Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Is she trying to escape? She’s too smart of a woman to do a thing like that, my reason tells me. I made it abundantly clear that her family’s best interest would be for her to marry me, and she has to know that if she’s planning something stupid like an escape, I won’t make any promises about protecting them.
No. I don’t think she’s trying to escape.
Then a thought occurs to me that makes me grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles whiten.
Is there a man?
A red haze clouds my vision momentarily when I entertain the thought.
That would make sense. She’s given herself to another man. Normally, we’d run a background check on a woman like her before a major step like marriage, but I bypassed some of the more usual methods because I reasoned that I knew her.
I don’t, not really. I knew the little girl who grew up alongside me. I don’t know the woman who stared daggers at me in the middle of my goddamn dining room.
No. I don’t know her at all.
What if she has a lover?
What if she’s given her heart to a man she can’t have because she’s married to me?
She won’t like it when I kill him, but her only chance at keeping him alive would have been to stay far, far away.
I shake my head. I wouldn’t have chosen to start things off this way.
I try to lighten my grip on the steering wheel when my forearms ache, but it’s anchoring me right now. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth the way Yana taught me when I was younger. It works, sometimes.
Not now.
They take a sharp left, and I almost give myself away when I have to take the corner hard to keep up. I let off the gas, even though it takes all of my self-control not to drive the pedal to the floor and go after her. I take in another deep breath and let it out slowly when the red brake lights flash ahead.
I slow down. Thankfully, the street isn’t that well-lit, and I’m driving a black car.
We’re near her family home. I follow at a steady pace, staying far enough back to avoid recognition or spooking them. In the dark, I can’t see her face well, but the occasional streetlight illuminates her through the window. Even from here, I can see the worry written in her features.
Is she worried I’ll catch her? Or worried about something else? She should be worried I’ll catch her. If she isn’t, I haven’t done my job thoroughly.
I’ll fix that.
She shoves a finger in her mouth and gnaws at the nail. A nervous habit. She’s like a bird flapping its wings against the metal bars of a cage.
Desperate. Stubborn. Futile.
What is it about her that brings out the worst in me? Most people bore me. They fall in line like predictable little soldiers, and the few that don’t, keep things occasionally interesting. They’re easy to read, easy to understand. Once you put your mind to truly understanding human nature, it isn’t as hard as one might think. People like what’s precious to them. They don’t like change. They don’t want anyone to upset the apple cart and cause too much distress. They appreciate praise and money, and one of the easiest ways to ensure compliance is to give them one or both.
Anya though? Every move, every breath, every sentence she utters is a seeming contradiction. She’s defiant yet loyal, independent yet tethered to responsibility.
And then there’s the way she looks at me like I’m the villain in every story she’s ever read.
I tighten my grip on the wheel, the leather hot under my palm. It’s not admiration, no. Not attraction or anything even close to resembling infatuation or love. It’s nothing more than curiosity.
Love.
The one word that men and women alike toss around like confetti. “Love you!” “Oh, I love this chocolate.” “Hello, love!”
No, no, no.
Love is a weakness, a liability, and I know what it does to people. I know how it makes people crazy.
Hell, look at Rafail, the sternest of our family, our fearless leader. One minute, he’s ruling Moscow with militaristic precision. The next, he’s courting sleepless nights and cooing over the way his precious infant burped.
And my father… no. I won’t think of that now.
Love is a fucking leash, a tether, a poison disguised as a gift. It robs you of control, and control is the only thing I trust.
I glance in the car ahead and watch as Ophelia says something to her, gesturing wildly, but Anya only shakes her head as if lost in thought. Her gaze is fixed out the window.
I wonder what she’s thinking…
As soon as I find myself wondering that, I stop myself, irritated. It doesn’t matter what she’s thinking.