Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I yank out a plain white T-shirt and toss it to her. “Tie it or do whatever the fuck you need to do.”
“What I need to do is wave my magic wand and shrink it, but since I’m the only witch without a wand, I guess I’ll wear it like a dress.”
She pulls it on, and it hits the tops of her knees. She looks adorable. Beautiful. Too fucking good in my clothes.
“Put the boxers on too.”
“Why? Afraid of a little thigh action?”
I cross my arms. “Afraid I might have to break the kneecaps of any asshole who steps near you, yeah.”
She whistles. “Oooh. Possessive. You sure you’re Bratva and not some overgrown dragon hoarding shiny things?”
I smirk. “You think you’re shiny.”
“Oh, honey,” she says. My heart turns over in my chest. “I’m radiant.”
“Put them on, little witch.” I narrow my eyes at her.
With a shrug, she slides my boxers on, then holds out the waistband to show me a full foot of material between her waist and the boxers.
I grunt. “Fine. You win. Take them off.”
“I could just pretend I’m asleep or something if you wanna see them alone.”
Good idea unless she decides she’s going to run again.
“Yeah. They’re not staying long.”
“You sure about that?”
“Fucking yes. Go. Lie down. I’ll be back.” I hold her gaze. “Do not come out of here.”
Shit. I don’t trust that glint in her eyes. What do you do with a girl who loves to be punished?
I throw on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, my stomach growling.
“Note to self—Matvei gets hangry.”
I ignore her, grumbling as I open the door and shut it behind me.
From the top of the stairs, I can see my dad already helping himself to my liquor cabinet and my mom rifling through the snack drawer.
Make yourself at fucking home.
“There you are,” my mother sings in that high-pitched voice that grates on my nerves.
She’s wearing one of her signature sweaters, hanging off one shoulder, skinny leggings painted onto her legs, and a gold belt cinching her waist. She’s standing in three-inch platform heels, her blonde hair pinned at the top of her head. But even bottled blonde and trendy clothes don’t hide the bags under her eyes. The sag of her skin. The way her lips pinch down in a perpetual scowl.
The son she loved most of all, the one she coddled and spoiled to his own demise, was taken from her, and she’ll never forgive any of us for it.
“It’s about time. We’ve been calling and texting, and you haven’t responded at all.”
I walk down the stairs, shaking my head. “I’ve been busy.” I eye the top of the stairs as if the little ghost followed me, but the bedroom door’s still shut tight. For now. I don’t trust her.
I get to the landing and go to get myself a drink.
My father raises an eyebrow. “Rodion said something about that. Did your busyness involve a certain traitor?”
“Hey. The name’s Anissa.”
Jesus. She didn’t wait long. I give her a heated glare, but she only smiles at me with a shit-eating grin and a finger waggle.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” my mother mutters. “You couldn’t get her in decent clothes? Ugh.”
Anissa stiffens.
My father stares at her. Unblinking. Cold.
“Name’s Anissa, and yours is—?” She looks expectantly at my mother. “You must be his grandmother, right?” She blinks so innocently, she almost looks sincere. I stifle a groan, and my father coughs into his drink.
My mother gives her a scathing look through narrowed slits. “Why don’t you just tell me you two fucked without telling me? And it’s mother, princess.”
“Because I think it’s weird you want to know your son just fucked his prisoner,” Anissa answers with another smile. “Ew.”
I should’ve locked her in her cage.
“As far as clothes go, surprise, surprise—your mammoth of a son doesn’t have clothes that fit me.” She shrugs. “I could’ve put on the clothes I wore on the way here when he kidnapped me, but they’re covered in blood and dirt and—” She covers her mouth, eyes wide. “Oopsie. You probably don’t want to know the rest.”
My father’s drink clatters to the table. He stares at me wide-eyed.
“Is there a reason you’re here?” I ask, my voice tight.
“We heard you were back in town,” my mother says, eying Anissa up and down. I know that look. She’s planning something. “She does look a lot like her sister,” my mother says, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“My sister?” Anissa blanches as she turns to me, eyes wide. “I have a sister? What is she talking about?”
My mother looks at her, all fake innocence, just like Anissa herself. “She didn’t know? You really don’t know the reason Rafail hasn’t come after you?”
“Jesus,” I mutter. But now that the cat’s out of the bag, there’s no point hiding it.