Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I smirk. “Bring it.”
He smiles, baring his teeth. “Oh, I intend to. But first, let’s get you back where you belong.”
Where I… belong?
He leans closer to me, his presence overwhelming. I didn’t realize how big he was until now. Compared to his other brothers, he looks a bit smaller, but… compared to me, the idea of using the word “small” to describe him is damn near laughable.
And I’m definitely aware of how strong he is now.
Damn it, focus, Isabella.
I blink, caught off guard by his sudden proximity. Despite everything, I can’t ignore how good he smells: warm and spicy and masculine. His face, now inches from mine, highlights his sharp jawline and heavier stubble. His eyes pierce straight through me.
“You’re wasting your time. I’m not going to break.” It’s getting harder to fight him, though. I’m in pain, I’m famished, and I’m so damn tired and thirsty.
His eyes flash with chilling amusement, a challenge dancing in their depths. “We’ll see about that,” he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous whisper that makes me shiver. I turn away from him and wobble. I fall to my knees. The air in front of me seems to shimmer. I’m dimly aware of him cursing behind me before he bends to me. I grit my teeth, ready to fight him if he’s going to hurt me again, but instead… he doesn’t.
He lifts me. The world grows a bit hazy and unfocused. I blink my eyes, half expecting I’ve fallen into a dream, but it’s definitely not that.
Maybe he wants me to get stronger again so he can question me more. Fair enough. If his plan involves food and some water and sleep, this will be perfect.
I didn’t get far from the house. I tell myself that if I were well, I could’ve nailed this. I would’ve slipped through his fingers like fine sand. I’m compromised. That’s the only reason he caught me.
But even as we walk, my mind is churning with possibilities and a glimmer of hope surfaces. This doesn’t have to be a simple, predictable game of cat and mouse… does it?
In the dim light of early morning, a light breeze kisses my cheek. I chance a glance at Lev to find his face stoically set, determined. He’s a man on a mission, but he doesn’t seem angry or resentful as I’d expect him to.
I’ve done my research with these guys, though. I know what they’re like. I know what their strengths are. Their weaknesses. Lev Romanov is a strategist at heart. He’s cunning and ruthless, and I can’t ever let myself forget that. Lev is like a master chess player… always several moves ahead of his opponent.
I’d do well to remember that.
It smells faintly of burnt wood and damp moss as we make it up to his front porch. This house is stunning, so different from what I’ve grown up with. At home, I grew up in a large, colonial-style home with stucco walls and terracotta roof tiles, traditional where I’m from. His home, though, is secluded from the city. A large, imposing structure with a fortress-like appearance shows his need for security and control. It’s modern and minimalist and somehow seems perfectly fitting for a man like him… at least what I know about him.
His arms are warm around me.
That doesn’t matter.
He’s so strong, he walks with me in his arms as if I’m a little waif. I’m small, yes, but still, there’s something undeniably attractive about being overpowered like this.
When we get to the door, it opens of its own accord. I’m a little confused as I try to see how he did that—before I note a guard at the door. Glaring at me.
I wonder if he’s friends with the loser I ratted out. Whatever.
“Look away,” Lev snarls, and the guard practically gives himself whiplash when he obeys.
He walks with me toward a room with a wide-open door, then lays me on a large, upholstered couch. Like everything here, like him, the room is minimally furnished and practical, but everywhere I look I see hints at high-end security with a modern flair. The walls are a stark, utilitarian gray, only a shade lighter than the couch and coordinating armchair nearby.
Discreet cameras blink at me from the corners of the ceiling, their lenses following every movement. A reminder there’s no privacy here, and he trusts no one. The floors are varnished hardwood, and in the far corner of the room sits a sleek, modern desk made of straight black lines with monitors and computers and all sorts of gadgets. I’ll have to look more closely when I’m rested and fed.
He taps a watch on his wrist and barks out orders in Russian. I don’t know a lick of Russian, but a moment later when the door opens and the security guy comes in with a bottle of water and a plate of food, I can hazard a guess at what he was ordering.