Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I look to the bedroom door and see it’s locked. I hate that my mind is muddied and hate that I’m not fully in control of myself. “You took me.”
I wish my accusation didn’t have that touch of petulance in it. I want to stay strong, but I’m depleted and hungry, and my head hurts so badly I cradle it in my hands.
The big guy—Viktor, he said his name is—bends down and brushes the hair off my forehead, but he touches me with utter tenderness as if I move too quickly, the moment will be lost.
My pulse rachets higher, but my guard snaps into place. I know I can’t trust someone who’s gentle and careful. If you let your guard down… if you let yourself become vulnerable at all… that’s when they swoop in to take advantage of you.
And he may be the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.
“What did you do to Timur?”
The man’s eyes darken, storm clouds brewing.
“Not what I wanted to do, that’s for damn sure.”
A chill skates down my spine when I realize he’s dead serious. He came for me and Timur. He captured me and Timur… a lump rises in my throat.
“Why?” I whisper.
His jaw clenches as he leans forward, his forearms resting on his knees. Last night, he wore a black leather jacket, but here, in the confines of this room, he’s wearing nothing but a plain white undershirt that stretches across the expanse of his chest and bulges of his biceps. It makes him look only slightly more human, tattoos snaking around his arms and neck only adding to the look. “It’s complicated.”
I take another gulp of water, my strength returning. I sit up and stare at him. “I’m not going anywhere. I got a call from my sister saying I was in danger. My fiancé started acting strange, and then the next thing I know, we’re attacked by you. You beat the shit out of him, and he disappears.” I shake my head, my hair falling onto my shoulders. I straighten them, trying to maintain some semblance of control. “I have all day.”
He holds my gaze, an almost thoughtful expression on his face. “Timur was planning on hurting you.”
I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re going to have to start with a different angle than that. He is my fiancé.”
I shift uncomfortably in the bed and realize I need to use the bathroom. I don’t know if I trust myself to walk as I can barely see straight, and my legs might not cooperate. I want to get to the bottom of this, so I ignore the call of nature.
“In the back of his car, he had a duffel bag, rope, duct tape, and gloves.”
I shake my head, not wanting to believe him. “It makes no sense that he’d try to hurt me. We are getting married.”
“Were,” he corrects. I blink hard, my eyes watering. I feel like everything in my world is spinning wildly out of control. I take in a deep breath and gather my wits about me.
“My family and yours have made other plans,” he continues in his deep rumble of a voice colored with a Russian accent. “It is not in your best interest to marry into Ledyanoye Bratstvo. Your father made that choice when he thought it would benefit the Ivanovs, but it’s clear that it was a poor decision that didn’t take into account who you are and what is in your best interest.”
I shake my head. “As if you know a thing about me.”
Though his jaw tightens, he doesn’t contradict me. Outside the window behind him, clouds shift, covering the sun. I half expect to see fog-swept moors behind him.
Where are we?
I hear voices in the hallway, but they grow quieter. He continues as if I said nothing at all.
“When your sister married Nikko, his primary job was to work with the Ivanovs to secure the alliance. The best way to continue doing so is for you to marry into the Romanov family.”
I stare at him, my mouth agape. Am I still dreaming? Or is this some type of hallucination brought on by the drugs?
“What are you talking about?” I clench the bottle in my hand, and it spills over the side, splashing onto the bed.
“Stay calm, Lydia.”
I hate when people tell me to stay calm. It’s like trying to tell a sobbing child to stop crying. You can’t just put a stopper on human emotions with a command.
“Stay calm? You ripped me away from my fiancé because it suits you, drugged me, and brought me here against my wishes. You’re trying to blame my fiancé for this when you were the one who attacked. I don’t know where I am or what you’re going to do to me, and I’m supposed to just nod and go along with this? I can’t possibly—”