Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
The older woman turns sharply when someone calls her. "No, no, not that one," she says in English. She rushes away, and my bride follows. I know before she makes her decision what she’s going to do, and I can't believe my luck. The glances, the way she grabs her little bag, the way she looks from side to side tell me all I need to know.
She tips her head into the air, pulls her shoulders back, and breathes in deeply as if, finally, she has some freedom.
"Enjoy that last taste of freedom," I say under my breath. “It’s the last you’ll ever have.”
If she were mine—no, she is mine—she’s going to learn that a little jaunt in the woods is out of the question.
I run my thumb along the silk strands in my pocket, ready to bind my bride's wrists and ankles. I’m hard as fuck just imagining that… that, and so much more.
I’ll bring her back where she belongs—home, with me. I’ll teach her that her place is by my side, where she can’t run or hide again. I can see it now—that pale, porcelain skin tinged pink as she blushes, her lips parted, gasping for breath when my hand’s wrapped around her neck, just enough to remind her who I am, just enough so she knows she’s at my mercy. I can already feel the heat of her punished ass against me when I fuck her, her face pressed into the sheets, and my hand on her back, holding her down. She’ll think she’s on the brink of insanity, begging for release, but I’ll keep her right there as long as I need to make sure she feels her punishment.
I’ll claim every inch of her perfect, sweet body. I’ll make her shudder beneath me, scream my name while she claws my back and begs for mercy I won’t grant until she knows she’s mine. She’ll feel it in her bones and crave my control. When I’m done, she’ll never again question who owns her.
Without warning, six enormous Russian men step outside. They speak into their walkie-talkies, their voices hard. They fucked up, letting her out of their sight. I would punish the shit out of them for that.
"Jesus. Go. I don't know why you're waiting," Rodion says.
He's the fucking wild card of the family. Charming, reckless, impulsive—he's been in trouble since I've known him, and he made my job as his guardian that much harder. But for him, his natural charisma allows him to get out of damn near everything. His insatiable thirst for thrills and aversion to responsibility keep me on my toes.
I ponder what he says for half a minute. I could rush in, claim her for my own, fight them. Drag her back by her fucking hair and put a bullet between the eyes of any man who tried to stop us…
"Because I understand the blowback to the rest of us. I like to have self-control, Rodion."
He narrows his eyes at me. "If that were me, I wouldn't show weakness. I'm not the kid you think I am anymore, Rafail."
I grit my teeth and go to respond, but Semyon gets to him first.
"Rafail is the leader in the underworld and our family, Rodi," Semyon says coldly. "He knows better than to act recklessly."
I watch as her guards bring her back inside. She’s a feisty one, snapping at them in Russian. I hear a door slam. I run my fingers over the silky threads of the bonds in my pocket once more, and I make my plan.
Chapter 4
POLINA
It's beautiful here in Moscow, but I don't feel like I belong. I want to be back home, in The Cove, where I was raised. I long for the salty sea air, the simpler world that was black and white and so familiar. Even though my family, most notably my oldest brother, is driving me crazy, I like it there. My brothers have all married, and I adore their wives. We're a tight-knit group, and I love all of my sisters-in-law. I miss them.
And it's interesting to see my mother in Moscow. She has history here—friends and some family, and everybody wants to see her. She wants to keep our presence quiet, though, so this time, our visit is almost secretive. We are in a small apartment on the outskirts of Moscow, which is admittedly a nice change. I'm used to living in a large home, with lots of people who work for us, and it's strangely nice to do things like prepare my own meals and know that the only people working for us are our bodyguards.
It's impossible to ask for freedom from our vigilant guards. I couldn’t escape their watchful eyes if I tried. They're here to keep me safe.
It's not often that I see fear in my brother's eyes. But he wasn't just afraid—he was terrified. The entire way here, I kept looking over my shoulder.