A sensible being would be frightened. They would fight for their life. But deep in my heart, buried behind the instinct to escape, was a certainty that he wouldn’t hurt me. I clung to that with keen desperation.
And somehow, my body listened.
I began to relax, falling back into his hold. My muscles went limp; my fingers stopped clawing at his arms. I dropped my head back against his chest, resting and waiting for him to act.
“Why are you fighting me on this, little flower?” Ivan’s breath was hot against my skin.
His fingers loosened, and I gasped.
“I’m not marrying, Ivan. Just drop it,” I wheezed. “Find another way.”
“There is no other way,” he clipped out.
I closed my eyes and focused on breathing. “Then it seems we’re at an impasse.”
Those hard, unforgiving hands dug into my flesh once more before he released me.
I stumbled, barely catching myself on the shelf.
“It seems we are.” There was something in his voice. Something I couldn’t place. Stalking past me, he disappeared into the rows of books.
Five seconds passed as I waited to catch my breath. I followed him. As oxygen rushed to my brain, it dawned on me that the note in his voice had been pain. Not anger or frustration, but a sheer defeat. My refusal wounded him, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.
Chapter 22 – Ivan
Penelope:When can I see them?
Penelope:I know you read that. I can see it.
Penelope:Ivan! Quit ignoring me. I want to see my cousin!
The canvas bag jerked under the weight of the blow. Pain exploded across my fist, echoing the sound of the hit. The muscles in my arms were screaming at this point, but I kept them up, pulling my fists back to unleash another brutal attack.
She refused me.
Rayko grunted in an effort to hold the bag steady. There might be more modern ways to train, but I preferred to slam my knuckles against a heavy bag that might as well have been concrete. Over and over, I struck. If it was good enough for the boxers of old, it was good enough for me. Dick Sadler used tobe lifted off the floor when Foreman struck the bag in this same manner. Rayko, at least, could bear the brunt of my punches.
“We’ve been here for three hours,” my second in command observed.
From the steady cadence of his voice, no one would know he was winded. But a telltale bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
I didn’t respond. After dropping Poppy off at home, pulling Rayko from guard duty, and charging Kiril and Boris with watching the house, I came straight here.
I was mad.
Not angry, but insane. A mad dog. Of course, she wouldn’t want a man like me for a husband.
A strand of hair escaped and fell along the right side of my face. I dashed a gloved hand over it, but it mocked me by falling right back down.
Letting out a string of curses, I launched myself into the bag.
Rayko stumbled, leaning into my weight with his legs skidding backward to try and find purchase.
“The fuck, man?” he snapped.
I turned away in a rush of defeat. My teeth sank into the tape. It tore from my skin. If it pulled hairs or irritated skin on a smaller level, I couldn’t feel it. Physical pain was nothing to the pulsing in my head.
She refused me.
