Dirty Grovel: Chapter 2

I’m not the fucking villain here.

I’m painfully aware that I’m kicking down a door to reach a screaming woman within. It doesn’t look good for me.

But I’m not in the wrong—she is.

She’s the one who fucked up.

She’s the one who betrayed me.

And somehow, I’m the monster?

Fine. If that’s how she wants to portray it, then that’s how it will be. I’ll be the monster. I’ll be the beast.

I’ve been doing it since I was eighteen years old. What difference is a few more minutes?

I’m about to ram it again when a throat clears from the hallway.

“Boss?”

I twist around and Vlad shrinks back at the sight of my face. “What is it?” I snarl.

“Just thought you’d want to know that we’re picking up an unauthorized cell signal coming from the stateroom.”

I turn and look at the door again. So she has a phone on her. I assumed she did; I just didn’t think she’d have the guts to use it. Then again, I didn’t think she was capable of joining forces with the Martineks, either.

Maybe that’s why I’m so pissed off. It’s not about her at all.

It’s about me.

It’s about how I fell for her act, her sweet little doe routine. The unwitting princess in the dress that doesn’t fit. It was well-played; I’ll give her that.

But I was the idiot who failed to see through it.

Why?

Because your dick was doing all the thinking…

It’s the most obvious answer.

And the most embarrassing.

The whole reason I’d sworn off women is because I wanted to take love and desire out of the equation.

Not that I love Sutton Palmer. Far from it. I desire her, true. But desire can easily be sated. It’s the intrigue that sneaks under your skin like tattoo ink.

But if it was only desire, this would all be easily extinguished. It can’t be just that—because no matter how hard I try to eradicate her from my thoughts, my dreams, my every waking moment…

Sutton keeps finding a way back in.

“Is there something you want us to do, boss?” Vlad asks. “I can send someone in to confiscate the phone.”

No. If anyone’s going to be doing the confiscating, it’s me.

“I’ll handle it,” I growl, stalking back to the state room as my anger spikes.

Who the fuck is she contacting? If it’s that fucker, Drew, I just might have to burn the whole yacht down around our heads.

The fact that that feels like a viable option makes me realize just how deep Sutton has managed to infect me. I’m gonna need another round of third-degree burns before I manage to get her back out again.

I storm into the stateroom and bang my fist against the door. She cries out something, but I’m too far gone to actually hear her.

I’ll do her the courtesy of listening, just as soon as she does me the courtesy of opening the door. And since that’s not going to happen⁠—

BANG!

I smash my fist into the door for a second time. It’s already on its last legs; one more hit will finish the job.

BANG!

The door bursts inward on its hinges, hitting the marble tub with a resounding crash. I don’t have time to think straight before something large comes hurtling at my face.

I have just enough wherewithal to duck to the right, causing the object to sail past my face and shatter on the ground a few feet behind me.

I glance behind my shoulder.

Crystal.

She means business.

I step into the bathroom and she flails backwards, slips, and collapses on her ass. Crawling back on her hands and feet, she cowers against the tub, shivering as though I’m pointing a gun at her.

God, she’s a sight.

Her clothes are filthy, her face badly bruised, her hair sweaty and matted against her face.

“Sutton…”

She flinches at the sound of her name, taking pains to cover her face with her hair.

But it doesn’t matter—I’ve already seen the violent bruise painting one side of her face. It’s almost enough to match the scars on mine.

“Who gave you that bruise?” I demand, pretending I don’t know the answer.

“Why do you care?”

Gritting my teeth, I squat down in front of her. “I’m trying to talk to you.”

“Well, you’re out of luck because I have nothing to say to you.”

“Are you really pissed at me?”

She lifts her eyes to mine. Despite the beating she’s taken over the last few days, they’re no less bright. “I thought you knew me. Apparently not.”

“I know what I saw.”

“You saw wrong. Evidence, no matter how convincing, can be fake, Oleg. I don’t know why I have to be the one to tell you that.”

I bite back the jab on my tongue. “Who were you talking to just now?”

Her eyes go wide and she forgets to hide her face. Then she remembers and it turns back to steel.

Her chin rises upwards, but all that does is show me more of the bruise as it snakes up her cheek and curls around her eye.

That fucking bastard. I’ll gut him like a fucking fish. He’ll scream for days before I let him die, I swear to God he will.

“No one.”

I sigh. “I already know you placed a call a few minutes ago, Sutton. There’s no point trying to deny it.”

“Fine,” she snaps. “I don’t deny it. But I am going to deny telling you who I called. It’s none of your business.”

“Considering you chose one of my yachts to make your getaway, I’d say it’s very much my business.”

“I didn’t think you’d be on this yacht. If I did, I would have chosen differently. Maybe I’d have hitched a ride on one of Boris’s ships.”

I want to argue, to rage, but it’s getting us nowhere, and if I have to look at how pitifully wrecked she is for a moment longer, I’m going to go insane.

So instead of bickering, I extend my hand out to her.

She just looks at it suspiciously. “What are you doing?”

“Offering you my hand. What does it look like?”

“To lead me upstairs and fling me overboard?” she asks dryly. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s murder.”

I roll my eyes. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.”

“How comforting.”

“I’m trying to help you, woman,” I growl impatiently. “Kindly do me the small service of letting me.”

Her eyes dart from my face to my hand. From my hand to my face. But she doesn’t take it.

Grinding my teeth together in impatience, I reach for her arm. She swats it away.

“Fucking hell, woman, you are infuriating.”

“Great. Then you know how I feel every time I talk to you.”

I rise to my feet, trying my damndest to unfurl my fists. I would punch something if I didn’t think she’d take it personally. Not that I should care.

But the honest truth is that I do care.

I care way too fucking much.

It takes all the effort left in my body to keep my voice calm and civil. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”

She lifts her eyebrows. “Then what are you trying to do?”

“Let’s start with getting you into that bathtub,” I suggest. “I don’t mean to sound ungentlemanly but in case you haven’t noticed… you stink.”

She flinches. “Spending the night on a bathroom floor will do that to you.”

“And spending an hour in a tub will solve the problem. Now, do I have to force you into the water or will you listen to me for once? Because honestly, I’m this close to throwing you overboard just to get you clean.”

Her frown disappears. She glances towards the tub and nods slowly. “Alright then.” She struggles to her feet, ignoring my hand. But the moment she’s upright, she stumbles forward on weary legs.

I grab her before she can fall. “You’re dead on your feet.”

“Being on the run isn’t easy, you know.”

I arch an eyebrow. “And who exactly are you on the run from?”

She tenses, hiding once again behind her curtain of matted hair. “You, for one.”

“That went well for you.”

“Are you gonna help me into the tub or are we gonna keep talking in circles until we drive each other mad?” she snaps.

For a woman who’s in flight for her life, half-starved and barely standing, she hasn’t lost her fire.

“I’m going to take off your clothes now,” I warn her. “Do I have your permission to proceed?”

She swallows, her eyes widening. “You never asked for permission before.”

“Things were different before.”

Her eyes dim. She turns away and nods silently.

As much as I want to punish her for what she did to me, I hate myself every time I hurt her. Every cut I make feels like a cut to my own flesh.

She keeps her eyes downcast as I strip her down to her underwear. I probably should leave it there and help her into the tub as is, but it’s too damn tempting to resist.

I expect her to stop me but she doesn’t make a peep as I unhook her bra and slide it off her shoulders.

Next come her panties.

Usually, I’d be fighting arousal. But looking at her naked body, what I’m fighting instead is rage.

When I get my hands on that motherfucking ex of hers, I’m going to make him rue the day he ever even considered that he was worthy enough for Sutton Palmer.

As I help her into the tub, I can’t help but scan her belly. Still deceptively flat.

It might not be true, I tell myself, trying to fight the disappointment swelling inside me the moment I give that thought any airtime.

She submerges herself in water. A relieved sigh passes through her parted lips.

The sight of her, naked and vulnerable, bruised and terrified… it stirs something in me.

Something deep and carnal.

Something primal.

Possessive.

If there is a baby, it has to be mine.

“Are you pregnant?”

She gasps, her eyes flashing to mine, her cheeks flushing pink underneath the indigo bruise. “H-how…?”

It’s all the confirmation I need.

“Is it mine?”

Her eyes grow even wider. Then she turns her face away pointedly, refusing to answer me.

“The truth will come out sooner or later, Sutton. It’ll be better for you if you tell me the truth now.”

“You don’t care what’s best for me,” she mumbles to the soapy water. “And that’s all I’m gonna say.”

“I care about what’s best for my child. Now, I’ll ask again—is it mine?”

She presses her lips together tightly and I know I won’t get anything out of her now. I have so many different urges pulling me in different directions.

But in the end, I rise slowly and leave her to her bath.

If I stay, I’ll only say something I’ll regret.