Kissed by Shadows: Chapter 4

For the second, or is it the third time in the past twelve hours, my life is turned upside down. The freezing night air seeps into my very bones, despite my wool coat, as I race along with Nikolai, heading towards the World’s End Estate.

It’s a place I’ve never been to, not even when I was helping Willow. It’s kind of a no-go zone, not if you want to come away unscathed, and my heart pounds like a death bell tolling as we get closer.

About five minutes away, Nikolai stops walking, the estate looming over us like a sentinel. A shiver works its way down my spine as I stare at it, my woollen coat not able to warm my insides, which have gone cold at the sight.

“This is as far as I go,” he murmurs softly, turning me to face him and cupping my face in both of his hands.

“What?” I ask, horror making my features go slack as a sour taste fills my throat. I’ll have to walk in there by myself?

“There’s a party, you’ll probably be stopped by some lower members, tell them you want to see Hunter and don’t take no for an answer, Solnishka.” My head spins as he rapidly gives me instructions. “And don’t mention my involvement. I don’t want them to think I’m sending you as a spy or something, and it can’t get back to my father that I helped you.” He’s leaving me to do this alone. Anger flares bright and hot inside me, and I push his hands from my face.

“They’re fucking gangbangers, Nik! I barely know them. Willow never really could tell me much about them other than they’re fucking dangerous. There’s a reason everyone tells you to stay clear of the estate, Nikolai,” I sneer, his jaw clenching as his hands fists at his sides.

“They don’t do that to women. Anyone even attempts it gets put down,” he bites out, and then he’s grabbing my face again, slamming his lips onto mine before I can wonder how he knows that. I whimper into his mouth, my arms tense at my sides as I futilely try to hold onto my anger.

Just as quickly, the kiss ends, then with a snarl in Russian, he drops the bag he was carrying at my feet before spinning away and darting back into the night, leaving me alone on the dark street. Unbidden tears fall down my cheeks as I watch him leave, abandoning me just like every important person in my life has done before.

Swiping at the useless tears, I take stock of my current situation. I could ignore him, take off and try to disappear. I dismiss the thought almost as soon as it enters my mind though, knowing that Sergi would find me in no time. I’m not trained to avoid capture by the mafia, fuck, I’m not trained for anything other than being a gracious hostess and loving wife.

Dipping down, I open the overnight bag, cursing when I realise that my phone and purse aren’t in here. Great. So I have no fucking money or way to call anyone. Growling at Nikolai and his cunt of a father, I shoulder the bag and turn to face the direction the estate is in.

Shit. Looks like I’m going to have to hope that Hunter is there and feeling merciful. I’ve not had many interactions with him, just a couple after I found his younger sister that night after Christmas, wandering the streets and looking lost and broken. She didn’t go into details of what happened, but the way she held herself, wincing when she sat down gave me some idea that someone hurt her. Badly. She stayed with me after that for a couple of weeks, spending New Years with me and Dad until we came to the conclusion that she needed to get away, a fresh start. She didn’t want to go back to the estate and said she couldn’t stand to be around any gangs, even her brother’s. Dad had some contacts at Highgate Preparatory Academy, an exclusive boarding school in Colorado, and he was more than happy to help me secure her a scholarship there, even helping to fund it and sort out her visa.

Shit, will that all be affected now? I’ll have to try and speak to Willow at some point to check and make sure she’s okay. I’ve some money of my own, not that I have access to it given Nik didn’t pack my purse.

I’ve kept in touch with Willow but have not seen Hunter again. He’s about ten years older than Willow and I, and I remember opening the door to find his hulking figure on the other side of it, his harsh beauty and the danger rolling off him rendering me speechless. It wasn’t helped when Willow told him that she wasn’t going home with him and was moving halfway across the world. Yeah, he was pissed, but he still accepted her choices when she refused to back down, telling him she needed to get away from it all.

He reminds me of Nikolai in that way, all swirls of ink and screaming I-will-fuck-you-up vibes. Why is that so attractive?

Thinking of the Russian has me growling, a low chuckle making my gaze snap up as I approach the entrance to the estate.

“Who pissed in your Louis Vitton’s, Princess?” a man asks in a deep West London drawl, emerging from the shadows and holy fuckballs with a waffle on top. His dark brown eyes are full of laughter, taking some of the sting out of his teasing. His dirty blond hair is in a bun atop his head, and it should look ridiculous, but somehow it doesn’t, especially with the blond scruff that covers his jaw. Despite the cold, he’s just wearing a black T-shirt that clings to every damn muscle, and I have to swallow hard to remind myself that I just lost my virginity to my childhood crush and shouldn’t be lusting after someone else so soon. Not to mention all the other shit that’s gone down today.

“I’m here to see Hunter,” I state, my voice firm and unwavering as I look back up at his gorgeous face and try to ignore the butterflies that his sinful smile is causing to swarm in my stomach.

“Are you now, Iris Montgomery?” My eyes widen at his use of my name, then narrow.

“How did you know that?” I question, holding my ground as he steps up to me, his chest practically brushing against mine. I’d like to say that I’m battling just fear, trying to show him I’m not intimidated, but I’m not so delusional that I don’t recognise the way my body fucking lights up at his nearness. Not to mention the things his peppermint, lavender, and lemon scent are doing to Evangeline. Greedy bitch has had a taste of her first dick and now is craving every red-blooded male she comes into contact with.

“Oh, Princess, we know so much about you,” he purrs, his hand coming up, his fingers taking a piece of my blonde hair and rubbing it. His words fade as my breath freezes, waiting to see his next move, wanting him to touch my skin even as my mind tells me that is not how we greet strangers. “I’ll take you to him.”

Abruptly, he lets my hair fall back, and to my utter shock, he takes the bag from my shoulder, grasping my cold hand in his warm one as he tugs me into the estate. My lungs remember to inflate at his touch, my feet following him regardless of my brain screaming at me that this is really fucking stupid.

I don’t know the guy, I should probably run in the opposite way, regardless of how pretty he is. But then again, he said he’d lead me to Hunter, and Nik told me to get Hunter’s protection…so I guess we’re going down the rabbit hole.

We pass a couple of beefy-looking guys, who both nod at my handsome stranger while giving me appraising looks. “Eyes to yourselves, boys,” my guy orders, and their attention snaps away immediately. Not my guy, the guy.

Who is this guy to have such sway over these men? I must confess, aside from Hunter, I know very little about the Shadows and their make up. Willow told me a bit, mentioning some twins, Roman and Rowan, who must be who Nikolai was referring to earlier. But I’ve never met them or anyone else associated with the crew to know who this guy is.

“Who are you?” I ask, internally noting that I probably should have asked that before I let him lead me into a dangerous estate run by a notorious gang. Fuck me, I’m blonde sometimes.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being blond,” he teases, and it’s then I realise that I must have spoken out loud. The curse of talking to yourself for years. “And I’m Roman, Roman Kent.”

“You’re one of the twins!” I exclaim as we push through some doors, and music and heat hits me like a slap to the face as we enter a stairwell.

“You’ve heard of us then?” he yells, tugging me through the crowd and up the stairs, which fucking parts like the red sea for him. My skin prickles as more than one set of eyes looks at me with curiosity.

“A little,” I tell him, raising my voice to be heard over the pounding music. My thighs burn as we walk up countless stairs, people calling out greetings to Roman, bumping knuckles, although he keeps my hand gripped tightly in his the whole time. I see why he’s not wearing a coat, sweat beads on my skin from the heat at the act of having to walk up so many fucking stairs. “Do you not have a lift?” I whine, my breath panting out of my chest as we keep going up. He’s not going to make me walk to the top, is he?

“Don’t trust them,” he comments, not even out of breath as we reach a landing and he pulls me through another set of doors.

The fresh air hits my overheated face, helping to cool me down as we emerge on a balcony of sorts. There are people here, but not so many, and the music is softer, not as bone jarring. The balcony is wide and jagged as it follows the strange hexagon shape of the building, open on one side and with front doors on the other. Don’t the people who live here mind lots of drunks loitering outside their front door?

“We own this floor, Princess,” Roman tells me, leading me along the balcony. Fuck’s sake, my filter must be really broken if I keep speaking out loud without realising it. “And those people will fuck off when we tell them to.”

Looking over the edge, we’re probably about halfway up, which explains the reason I’m dripping sweat and why my legs burn. The view is pretty spectacular, the twinkling lights of London spread out before us like stars in the night sky.

“Well, what have you found, brother?” a deep, smoky voice questions, and I glance away from the view to see an exact replica of Roman, even down to the same black T-shirt and fitted black jeans. This must be Rowan, Roman’s twin, and I’m not sure my poor brain can cope with the duplicate hotness that is before me.

“A little lost princess looking for a shining knight,” Roman answers in what I feel like is his signature teasing tone, and I glance at him, narrowing my eyes.

“Looks more like a little lost lamb in a den of wolves to me,” Rowan replies, his dark gaze sliding over me in a way that leaves me breathless and questioning whether I’m a feminist at all. There’s an air of something unsettling about Rowan Kent, like some part of me knows that he’s a wolf, one breath away from tearing out my throat.

“Are you going to take me to see Hunter or not?” I snap, proud of the way my voice doesn’t shake. I guess being sold to the Russian Bratva, losing my virginity, and then being dumped on the doorstep of one of London’s most prominent gangs is enough to give anyone a backbone. Or a death wish. The jury is still out on that one.

“Oooo, she’s a feisty one. I like it,” Rowan purrs, and I grind my jaw.

“I don’t give a shit what you like, Tweedle Dum.” My patience finally snaps and I tear my hand out of Roman’s grip. I just want to curl up somewhere and lick my wounds, try to work out what my next steps are. There’s only so much shit that can happen to you before enough is enough and you take matters into your own hands. “Just take me to your boss.”

Rowan smirks before stepping right into my personal space, but I hold my ground just like I did with his brother out on the street.

“It’s cute that you’re trying to top from the bottom,” he whispers, my breath stilling inside my chest as a wave of lust crashes over me. Jesus. Not the fucking time, Evangeline.

“She’d look so pretty tied up while begging for our forgiveness for being so bratty,” Roman says in a husky whisper, circling around me and then pressing up against my back until I’m stuck in the eye of their storm. I shiver, my blood pulsing within my body, leaving my nerves tingling.

“So pretty tied up and bleeding,” Rowan sings from in front of me, and fuck me, Jesus, if I don’t get wetter than an English summer at that, even as my eyes widen and my lips part. “Would you like that, Little Lamb? Would you be a sacrifice on my altar? I think you would.”

I’m frozen, unable to move a muscle as his hand comes up, his knuckles stroking down my cheek in such a tender gesture that my body sways towards the touch even as my mind screams at me to run far, far away.

“Roman! Rowan!” A deep yell breaks the spell the twins have placed on me, my body taking in a huge, juddering inhale.

“Time to meet your new master, Princess,” Roman murmurs from behind me before they each take a hand, pulling me deeper into the party until we stop in front of the leader of the Shadows himself, Hunter Anderson.

He’s lounging on what looks suspiciously like a throne, one thick thigh thrown over the arm as he looks up with startling green eyes that swirl with a darkness that leaves me shuddering. He’s just as gorgeous as I remember, his blond hair lighter than the twins’, cut short on the sides but longer on the top, and flopping over one eye in a way that has my fingers twitching to move it aside. He’s also wearing a black T-shirt, no jumper, and it practically bursts at the seams as he’s just that stacked. Tattoos cover one of his arms in a sleeve that flows and eddies with images that I want to study to discover their meaning.

“What brings you to my home, Iris?” His voice is deep, cavernous like a cave that you enter but never leave. I have to swallow past a lump in my throat, which I’m not sure is there because of fear…or something else entirely.

“I need your protection,” I state, and he sits up, placing both feet on the concrete floor before leaning forward. The rest of the chatter around us dies down, every eye on me, and my skin itches at the attention.

“And why is that, Peaches?” he asks, and something about the nickname has my thighs clenching. Fucking inappropriate, greedy vajayjay. Taking another deep inhale, aware of the twins pressing up against either side of me, I lock down the hurt and betrayal that I will have to tell these complete strangers in order to gain the help I need.

“My father sold me to the Russian Bratva.”