her that day and had chocked it up to Osip sending her on errands around the city. Often, she and Lichakov worked together when Veta wasn’t watching him like a hawk, and the minister’s mistress had been absent as of late as well.

To his surprise, Veta appeared almost…chipper.

Her butterfly knife was absent and there was a decided bounce in her step as she strode into his study, unannounced. Demyan arched a brow at her show, quickly closing his laptop to conceal his actions. “Veta. You’re looking well today.”

“Does it show?” She pulled up short in front of his desk, fondling her long blonde braid almost lovingly.

Indeed it did. Though Veta wasn’t smiling, her posture seemed more relaxed than it had been in a long while. She leaned against his desk to look down at him, her expression, dare he say it,
fond
?

“Should I assume that you’ve found a new lover?” It was enough, on some occasions, to cool his sister’s temper for a short while, though he’d never seen her this obviously content.

Slowly, Veta shook her head, a short sigh escaping her. “I’m just thinking of you brother. Of all we’ve been through together.” Reaching out, the blonde woman unexpectedly ran a hand through Demyan’s dark hair, and he found himself flinching slightly. When was the last time she had even touched him voluntarily?

Something was…strange. “
Da
…” He considered her carefully. “We have always had each other.” Whether that was a blessing or a curse, he wasn’t precisely sure. Osip always said that blood was thicker than water, but if that were true…perhaps their parents would still be alive.

“Do you know…” Veta ventured softly, “that when I first went to Ivan, it was out of worry for you?”

Demyan couldn’t help his reaction. His eyes widened as his heart stuttered in his chest. Elisaveta never spoke outright of her relationship with Ivan Danshov. Though he knew full well what their relationship had been, he knew it through hearsay and rumors – and he assumed from his sister’s behavior that she had been inexplicably warped by the man’s teachings.

Was she trying to say that…he had been the cause of her seeking out Ivan’s comfort? “After our parents died…” The blonde went on softly, “I feared you might be next. You’re idealistic, like them. Stubborn….just as father was. You couldn’t keep your grieving on the insides…and Ivan feared that perhaps he would never win you over. So I went to him and I begged him for your life.”

Demyan’s hands trembled slightly on the edge of his desk as she continued, his emotions in sudden turmoil. “And do you know what happened?” Reaching down, Veta cupped her brother’s face gently, her green eyes meeting his. “He raped me. Repeatedly. For hours and hours. He told me that all the pain I was taking was yours, and that if I wanted to save you that I would bear it.”

Demyan thought he might be sick. “I promised to be his plaything to save
your
life. But I didn’t know then what a great gift I would be given.” She stroked over his stubbled cheek slowly, her eyes glinting in something that looked almost like pride. “Ivan taught me…
everything
. How weak our parents had been for betraying their own country. How I could show my devotion in making sure that our people remained loyal. How to keep an eye on you, to protect you from outside influence…to protect you from
yourself
. He taught me how to live…and even now, he’s with me.”

Demyan now realized why Veta’s expression made him uneasy. The way her eyes shone danced on the edge of madness – a threshold that she had passed over long ago. “He’s watching you, Demyan. You and me…and he sees your foolish mistakes.”

In a trice, the blonde’s fingers curled into the base of his neck and she slammed his forehead against his desk, making him inhale sharply as pain shot through him. Her voice lowered to a menacing hiss and he heard the metallic click of her extending her knife blade. “I know about you and the
American
.” It’s cold, sharp metal edge pressed against his nape and every muscle in Demyan’s body tensed as his sister held him in place. “You’ve never really learned
anything
, have you, brother? There is
only
our Mother Country. She thrives or we die.”

Her brother swallowed with some difficulty, working to remain calm. “Veta…stop and think. Ivan hurt you. I wish to God I’d been able to stop it, and for that, I apologize. He changed you…and his son is no less cruel than he himself. Osip is simply better at hiding it. He’s not
improving
Russia. He’s exploiting it.”

“
Zatknis
, traitor.” Veta spat, digging the knife into the nape of his neck hard enough to make him grunt in pain. “I’ve always told Osip he was a fool to trust you, and now I’m proved right. Now, before I kill you, tell me the codes.”

Fuck
.

Demyan could do no such thing – and if Cadence’s life weren’t on the line as well, he’d keep his mouth shut. But he knew full well that as soon as Veta closed his eyes forever, she’d be after her. If Danshov found out what she’d been doing, there was no doubt he’d hand her over to Roksana…and Lichakov wouldn’t let Cadence die for a very,
very
long time.

The war both of them were trying to prevent would very likely happen anyway – and both of them would have perished in vain.

“
Speak
, Demyan, and I’ll make it quick.”

His eyes slid closed. Demyan had even tried to tell himself that he could save Veta. That she would never truly kill him. She was the last family he had, and, however she behaved, some part of him had hoped that there still remained a vestige of good in her.