Finally, I see him—all of him—my eyes adjusted enough.
I see the lips that called my name, lush and broad. I see the sculpted nose and the sharp angles of his masculinity—his jaw,his cheekbones, and the shape of his busted lips. Handsome. Toxic. Brutal in ways I’ve never come across, not even in my own house. The scars and ink that mar his visible skin, the sheer strength of his body and the primal dominance in his stance all attest to that.
How? How did someone like him get caught?
“Maybe I wanted to meet you,” he says with a cruel smile, as if he’s seeing the questions on my face. “Maybe I picked this exact spot to lure you in and eat. You.Up.”
I shiver, his words crawling up my arms, ticklish and dangerous. “You had your chance to kill me. Out on the street, it would’ve been easy. In here, you’re done.” Heisdone. Only a proud and arrogant man would deny it.
“And what would’ve been the fun in that?” Again, that contemplative tilt of his head.
I look away, feigning incredulity but really taking a short break from the intensity of his gaze. “So, that’s it? You stalked me so we can have this conversation, and you’ll die a prisoner?”
He rolls his eyes. “So many questions… Perhaps we should be playing a game, you and me.”
“Not interested.”
Lie. I’m surprised he isn’t calling it out. Though it’s not his games I’m interested in. Instead, it’s digging more into this thread. It’s a long shot, but maybe if I find out what he wants before the guards do…
No. My father wouldn’t cancel my marriage plans just because I helped question some prisoner. And yet, I still find myself wanting to try to be useful in some other way than being a bride. It’s all I’ve got left.
The man’s lips twitch with a smile that promises nothing good. “You lie beautifully. I don’t mind it, especially when you do it because I ask.”
I catch the knowing look in his eyes, understanding exactly what he’s talking about. The recital—when he commanded silence from my lips with a simple gesture, and I obliged.
“You had nothing to do with my decision to keep quiet. If I’d screamed, it would’ve ruined my event. That’s all.”
I can almost feel the tickle of his breath on my skin. Does he even realize how close we are? He has to. And yet…he has given no sign of wanting to harm me.Yet, I remind myself.
What would his skin feel like? Would he grab me roughly, or would he be tender? There’s nothing soft about him, but the way he’s toying with me leads me to believe he’d want to take his sweet time. My curiosity disgusts me, but I can’t stop it from asking questions.
Reckless, reckless, reckless.
My father would lose his mind if he knew where I was.
A drip of water echoes somewhere in the distance, and, like the ticking of an invisible clock, it reminds me my time here is limited. Enzo could be coming for me any moment now.
“Look,” I say, taking a deep, shaky breath. “I don’t know who you are. Not your name, nor any other basic information about you. Tell me something, and I might reconsider coming back, if that’s what you want.”
A dark chuckle echoes—conjuring starry nights, and whiskey, and sheets that smell of lust. “Let’s not pretend you’re interested in my height, eye color, or girth, Cecilia. Though for your peace of mind, I’ll tell you—6 '5, green, and, if you’re good, we’ll leave it up for demonstration one night.”
My pulse quickens, cheeks flaming hot. I hate how easily he can fluster me with just words. It’s not even the words, actually. It’s the way he says them, like he knows exactly the right ways to coax that dark curiosity growing inside me.
“Y-Your name. You didn’t mention that.
A small pause, and then?—
“Mikhail Rykov.”
Rykov.
A cold dread washes over me, the name a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach. I’ve heard it before. Yuri Rykov is my father’s biggest enemy, thePakhanof the Russian Bratva out on the East Coast. And this man, this Mikhail…he looks young enough to be, perhaps, Yuri’s son. He can’t be more than thirty-something.
For my father to have captured such an important figure and to have so much leverage against the Bratva…
“Tell me something more then,” I rush to say. “Because you’re right. I don’t really care about any of that. If you want to see me again?—”
“Ah, but you don’t make the rules here,Lastochka,” he drawls. “I do. And right now, I want you to be good and go to bed before anyone else realizes you’re gone.”
