Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
She nods, but she doesn’t speak.
I’m so proud of her. I grip the back of her neck and give my wife a kiss while we stand over the bodies of our enemies. In my mind, it’s the most romantic fucking thing I could’ve imagined. I release her too soon, eager to get her alone.
I whisper in her ear. “Take a picture of us with my phone and make sure the bodies are in the background.”
With trembling hands, she obeys, a pained expression on her face, but her eyes are bright.
I take the phone from her and send the picture to Volkov.
We’re already married, you fucking douchebag. You know what this means. They attacked after our wedding. We’ll get retribution.
Headlights blind me.
“Don’t shoot, it’s your brothers,” Aria warns me.
I don’t even ask her how she knows. She seems like she’s one step ahead of me.
Lev pulls up and stares at the two of us. I know what he sees. Her torn wedding dress and bloodied forehead. My tux is wrecked. Two dead bodies and one unconscious.
“Get in, lovebirds.”
Aria stares, wide-eyed. When she turns to the car, her dress hangs off her shoulder.
“One look at her and I’ll beat the fucking shit out of you,” I warn Lev. He yanks his eyes away from the sight of her bare skin. I shrug the torn tux coat off and place it over her shoulders.
“Be nice, Mikhail,” Aria whispers. “He came to save us.”
No one ever tells me to be nice. I grunt in reply and turn to Lev.
“Take us home.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Aria
We sit in the same living room where just hours ago, I took my vows. My hand shakes holding the shot glass. When Mikhail pressed it into my palm and ordered me to drink, I drank. I didn’t see any reason to push back, not now. Not when I wanted something to soothe my nerves.
Not when he’s told me explicitly what his expectations for obedience are. What’s he going to do if he drugs me again? We’re…married.
Doesn’t mean he couldn’t take advantage or get creative, but…
Maybe I’m more naïve than I thought.
My dress is torn and my temple throbs. I’m trying to forget the sight of blood mixed with brains on concrete, but it’s not easy.
I could probably use more than a stiff drink.
“Mr. Romanov.” One of his staff stands nearby, likely waiting on the next instruction.
“Out,” he snaps in a tone so harsh I flinch. “Everyone’s dismissed for the night. Exit through the back door immediately.”
He’s…dismissed his staff for the night.
Interesting. They leave quickly with hushed voices, doors opening and shutting behind them.
He’s in worse shape than I am, but it doesn’t stop him from walking to the downstairs bathroom and retrieving a first aid kit.
I sip the vodka he promised me we’d celebrate with. God, this stuff is liquid fire. I let it hit my lips as he curses in Russian, filtering through the first aid kit until he comes up with a bottle of saline and some white gauze.
“Head back.”
I tilt my head back and grit my teeth. This will hurt.
I brace for the sting of pain, but it doesn’t hurt as badly as I anticipate. “Vodka’s an excellent anesthetic,” he murmurs as he dabs the gauze on my cut.
“Good to know.”
I’m sitting in an overstuffed leather chair, my arms barely reaching the armrests, my feet lightly gracing the floor. Mikhail kneels in front of me, glaring at the cut on my head as if it personally offends him.
“So,” I say. “Want to tell me what happened? Who were they?” I ask. He doesn’t answer at first, but after a quiet moment he blows out a breath.
“We have many enemies. My father’s cousin is our greatest. Fyodor Volkov’s notorious for having no use for modern conveniences like mobile phones. I sent him on a wild goose chase with decoys which delayed him, but he found us out. Since the men that were to report to him that we were already married are being buried as we speak, I’m guessing he didn’t get that memo. He sent his henchmen to fuck us up.”
I’m filled with sudden pride.
“And we fucked them up.”
A smile plays on his lips. “You were fucking brilliant, Aria.”
I feel my jaw drop in surprise, but I don’t speak. I’m afraid if I do, I’ll ruin this moment.
Praise from Mikhail Romanov? Be still my heart.
“It was nothing,” I say with a modest shrug even as my chest swells with pride.
“It wasn’t nothing.” His scowl makes me look away as I battle conflicting emotions. “I wouldn’t have been able to do what you did. It came so swiftly and naturally.”
I swallow and nod, surprisingly emotional about his praise. I’m not sure how that makes me feel.
It seems simpler…safer…if only I could continue to hate him.
“Well,” I tell him. “I’m good at what I do. You could’ve benefitted from my skills as a hacker probably way more than you’ll benefit from my skills as a wife.”