Dmitry's Royal Flush: Rise of the Queen by Nelson, S. (classic reads .txt) 📕

"Get in." After throwing her inside, he slammed the door behind her, put her bags in the trunk and pulled off into the streets.

Victoria began to feel the heat rise from her stomach up into her chest. She laid her head back on the white leather seat and looked out of the window as they passed through the city at warp speed.

"Where are you taking me, you son of a bitch?" Her speech had already begun to slur.

"Somewhere quiet," he answered, focused on the road.

Flashes of light and dizziness overtook her. "Are you going to rape me?" she asked with tears in her eyes. "That's such a fucked up thing to do."

"Don't flatter yourself," he smirked. "I'm not animal. Well, not that kind of animal."

"Are you going to kill me then?" A warm sensation started to rip through her veins.

"I don't know. Do you deserve to die?"

"No," she whispered. "Pull this car over and let me go," she tried to open the door, even as Anatoly sped through the streets.

He hit the lock button and looked over at her. "Don't try anything stupid with me. I'm not my father. I'll speed up and throw your ass out when we cross the bridge. They won't find you until next week."

She swallowed hard and removed her hand from the door. It felt as if they were moving at the speed of light. And the growl in his voice made her believe him. No. She wouldn't test him. She feared him.

They pulled quickly into a gated community, a private drive and then into the garage of a large, modern condo. The garage door closed, and the dark space lit up.

Anatoly unlocked the doors and went quickly over to her side to the help her out. As he opened the door of the car, she nearly fell down. He grabbed her firmly, and she landed on his chest. Looking up at him, she lost herself in his eyes.

He was more beautiful than she remembered. His muscles were rock hard under his shirt, his cologne tantalizing like his fathers, his eyes a strange deep blue, his perfectly chiseled square jaw clinched and his wide full mouth was only inches from hers. He watched her under thick lashes that flapped like wings. She couldn't tell if he was angry or crazy. His eyes had no depth to them.

"You're stumbling. Can you feel it yet?" he asked, grabbing her by her arm and yanking her around the car and up the concrete stairs to a door.

"Yes," she said, nearly falling over again.

There was something strange about the man. While there was obvious impending danger for her, she felt a reserve on his part, like he might be attracted to her, concerned about harming her. However, she couldn't be sure, hence the fear.

Whatever he had made her drink continued to blur her vision more. Grabbing the railing, she tucked her head and took a deep breath. Before she could rest her racing heart, he caught her by her waist and helped her up the stairs. She felt his groin on her butt, but he was not aroused, just focused.

Hitting a code on the alarm next to the door, he opened it and pulled her inside.

She looked around confused. This was a house. His house? He set his keys on the counter and motioned for her to follow him. She did so hesitantly.

The clicks of her heals tapped against the walnut woods floors as she slowly moved through the large space to a sitting room where she fell back against the couch.

Anatoly looked over at her drunken state and smirked. He stood looking out the window with his fists in his pockets.

She watched his muscular back filling out his cotton shirt from his broad shoulders to his long torso to the nice fitting jeans that outlined the muscular curve of his body. He finally turned around and looked at her.

"Do you know who we are?" he asked. Her eyes fluttered. "You're the Medlov's."

"But do you know who we are?"

"No."

"Do you know what we do?"

"No."

He sucked in his breath and pulled his hands out of his pockets.

"You really should not have fucked with my stepmother."

"I know," she looked around the room. It was starting to get dim. "I said I was sorry. What is it with you people and theatrics?"

"What do you think I ought to do with you?"

"I don't know," she snapped.

"Here the thing. I don't know which one of the two options that I have to use. I did at first but not now. So, I'm asking your opinion. What do you think that I should do with you?"

"I've had a knife pulled on me, a poker shoved at me. I've been kicked out in the rain, drugged and kidnapped," she shook her head. "What else can be done? I'm really getting tired of this shit. So, do want you want to and stop fucking around with me already."

Anatoly paused for a minute. He liked her fight at least, but she needed to be taught a lesson for crossing the line. Plus, he wanted to see how far she could be pushed.

"Alright," he said, bending down.

She followed him with her eyes.

He raised his pants leg slightly and pulled out his gun. Cocking it, he pointed it at her.

She looked on speechless. Maybe she should not have spoken so quickly. The breath in her lungs caught in her throat, and the tears began to form. She clinched the pillows beside her and sat silent awaiting the shot.

Anatoly raised his brow, clicked off the safety and pulled the trigger three times. The silencer kept the noise down, but it didn't matter. The room was nearly sound proof, which was why he had led her there.

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