Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 45

45

MOTHER DEAREST

Ivory

I can’t believe I have to do this.

And by this, I mean meeting Benedikt’s mother. It’s bad enough I have to ride in the car with him—alone—for forty-five minutes when I would much rather do anything else.

Be anywhere else.

“So, we’re just not going to talk the whole way?” The query bursts through the tense silence clogging the Camaro nearly twenty minutes into the drive.

“Don’t really know what we could possibly talk about,” I drone, keeping my body as far away from him as possible and my gaze on the passing scenery.

I’m supposed to be working my plan here, slowly slipping the mask in place so as not to raise any suspicion, but I’m having a hard time with it. A really hard time. Being around Benedikt isn’t pleasant, and tamping down the unease I feel in his presence isn’t as simple as I’d hoped.

“How about when you plan to stop hating me and actually give this marriage a chance?” he fires back.

It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to laugh. I want to tell him that’s not in the plans, that the rose colored glasses came off, and I’ve seen his narcissist in a bright technicolor rainbow, but I don’t. Instead, I hitch a shoulder, remaining unaffected and nonchalant. “You’ll be the first to know when I figure it out.”

“C’mon, malish. I’m trying here.” He reaches for me, the burgundy cuff of his long sleeve shirt coming into view as a large palm easily clasps my thigh—despite the fact I’m nearly one with the door. “I’ll admit, I know I lost my temper and acted poorly that day in the alley, and for that, I apologize. You have to know I was out of my mind, though. We stopped talking from one day to the next, and I could feel you slipping away.”

“Not an excuse,” I counter, trying my damnedest not to cringe under his touch. “It was so beyond uncalled for, I don’t have the words to cover it. I trusted you, and you broke that in two point five seconds.”

“I’m sorry, genuinely.” He gives my thigh a little squeeze, luring my stare his way.

The blue in his eyes is nearly gray today. Not in the thunderous, volatile way, but seemingly gentle, framed by dark, equally kind brows. Contrary to what Rio was probably hoping for, the scar spanning the entire right side of his face does nothing to make him any less attractive. I hate admitting it, hate that I even notice, and if I hadn’t already seen the perfect gentleman card billow away, I’d likely believe him.

But I can’t see past his transgressions. I can’t unsee the rage in his eyes as he crushed my windpipe. Can’t unhear the malevolence in his voice or unfeel the true, genuine fear that roiled my gut.

“I’ll take your apology into consideration,” I say softly, offering a subtle quirk of my lips.

A total lie. I’m not considering shit. I just don’t want to continue this conversation and risk rousing the monster within.

Benedikt doesn’t reply, turning up the volume to a low cadence that drowns out the silence. And although it’s clear he’s dissatisfied at my resistance, the small circles his thumb rubs into my thigh tells me he’s hopeful his persistence will eventually lead to a change of heart.

We pull up to a gorgeous French countryside style house, all neutral stone with pale blue shutters and a quaint yet welcoming porch. Benedikt opens the passenger door and extends a hand to help me out, but I refuse it, simply grabbing my purse and slipping past him. Two seconds after he shuts it, an arm winds around my waist and pulls me into his side, his lips settling beside my ear.

“You can’t escape me all night, Ivory. Perhaps you don’t love me right this minute, but we will appear happily engaged in front of my mother. So put a smile on that beautiful face of yours before I kiss you senseless and remind you how good it feels to be owned by me.”

I shudder as his breath tickles my neck, goosebumps spreading in a wave down the length of my body when his lips press to the curve.

Don’t run scared now, Ivory. You wanted him all over you at one point, remember?

The thought raises disgust higher on the emotional leaderboard. I feel dirty—and not in the good way, desperate to be free of his touch.

To be free of him.

Benedikt releases me long enough to unlock the front door and usher me inside. “Mamin,” he calls out in his native tongue.

“Na kukhne!” she answers.

“She’s in the kitchen, come on.” Grabbing my hand, he pulls me through the dining room, the decor perfectly matching the exterior, and walks us into the heart of the home.

A tiny thing of a woman with a dark, silver-streaked bob pours herself a glass of wine while a chef moves silently around the space. Her eyes, a translucent blue like her son’s, turn toward us as we approach.

Now I know who Benedikt gets his looks from, because he’s her carbon copy. She’s dressed impeccably, too, wearing a white long-sleeved silk blouse and ebony flared slacks along with substantial diamond earrings, several gaudy necklaces, bracelets, and rings.

Her plum painted lips spread, revealing gleaming white teeth as she greets her son. “There’s my handsome boy. ”

But then her stare falls on me, and that smile instantly fades, slipping further and further away as she assesses me from head to toe.

When I put on the burnt orange dress, I felt appropriately vested for the occasion. Under her scrutiny, however, I actually second-guess myself, regardless of whether I want her approval or not. Is there too much cleavage? Are my rolls popping out? Is the dress too short? My hips too wide?

“Mamin, this is Ivory. Ivory, this is my mom, Polina.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Koshka.” I slap on the happy look Benedikt requested and extend a hand her way.

She takes it, but very clearly out of obligation, not because she wants to. “Pleasure, I’m sure,” she says snidely. “Would either of you care for a drink?”

“Definitely not that,” Benedikt laughs, motioning toward the wine. Malish, would you like some wine, or can I get you something else?”

“Wine is perfectly fine, thank you.”

Polina retrieves another glass as Benedikt sets a kiss to my cheek and slips away to the liquor cabinet not far away. I can sense how badly she wants to eye me again; the slight, displeased curl of her lips, how stiffly she fills my goblet. I get the feeling she’s one of those women who thinks no one is good enough for their son.

Does she know it’s actually the other way around? That her son is violent? That he has no problem putting his hands on a woman? That he’s crude and obsessive, and fucking psychotic?

“Here you go, dear.” That cutting tone returns as she passes me the much-needed alcohol and takes a sip from her own glass. Likely to avoid having to speak to me until Benedikt comes back.

If I was actually in love with her son, this would be a big problem and a cause for concern.

Good thing she won’t have to worry herself with the future mother-in-law card for much longer…

“Ben, is that you?” another female voice rings out somewhere in the house.

“It is,” Polina answers.

A squeal erupts and a few moments later, another little thing comes waltzing into the kitchen, rushing straight past me for the man who’s now returning with his drink. She jumps him excitedly and peppers his face with kisses.

“Malen'kiy, enough,” Benedikt gripes on a laugh.

The young woman relents and eases back, falling into step beside him to where I stand. That’s when I get a good look at her. She’s stunning, like super model stunning, slender, with legs for days. She has long, black hair like Benedikt and the same crystalline blue eyes. Clearly, they’re a Koshka family trait.

“Nadia, this is Ivory. Ivory, meet my little sister.”

Something about her, outside of her familial relations, feels so familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

“Nice to meet you.” She beams a smile my way, trailing those twin skies up and down my figure like her mother.

“Likewise,” I reply with a smile of my own.

“So this is the one you were telling me about.” Her gaze flicks up to Benedikt, who merely nods around the tumbler at his lips. “She’s… pretty.”

The delay on that word isn’t lost on me, and it’s then I realize this is only the start of a very long evening. It only gets worse when we finally sit down to eat. Apparently, going to law school and opening my own business isn’t much of an accomplishment for mother dearest.

I think I feel a headache coming on.