Page 8 of Beautifully Damned (Sinful Fates #2)

Ayla

The sun is bright today, blinding, almost. But it doesn’t match the dull gray pressing down on my chest. It’s been days with me in the devil’s home, and I haven’t heard anything—nothing from Roman, and worse, nothing from my family.

Since the kitchen… incident, I haven’t stepped foot near Elena or tried to help with the cooking. I don’t want to get her in trouble. God knows what would happen if he walks in and finds us talking again.

I sigh, cuffing the loose end of my sweatpants. Maybe I should go outside. Get some air. Touch some grass before I lose my mind.

The silence in this place is eerie. Not peaceful. Roman hasn’t asked for a ransom, hasn’t negotiated, hasn’t made any demands. Nothing. My father would have offered anything for my release by now. So why am I still here? A message to my father? Hasn’t he sent that already? What’s the endgame?

Before I even process the decision, my feet are moving.

Down the stairs. Past the cold, empty hallways.

At the front door, I pause. Two guards block the exit, big and brutal in their suits, but one of them has faded swirls of pink and blue on his face.

Butterfly wings. Nothing in this place makes sense.

“Hi,” I say softly. “Would it be okay if I sat in the garden? Just for a few minutes?”

They glance at each other. The butterfly-faced one raises a finger, telling me to wait. His thick fingers tap against his phone. It takes barely a second before his phone buzzes, and he lifts his chin toward the garden.

I nod, whispering a grateful “thank you.”

I step outside and the sunlight hits my face like a balm. The grass crunches gently beneath my slippers as I make my way toward the fountain; it’s old and cracked in places, but the water still flows. I sit at its edge, curling my fingers around my knees.

Maybe I’ll pretend I’m somewhere else. Somewhere I don’t have to wonder what a man like Roman Volkov plans to do with someone like me.

Of course, one of the guards follows.

He lingers about ten steps behind. Probably another one of Roman’s little commands: watch the hostage, make sure she doesn’t run off and get eaten by a bear, or God forbid, make a friend.

Not that I could go far. I glance around. The estate is surrounded by miles and miles of manicured greenery that spills into wild, tangled forest. There is nothing but endless trees, whispering secrets I’d never be fast or brave enough to chase.

I smile at the mountain of a man trailing me like a shadow. “You can sit, you know,” I say, gesturing to the stone edge of the fountain beside me. “Or stand there and glower. Up to you.”

His face might as well be carved from rock. The only thing that breaks the intimidation is the faint outlines of butterflies clinging to his cheek.

“You know,” I say, tapping the air near his face, “it’s really hard to look scary with those on.”

His lips don’t even twitch.

I tap my slipper on the ground. “You’re not going to talk? You’re just gonna stand there like a gothic gargoyle?”

He lets out a very low sigh, like dragging sound from the depths of the earth.

“Matvey,” he mutters.

I perk up. “Oh? That’s your name?”

He nods once.

“I like it. Sounds strong. Russian?”

He gives me the faintest raise of a brow. “Obviously.”

Touché. Dumb question. I’m still in shock that this wall of a man is agreeing to engage me in conversation. For a moment, silence ensues. I let it be, not wanting to push too hard. I listen to the birds, the gentle splash of the fountain.

“They were for my daughter’s birthday,” Matvey says suddenly.

I blink, surprised. “The butterflies?”

“She wanted a tea party, and loves butterflies. But they won’t wash off.”

My heart softens instantly. “That’s… sweet. She must really love you.”

He shrugs. I soak the edge of my sleeve in the fountain. “Here,” I say gently. “Let me help.”

He doesn’t stop me when I reach up and gently scrub at the faded marks. It comes natural to me, helping people. It’s what I enjoy most in life. I feel like it slightly amends the sin of being born in this world, and being a silent bystander to violence and injustice.

Five seconds pass.

Ten.

Then thunder.

A door slams so hard behind me that I jump.

Roman barges out of the mansion like a storm on legs, pure wrath and darkness wrapped in black-on-black. His eyes are on us. Correction—on me.

I freeze, my hand still halfway to Matvey’s face. Matvey steps back immediately, his spine snapping straight, his lips pressed tight.

I stand slowly, hiding my damp sleeve behind me, heartbeat thudding in my throat. Roman’s jaw clenches as he approaches. What did I even do this time?!

"Leave us.” Roman orders. Matvey turns and walks away as if fleeing a fire, leaving me alone with the inferno.

The second Matvey's boots disappear out of sight, Roman walks towards me until there’s no space between us.

The heat rolling off him is unnatural. “Don’t. Touch. My. Men.” He hisses the words through his teeth.

His chest brushes mine, and I stop breathing. I try to back away, but my heel catches on the edge of the fountain, and I fall right into it.

Water splashes everywhere, a cold slap against my back. My elbow cracks against the marble floor beneath it. Pain zings up my spine. My hair soaks instantly, and the world spins for a second before my body registers it—

I just fell into a goddamn fountain.

Water streams into my eyes, making Roman seem a bit blurry. But the pain in my back, the embarrassment, the hot shame—all of it roils inside me. Rage explodes in my chest. My fingers curl into fists, and without thinking, I plant my feet on the slippery ledge, brace myself, and yank him toward me.

Hard.

I don’t expect it to work, he’s built like a damn tank. But something about the fountain’s edge, the angle, maybe even his own shock, makes him stumble and trip right on top of me.

Water erupts everywhere. His full weight crashes into me, driving the air from my lungs.

His elbows slam beside my head, keeping just enough of his weight off me that I don’t black out.

His face is inches from mine. His mouth is a line, nostrils flaring, water dripping from his chin onto my cheek.

If looks could kill, I’d be buried ten feet under by now.

Why am I like this? Why am I so childish? Why does this godforsaken place pull immaturity out of me?

My back still aches, and my pride is in tatters, but I do the only thing that makes sense to my deranged brain.

I start crawling away from him. I wiggle and squirm like a worm under him, and the second my thigh scrapes down the length of his, he lets out a low, sharp hiss that shoots straight through me.

I’ve sealed my fate. He’s going to kill me.

He’s on his hands and knees now, because there’s no room for someone his size to sit or stand or even breathe properly in this stone pond from hell, and I see him coming.

Survival instincts , my brain screams.

So I splash him.

I splash the beast. With water . Right in the face.

WHAT KIND OF SURVIVAL INSTINCTS DID GOD GIVE ME?

His expression twists into something unholy. My hands keep going. I don’t know who’s controlling them. Definitely not me.

"Don’t come near me!" I shriek, backing up until I nearly fall again.

He lunges. I splash. He growls. I splash harder.

It turns into a full-blown water fight from hell, and we’re spinning in circles, soaking each other, stomping around the shallow edge of the fountain.

Somewhere in the chaos, I catch a glimpse of Matvey and the other guard by the front door. Their jaws are on the floor.

I try to will my stupid hands to stop.

They don’t.

"Stop splashing me!" Roman thunders.

"Promise you won’t touch me, and I will!" I yell back, breathless.

He bears his teeth. And the next second, I’m in his arms again. One massive hand wraps around both of my wrists behind my back. The other cups water, and then throws it into my face with vengeance. I choke, sputtering, eyes stinging.

"I said stop!" I squeal, twisting.

He doesn’t.

"Okay! Okay! Enough! Truce!" I gasp.

Finally, he stills.

We’re breathing hard, facing each other, chests rising and falling. He’s holding me against him, wet bodies pressed so tight there’s not a breath of space. And there’s something— oh God —something very hard pressing into my hip.

My eyes shoot up to meet his.

His are already on me.

Dark. Stormy. Blazing.

Oh no.