Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“I hope you never forget my face. I hope you fucking know who you crossed today.”
Opening the door, Nicolai shoves me in and locks the door. I cover my face with my hands, my emotions tight and unchecked.
He’s vicious. Savage, even. But hell, I need a savage in my court, and Christ is he ever. The way he told my brother to respect me…
I roll down the window with shaking hands, needing to see what happens next. Nicolai’s on the phone, issuing sharp commands, and within a minute, several large SUV’s pull up to where we stand. To my shock, Tomas comes to me, yanks open the door, and pulls me out. His fists are covered in blood when he grabs my arm, fingerprint splotches of blood painting my pale skin. I yield to him, allowing him to drag me around and yank me to his chest.
Somehow, I intuitively know he needs this. He needs me. He captures my mouth in a hard kiss, his blood-stained fingers slipping on my chin as he grips me so hard, he’ll leave marks. He’s holding my face to his with one hand while his second hand is raised with his phone.
I blink when he releases me. He took a selfie?
Then a second later, I understand why. He nods to Nicolai.
“Sending you a picture of me and my wife. Make sure you release that to every fucking Bratva in America and beyond. Tell them that the woman who was Caroline Koslov no longer bears her brother’s name.” He pauses, and there’s a note of raw pride in his voice when he continues. “She is now Caroline Dobrynin. My wife.”
Chapter 7
Tomas
I swear I don’t even see straight as we drive to the airport, my vision still blurred with rage. I’m thankful we have a driver, because I wouldn’t trust myself to drive right now. I’m shaking, still. I regret that I didn’t put a bullet in that man’s head. If given the chance again, I won’t hesitate.
It takes me a minute to realize that she’s unfastened her belt and come around to sit beside me.
“Put your seatbelt on,” I order. “It’s dangerous to drive without one.”
She holds my gaze for a moment before she obeys with trembling hands and looks away. Caroline is no submissive, but I think she’s a little shell-shocked. I gentle my voice.
“Caroline, look at me.”
She brings her large eyes to mine, wide and fearful, as a tear rolls down her cheek. “This is a brutal world,” she says in a whisper. “And I will never get used to it.”
I run my thumb along her tears and drag the wet to the splash of blood on her chin, using the salty water to clean her. I press a button on the door. “Do you have anything at all I can use to clean up?” I ask the driver.
“Certainly, sir.” Through the opening between the back and front seat, he lowers the divider and hands me a small package of wipes. He’d probably have a sewing kit, breath mints, and a safety pin if I asked him.
“Thank you,” I tell him, hitting the privacy screen button so we’re alone again. But before I can open the package, she reaches over and takes it from me, tears open the top, and yanks out a few damp wipes. Taking my bloodied hand in both of hers, she wipes the red off of me. I watch, mesmerized, as the white towelette becomes stained in pink.
“This is a brutal world,” I agree, using the very words she did. “And I don’t ever want you to get used to it.”
She looks up in surprise, then looks away again, finishing cleaning one hand before she takes the second in both of hers. I like the feel of my rough hands in her softer, gentler ones. I can’t remember anyone holding my hands like this, and it seems fitting the first person to do so is the woman I’ve taken as wife.
“What do you mean?” she asks, as she rubs a clean wipe along my skin, wiping away the traces of the brutal beating I just administered.
I’d fucking do it again.
“If you grow used to violence, you become complacent,” I tell her. “I fight hard to let the violence sharpen me, not dull me.” I sigh. “Believe it or not, Caroline, I’m not typically a violent man.”
To my surprise she actually giggles at that, and it’s the prettiest little sound I’ve ever heard. It cuts through the tension, and I feel the lines around my mouth softening a bit.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No,” she says again. “You’re the beast, remember?” Her eyes come to mine, so beautiful and momentarily trusting. “You have fits of rage like he does, but deep inside I wonder if you’re as tender as he is.”
I roll my eyes. “Fairy tales,” I mutter. “I have no time for that, and I’m not sure I like being called a beast.”