She pressed her lips tightly together. “I don’t … I think this is an inappropriate conversation,” she managed, not wanting to divulge to him anything about the ways she pleasured herself.
“Nonsense. We are to be husband and wife. There will be no secrets. But perhaps it would be better if I just took you, now.”
“N-no … I don’t?—”
His hand covered her mouth. “We may not be married yet, but I warn you, Irina, that I will not tolerate the word ‘no’ from my wife.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Did You Forget Who Bought You?
IRINA
Iblinked, my vision a dark grey blur. Pain seared through my head, bile rising in my throat. I tried to bend over to vomit, but my body jerked against ropes that snaked around my chest. I coughed, the vomit dribbling down my chin, hot and sticky. I couldn’t wipe it off; my hands were tied behind me.
Memories flashed in my mind. Cockerels Cap—without his hat—smirking at me from the shadows. An intense pain in my head. Josie! Josie had been behind me.
“You didn’t need to hit her so hard,” a deep, accented voice snarled, and my head swam. I knew that voice. Even four and a half years later, I knew that voice. I vomited again, thin bile forcing its way past my teeth. I blinked frantically, trying to clear my vision enough to see.
“Sorry,” Josie mumbled from somewhere off to my left. “I panicked.”
“Clean her up,” my fiancé commanded, his voice booming out behind me. I swallowed back the urge to throw up again. How was he here? Where was I? How long had I been unconscious?
The back of my head throbbed, sending a pulse of pain shooting behind my eyes, and another sick lurch through my stomach.Someone approached, wiping the vomit off my chin and chest. Whoever it was panted raggedly, sucking in hissing breaths. “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?” the voice—a woman’s—whispered.
“Josie?” I squinted, trying to make her out in the darkness. She stilled, backed away, fading into the gloom.
“Well, you didn’t knock her completely nonsensical then.” Calin’s hand found the nape of my neck. Warm, thick fingers caressed the tight muscles there. I froze, fear and disgust locking my muscles in place. I could feel the ghost of those fingers in places I never wanted to remember them.
“I’ve missed you, Irina Rusnac … although I hear you’ve been going by Irina Baxter of late.” He huffed out a laugh that chilled me to the core. “Did you forget who bought you with the degree you were so desperate to get?” His fingers tightened, and a hiss erupted from me, my head splintering with pain.
“Although perhaps I underestimated you. Perhaps the degree was just the means, and not the goal. Perhaps you really wanted to leave behind your life in Romania.” He made one last pinch on my neck that had what little vision I’d regained swimming before me.
“Alas, you’re of much more value to me than a mere showpiece wife. You see, my beautiful little Rusnac, you can get me one step closer to the thing I really want. And to do that, I need you wearing my wedding ring. I need to tie the Rusnac legacy to my name.”
“The … what?” I asked, my aching brain struggling to comprehend.
“Your father’s empire,” he explained as if I were a small, naïve child. “You’re the key to controlling it.”
I choked on nausea. “I … I don’t understand,” I mumbled. “My father is dead. You mean my uncle’s empire …”
Calin snorted. “Your uncle has done a fine job keeping you in the dark,” he muttered, although gave no further explanation. He stepped away, the horrid heat of him disappearing. I shivered in the cool, dark space that he left behind.
“How much longer until he arrives?” Calin barked. “I grow impatient to get my wife-to-be home where she belongs.”
I’d known, from the second I’d heard his voice, that this was hisgoal, but hearing him say it broke something in me, cracked my chest right open with the sharp edges of it.
Don’t cry. Don’t let him see you cry. You promised yourself he’d never see you cry again.
I’d promised myself he’d never seemeagain, full stop. And now neither promise seemed possible to keep. My eyes burned. If he took me, and I never got to speak to Henry again …
No! I wasn’t going to let that happen. I was Irina fucking Baxter, and I wasn’t going to let this asshole ruin my life!
I lifted my head, straining to see, to orientate myself, do something—anything—to take some control back. The pain in my head surged, and bile rose again, burning my throat. With an effort I swallowed it down, but my vision wavered, and any thin thread of hope trailed away into the gloom.
“He’s read my messages.” It was a new voice that spoke. How many men were in this room? My brain snagged on the familiarity of this voice, but I couldn’t quite place it.
Thump! Thump!
