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 want him to hurt me.
I want him to push me against the wall until it hurts, until he’s crowded me in, nearly suffocating me, his hand flexing around my neck. I want to scrape my nails over his tats and take pleasure in his groans, to push him so hard he nearly stumbles before he pins me beneath him, face down, pressed into the bed while he spanks my ass before he rails me from behind.
I swallow.
“You, testing me. Teasing.”
I don’t deny it. Instead, I smile. “You’re the one obsessed with this whole concept of ownership. Keep saying mine and all that, half a breath away from smacking your chest like a gorilla.”
His nostrils flare, and his eyes darken.
Hahaha.
“There y’are, lass.” We both stiffen. Matvei’s eyes narrow on mine, as if assessing whether or not I planned it. I give him a shrug just to keep him guessing.
I tilt my head over Matvei’s shoulder to see O’Rourke, feet planted on either side of him, his eyes fixed on me. “Been looking for you,” he says as if a wall named Matvei Kopolov isn’t standing directly between us.
“Have you?”
Matvei turns around and jerks his chin at him. “O’Rourke.”
“Kopolov.”
Their glares are assessing and pointed, but neither makes a move.
Boys.
“You didn’t waste any time, did you, Kopolov?”
“Not something I generally do,” Matvei retorts. “Rodion says your boss met with Rafail yesterday. Looks like everything’s going as planned, no?”
They share a look I can’t quite read before O’Rourke nods slowly. “Aye.”
“Something you need?” Matvei asks, his tone sharp enough to cut diamonds.
“No. My visit today had shit all to do with you,” Cillian says. “I was needed nearby and fancied I’d grab a cuppa before I headed home.” He winks at me, and I swear to god, smoke comes out of Matvei’s ears.
When he turns back to me, his gaze is feral, his voice a low growl. “Fucking tell me what went on between the two of you. Now.”
I stare at him, taken aback. “Nothing.” I narrow my gaze. “But if it had, it’s none of your fucking business.”
Leaning in so his mouth is up to my ear, his voice is tight and low. “None of my business? Anyone who touched you before me is my fucking business.”
Oh really? I shake my head and roll my eyes, but only to mask the sudden fear that courses through me. I wish he knew who touched me before and what happened. It wouldn’t be what he thought it was. Not at all.
How can a memory scare me more than the dangerous man standing in front of me now?
I close my eyes at the flashback, the pain still vivid all these years later.
Pain. Blood. Cruel laughter. I was sixteen years old, running for my life, only to be dragged back and overtaken. Beaten. None of the blind rage I’d experienced before. This was slow. A lesson, but I was only the messenger. A boot to my ribs. A knee driven between my legs. Tearing. A heavy boot to my belly. Blood. So much blood.
I try to blink it away. The memory clears like the foggy remnants of a nightmare. His gaze narrows on mine.
“Were you and O’Rourke a couple?”
I grit my teeth and glare at him. Just when I think he’s got some redeeming qualities, he shows his true colors. “No, you asshole. I wanted to be with the Irish so I could have their protection, but they kept me apart from them. O’Rourke treated me like one of his men but with less respect.” I roll my eyes. “God.”
It gnaws at me. I wanted more than they gave me, and it doesn’t seem fair. The memory of what happened—the rejection from the Irish, knowing they have no allegiance to me anymore, that they don’t owe me anything—it aches.
And the man in front of me now—one second, I feel like he cares, but I know it’s only attraction. He doesn’t care about me. He wants to punish me, to hurt me.
When he leans in and buries his nose in my hair, I freeze, curious. He inhales, deep and long, as if allowing my scent to invigorate him.
"What are you doing?"
A lazy smirk tugs at his lips. "I like the way you smell. I had a dream about you last night.”
"Did you?"
"Yeah. Can’t get you out of my fucking mind."
He says it like a confession. Like a curse.
"Let’s finish shopping."
I don’t like being outside in public for long. But before I can argue, a shadow behind him catches my attention.
The entire square is alive with movement—noise, shuffling, voices. I’ve seen chaos before. Thrived in it. But there’s something about today that sends a cold shiver sliding down my spine.
Matvei has enemies. So do I.
A flicker in the crowd—eyes locking onto mine. A shadow where there shouldn’t be one. A face too familiar. Too wrong.