Fall of Snow: A Dark Mafia Romance (Frost Industries Book 3)
Fall of Snow: Chapter 29

Consciousness returns to me slowly, the thick sheets wrapped around my body allowing me to hide from the world for longer than I normally would, and Elijah’s woodsy scent brings me a comfort I can never allow him to know about.

It only takes a few seconds for me to realize he’s not here, and with each moment that passes the shame creeps back in like a parasite seeping into every pore. He used me and then he left. I’m nothing more to him than a whore who will eventually bear his children, and that thought is depressing as hell.

Sounds down the hallway draw me from my self-sabotaging mind. There’s no clock in here, but by the way the sun lays low on the horizon it can’t be much later than seven and Mrs. Chambers was here late last night, only leaving when she showed Doc out.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I slip out from between the sheets and pad to the doors across from the bed. I can only assume one of them is the bathroom and the other the closet, but who knows with Elijah, one could very well be a dungeon he intends to lock me in when he doesn’t get his own way.

I check the door on the left first and replace the bathroom. When my eyes lock with my own in the mirror, I cringe at the sight before me. I never go to sleep with makeup on, and perhaps with the madness of the evening I assumed I had cried so much it wasn’t necessary, but staring at myself with flecks of black under my eyes, the shadows of tear tracks down my pale cheeks, and dried saliva around my mouth from Elijah’s rough treatment tells me that wasn’t the case.

My jaw aches from taking his huge cock and I can only imagine when the time comes for him to force himself into my unwilling body, my pussy will feel just as tender afterward.

The space is dark and masculine, with all the surfaces a gray concrete that matches my captor. Cold. Unfeeling. Hard.

I don’t allow myself to linger for long, quickly stepping into the shower and washing my hair and body as fast as I can while trying to ignore the fact I now smell like Elijah, and every time I move today it will be his scent that overpowers me. As if being stuck in this house isn’t reminder enough of the man who holds my future like cards in his hands, now I have to smell like him as well.

Rationally I realize I could have gone back to the room where all my favorite things are stocked up and smell like myself, that I’m leaning into the victim complex I’ve always played to my advantage, but I ignore that voice. I deserve to throw myself a pity party, after all, I’m mourning the loss of my life as I know it.

Once I’ve cleaned last night away from my skin, spending extra time scrubbing as if it can wipe me clean of the memories, I pad out into Elijah’s room and look around at the dark walls and abstract art. He would like bullshit like this. The things no one else understands would be the ones Elijah Russo replaces fascinating.

I don’t allow myself to linger for long, searching for the clothes I was wearing last night and coming up empty aside for the fluffy robe folded over the back of the chair by the window. I slip my arms into it quickly and take off toward the sounds I heard when I woke up.

The dim light filters through open doors as I pad down the hallway with my arms wrapped tightly around myself. Although I’ve come to see some of this house’s charm, it’s also creepy as hell at times. Every time I’ve gone looking for clues like a cat burglar, I’ve always ended up back in my room with the blankets wrapped around my neck waiting for the monster that doesn’t exist to come and get me.

As I wander up the hallway, I replace the kitchen light on, and I hold my breath as I duck my head in. Is it likely that there’s someone in the house that could harm me? No, the likelihood of Elijah having anything less than a state-of-the-art security system doesn’t seem high. But is that fact calming to my paranoid mind who in the last week has been kidnapped and held hostage, and held at gunpoint by a masked man intent to kill me? Absolutely not.

“Miss Saint James, I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” a voice penetrates the quiet room, and my breath halts in my lungs. I should have stayed in bed, at least there I was safe, or I could pretend to be.

I round the corner and my eyes fall on a well-dressed man with a mug in his hands leaning against the counter. My eyes track from his freshly polished shoes, up his tailored pant legs, to his fitted suit jacket, until they fall on a breathtaking pair of deep brown eyes. The color of chocolate seems amused as he watches me, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Who are you?” I ask, pulling the tie to my robe just to give my hands something to do. I’ve always been a sucker for a well-dressed man, and something tells me Elijah wouldn’t want another man touching what belongs to him.

The moment the idea pops into my head I try to squash it down. But the brat in me loves to break the rules and hates being told what to do. What if I didn’t touch the guy? What if I had a little fun, made Elijah a little mad, and showed him what his future is going to look like if he forces me into this marriage, because while my siblings would never break marriage vows, I won’t hesitate if I’m in a loveless marriage. Does that make me an asshole? Yep. But I’m being forced to take vows with a man who will likely grow tired of me the moment I develop crow’s feet and send one of his men to dump me in the bottom of Lake Michigan, so I’m allowed to be a bit of an asshole.

“Dwayne. I work for Mr. Russo.”

I nod slowly, taking a tentative step farther into the kitchen. “What do you do for Elijah?” I ask, reaching above the bench for a mug. Usually Mary brings me my coffee in the mornings, not because I don’t try to do it myself, but because it seems like the woman can read my damn mind. Every time I get up to get something, she’s already walking down the hallway with whatever I was heading to the kitchen for.

“Security.”

I’m used to vague answers, I’ve been dealing with men just like Dwayne since I was born. They think because I’m a woman I can’t possibly know the truth about what happens behind closed doors.

I pour the coffee into the mug, keeping my back to him as I slowly stir cream into the dark caffeine. At least there’s good coffee here, otherwise I would have gone insane by day two. I’d give up every single material thing in my life long before I’ll give up good coffee.

I turn and lean against the bench. The kitchen is big enough that although we are directly across from one another, there’s still an appropriate amount of space between us.

The idea dancing at the edge of my mind will only make things worse for myself in the long run, but it would be fun. It’s been a long time since I’ve seduced one of the guards just for the hell of it and to incite a reaction from the men in my life. For the first time since I was taken, a glimmer of my old self peaks out from behind the broken woman I’ve become. After all, I don’t want Elijah thinking he’s marrying someone he can walk all over. That’s not the woman my parents raised me to be.

Dwayne takes another sip of his coffee, his chocolate brown eyes holding mine over the rim of his mug. He’s assessing me, trying to decide if he trusts me or not.

“You know your boss has me here against my will, right?” I finally say. Silence has always made me uneasy, but there’s something about Dwayne that unsettles me. I should listen to the little voice in the back of my mind begging me to turn my ass around and go back to binge watching Gossip Girl, and yet my legs don’t move. The thrill of the chase is intoxicating.

“I’m aware.”

I crack a smile. “Of course you are. I suppose I’ll add you to the list for when my brothers figure out I’m not here because I want to be,” my tone is soft and playful, but there’s no mistaking the meaning behind my words. It’s a threat clear as day, except Saint James don’t make threats, we only make promises.

A booming laugh fills the kitchen, bouncing off the cool tiles beneath my feet and causing me to startle. Not enough that Dwayne will notice, but just enough for my heart to skip a beat. “It’s cute that you think a man like Elijah will ever let you go.”

I shrug. “Even powerful men have their weaknesses.” I don’t bother telling him that I haven’t quite worked out Elijah’s yet, but it will come. Men like him and my brothers like to think they’re invincible, when in reality they just have so much more to lose. “If I were you, I would be wary of the side you choose.” I place my mug back on the counter and move toward the door. I’ve said all I have to say, and I’ve placed the threat exactly where it needs to be. Now it’s just a matter of who Dwayne is loyal to. Elijah, or himself. If he’s smart, he’ll do as I’ve indirectly asked him to, and if he’s an idiot, which, let’s be honest, is more than likely the case, he’ll tell Elijah about our little chat.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?” His heat is at my back, so close his breath whispers across my neck. Where I expect to feel excitement, the usual thrill of poking someone in just the right way to incite a reaction, fear grasps my lungs and holds on tight. What the hell was I thinking? All those times I played games with security I had a safety net, I had my parents or my brothers to come save me. But who do I have now? Elijah? He’ll probably hang me out to dry just for the fun of it. Just to see me suffer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, forcing my voice to remain even despite the thundering of my heart.

One moment I’m standing in the doorway, ready to make a run for my bedroom, and the next there’s an iron arm around my middle and I’m being yanked back into a hard body. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing, Snow.” He steps us forward until my front is pressed against the wall in the hallway, his rock-hard member pressed against my ass.

For the first time since I walked into the kitchen, I remember I’m dressed in nothing more than a robe. One flick of his wrist and he can have me untied and naked as the day I was born.

“Now you’re going to do exactly as I tell you, and maybe I won’t tell Elijah what a little whore his woman is,” he hisses in my ear.