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)
"We’re going to the Kopolov house," he says with a self-deprecating smirk. "You should wear… long sleeves."
"I should wear a strapless, backless top," I snap. "I’m not ashamed of the marks you left on me. Are you?"
For one second, the momentary softness evaporates, and in its place is my ruthless captor.
"I’m not fucking ashamed," he says in a low voice. "But any fucker in that house will take one look at you and know what I did, and I'd fucking have to kill them. I’m the only one who touches you. I’m the only one who fucks you. I’m the only one who knows when I fuck you. Understood?"
I nod as my brain catches up to me. "Wait a second. You said Kopolov house?"
Shit. Shit. No. Fucking shit—
"Yes. You’re going to be okay."
I shake my head. I’m not ready for this.
Doesn’t matter.
“Rafail called us to him. He and Polina were traveling. They had to leave for an emergency, and now they’re home. He wants you to meet your sister, and he wants to talk to you."
Oh shit.
I blanch, and I don’t know what to say.
"Excuse me?" I say, raising a brow. He has the audacity to smirk because it's not often he catches me off guard—but he just did. The absolute nerve.
"You heard me." He leans back against the headboard, completely at ease, stretching one arm behind his head. "It's time to meet the family."
My stomach turns to ice. No. No, no, no. Not the Kopolov estate. The lion’s den.
Rafail.
I don’t want to see the man I ran from. I don’t want to see him, or the rest of his wolves, waiting. Watching. Judging. I burned that bridge years ago. I set it on fucking fire. I walked away and never looked back. Matvei came for me, but… what if they still see me as a traitor?
I would rather be a vagabond, running from place to place. I would rather be without any ties at all than under the thumb of Rafail and his brothers. What if they make an example of me?
My pulse pounds in my ears. I scramble off the bed, the sheets tangling around my legs. I shake my head.
"I don’t—I don’t feel good. Tell them I’m sick. I can’t—I can’t—"
He’s on me in an instant. One hand snaps around my wrist, yanking me back against him. I fall onto the bed, and he pulls me into him, his chest solid and immovable against my spine. His breath is hot at my ear, his voice low. Dark.
"You. Are. Mine."
A shudder wracks through me, and I hate myself for it. I hate myself.
"I found you," he continues, his grip tightening. "I took you. I’ve punished you."
His lips graze along my jaw. His next words steal my breath.
"No one is going to touch you, my little witch. No one is going to hurt you. And if anybody so much as fucking lays an eye on you, I’ll deal with them."
I want to fight him, push him away, snarl that I’m not his possession, that I don’t belong to anyone—but the truth? The bold, honest truth?
There’s a part of me that’s been running, hiding, being nothing but a ghost, that wants to believe him.
So I play it all off like I always do because being serious and honest is sometimes painful. “What if someone cut in front of me in line at the checkout?”
His lips twitch. “Toast.”
I almost smile back. “What if I were driving and someone cut me off?”
“I’d slash their fucking tires.”
“What if—”
He tilts my chin up until my eyes lock onto his. I close my mouth. "You’re mine now. Do you understand me?"
This should terrify me.
Okay, it does.
And yet, a dangerous, reckless part of me exhales at the weight he just took off my shoulders.
Still, I shake my head and give him a curious look. "That’s not exactly how this works."
"It is now."
He’s so certain.
I stare at him, at all that ink and those stormy, brooding eyes. I can’t decide if I want to slap him or kiss him.
My fingers curl into the sheets. "And what if they don’t accept me?" I feel like a child on her first day at a new school.
"They’ll have to," he says, letting out a dark, quiet laugh.
"And if they don’t?" I press, my voice sharper now. Wobbling. I hate that it wobbles.
His jaw ticks. "I thought I made that clear. Then they answer to me."
I know exactly what it means to answer to him. It’s a damn good threat.
Dangerous warmth creeps across my skin. I hate that it makes me feel so safe. I swallow hard, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I’m still a little scared."
What it takes for me to admit that… I’ve never told anybody I’m afraid. Ever.
He exhales sharply, then cups the back of my neck, dragging me forward until our foreheads touch.