Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93463 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Pavel. My god, this was too close. She called him by his goddamn first name.
I shake my head and exhale hard. I don’t answer right away. Instead, I shut her door, climb in, and give the driver a clipped command. “Take us straight to the airport.”
We’re going home. Back to Dublin.
“Seamus?” she whispers.
“Quiet,” I tell her. We’re not safe yet. I don’t want my men to hear her call me by name.
She’s the only one who ever does.
It’s sacred to me when she says it.
She stares, stunned. Her mouth drops open.
“Are you telling me I went from one commanding boss to another?”
“I don’t give a fuck who you came from,” I bite out. “What I’m telling you is—you’re mine now. Do you know who I am, Zoya?”
She swallows, her eyes glossy with fear.
“You’re The Undertaker,” she whispers.
I laugh, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“And now I’m the head of your house.”
Chapter 13
ZOYA
My heart aches.
I dreamed of this, fantasized about this, but now that he’s actually taken me…
Oh god.
My family.
I love them so much. They don’t want to see me taken away by someone they believe will hurt me. They can’t stand the idea of me being victimized. But once again, it’s me, little Zoya.
Always me.
The youngest one in the family, the one expected to stop the bloodshed. The one expected to keep the peace.
I didn’t expect him to storm the castle the way he did… like he had a death wish. Like he knew the rules and burned them anyway.
Will my brothers retaliate? Will they forgive me?
I confessed. Told them I was in love with him.
“In love,” I said. Even though now, I don’t know if that’s the truth. How could it be?
I was in love with him. Once. I think?
But I confessed my betrayal right alongside his.
Does anyone trust me anymore?
And here I am, facing my absolute worst fear of all: being powerless. Being used.
Being complicit in cruelty.
Betraying my family.
My whole life, since I was a small child, I’ve given everything I could to my family. I’ve poured out my heart and soul in loving them, being faithful and loyal, and now… now they must hate me.
All I ever tried to do was the right thing. And now I sit across from him, from Seamus McCarthy, the man who calls himself my husband.
Am I in shock?
My husband.
He’s coldly efficient, commanding, and brutal with his authority. There was a time I maybe even loved that about him.
Now? I’m afraid.
He keeps saying he’s the head of the house.
What will he do to me?
“Are you tired, love?” he asks, after we’ve settled on the plane.
I nod. “I’m exhausted,” I murmur. “I want to close my eyes and sleep forever.”
And when I wake, I want to believe it’s all a dream. That I did nothing wrong. That my family is safe. That I’m married to someone who loves me.
The weight of it all is crushing. Absolutely crushing.
“I’m a little hungry,” I say, my voice soft, almost unsure. “Are we going back to Ballyhock now?”
“Aye,” he says, pride sliding into his tone. “But not back to my family. Not yet. We go to our home first.”
Our home.
He doesn’t meet my eyes when he finishes. “My family doesn’t know what I’ve done yet, but they will soon. It’s… complicated.”
Oh god.
“Will you be in trouble for what you did?”
He laughs. It's dark. Joyless.
“Let me see,” he says, holding out his hand and counting off his sins. “First, I escaped a Russian jail. Second, I murdered the man you were betrothed to, which won’t just bring your family’s vengeance, but his as well. Third, I threw the gauntlet at your entire house. So now I’m wanted in a Russian prison, and I’ve likely started at least two wars that will end in bloodshed.”
He nods slowly, deliberately.
“Aye. You could say I’m in trouble.”
I swallow hard. Do I care that he’s in trouble?
“But there’s one thing you’re going to learn about me, lass—something I don’t think you’ve quite grasped in those last six months of our little rendezvous.”
My cheeks flush.
I stare at him, silent, waiting.
He reaches out, brushes a lock of hair from my eyes and tucks it behind my ear.
“I don’t care about being in trouble,” he says. “I care about winning. I care that my commands are obeyed. I care about my family’s lineage. Their safety. I care about you, sweet lass.” He leans closer.
“When we get back to Dublin, I’m taking you to my personal home. Not a safe house. It’s a beach house. Private. Quiet. There, I want to spend time with you,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly warm. Dangerous. “I want to show you how a husband treats his wife.”
Oh god.
He knows. He knows he’s the only man I’ve ever even kissed.
“I’m going to show you what I expect of you as a McCarthy woman,” he says, a wicked glint in his eyes.