Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
When the jet levels off, it’s so smooth it’s like we’re not flying, and I am able to release the breath I’ve been holding. I realize I am still gripping Lev’s hand and let go quickly, pushing it away like it burns.
He chuckles. “Like they say, Miss Masters, sometimes it’s better the devil you know.”
I turn away from him to stare out the window at the midnight sky.
“Devil is right,” I mutter in disgust.
Forty-five minutes later, we land in New York, where a black Rolls-Royce Phantom waits for us on the tarmac. Again, I am hustled into the vehicle, and Lev climbs in beside me, and the giant man, who I now know is named Igor, drives.
I expect to be taken to the penthouse in Manhattan where I spent the night with the asshole who is sitting in the back of the car with me. But instead of heading toward Manhattan, the car leaves the city behind us, and we drive for about half an hour before Igor pulls over and stops in front of two massive wrought-iron gates. When they open, we move slowly along a long white driveway toward a palatial mansion lit up by floodlights.
My mouth drops open. The home and its immaculately landscaped grounds are magnificent. Not the monster’s lair I was picturing at all.
Igor stops at the front entrance, and Lev and I climb out. Lev speaks to Igor in what I assume is Russian, and the giant man drives off and out of view.
I stare up at the grand house towering above me and pull my arms around my waist, not knowing what my fate will be once I am inside its walls. Fear swells in my stomach as I follow Lev up the stairs and through the large wrought-iron doors.
“Welcome to my home,” Lev says.
And it’s the last thing I hear.
Because it’s then my world turns black, and I faint.
18
BROOKE
I wake up in Lev’s arms. He’s carrying me into his mansion like I weigh nothing, and as I slowly come back to myself, I’m acutely aware of the strength in the arms that are holding me.
“What happened?” I ask, dazed.
“You fainted,” he says.
“Fainted?”
I’ve never fainted in my life.
But then, I’ve never been taken by Russian mobsters, either.
That’s when it hits me. The reminder that I’ve been taken by the bratva.
I start to struggle in his arms. “Let me go, you asshole.”
His arms hold me in a vice-like grip. “Is this the way it’s going to be? You fighting me at every turn?”
“Yes, now put me down,” I demand.
“One thing you’ll learn about me, zayka, is that I don’t react very well to demands. I will put you down when I am certain you won’t pass out on me again.”
“I’m fine,” I snap.
I struggle against the strength of his arms but give in because I am no match. I remember how muscular his body is and decide to save my energy.
He walks us through the front foyer, and it’s nothing short of magnificent with its cathedral ceilings, regal sweeping staircase, and a sea of marble for a floor.
Everything screams money and power—from the gigantic chandeliers to the massive paintings that line the gilded walls.
And I must be concussed or something because before I can stop myself, I whisper, “It’s beautiful.”
He’s amused. “Not what you were expecting?”
“I guess you could say that, considering I wasn’t expecting any of this a couple of hours ago when I was asleep in my bed. But now that I’ve been kidnapped—”
“You’re really going to need to get over this idea that you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Okay then, what about blackmailed? Does that word work better for you?”
He nods. “Better.”
He’s so frustratingly unfazed by me and the situation and everything, it makes me want to scream.
We enter a room off the spacious corridor and it is colossal.
I can’t keep the astonishment from my face as I gaze around at the room that looks like it’s out of a Russian castle or something. Like it was made for a czar. This room feels important, where big decisions are made, both for good and evil.
Goosebumps creep along my skin.
This room is his den.
The monster’s lair.
Lev lays me down on an antique chaise that looks old and priceless, and I scoot as far away from him as possible.
He chuckles and walks over to his desk, which is a huge slab of rich mahogany, and leans against it, folding his arms. He’s so self-assured and confident it makes me sick.
“This is my family estate,” he says. “This is where I was born and where I grew up. It’s been in the Zarkov family for more than three hundred years. You are a guest here, and you will be treated as such.”
He speaks about his home with uncharacteristic warmth, and I find comfort in it because this place is special to him, so I doubt he brings people here to die.