Page 10 of Until Death or Defeat

I throw my head back in disbelief at his question, “Because I’m not marrying your psychopath of a brother, that’s why.”

I hear what sounds like a snicker and more shuffling and my eye twitches.

“Well, according to our father, it has already been arranged,” I hear Max say lightly, as if he’s casually commenting on the weather, “so congratulations, or whatever.”

My heart sinks into my ass as I suck in a breath so hard I’m afraid I’ll suffocate. “You’re lying,” I seethe out.

“Wish I was, little G, but here we are.”

I hang up the call, not even giving a reply.

My hands are trembling with rage as I drive, the streets dark and almost empty in the middle of the night as I break all traffic laws on my way to the Sokolov mansion. Once I approach the massive iron gates of their property, I reach my hand out of the window and press the gate buzzer incessantly until it slowly opens before me. I drive forward, and with a screech of my wheels I slam my car into park, jump out of the car, and swing open their front door. My footsteps echo loudly against their sleek, white marble floors as I storm through.

“Hey!” a tall, burly man yells as he grabs me to stop me from plowing in further, until I see Roman, who tells him to let me through.

“Where the fuck is he?”

He begins to say he’s in his room, looking toward the large staircase, and I don’t wait for directions as I storm up the stairs, throwing open doors until I finally see him.

He’s slouched over on a small, black leather couch in his room; a half-empty vodka bottle barely grasped in his hands. His shirt is ruffled and unbuttoned, exposing his scarred chest. I plant myself directly in front of where he’s sitting, standing over him as he finally looks up to meet my gaze. He looks broken, and I’ve never seen him like this.

“You look like shit,” I spew at him and yank the bottle from his hand. “Care to fucking explain why your brothers seem to think we’re engaged?”

His glossy eyes narrow, and then that smug smirk he always wears returns, “You’re free to decline, though I doubt your father would approve.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides. Why in the fuck iseveryone acting so casual about this? “Don’t you dare act smug with me, Artem. I want answers. Now.”

He yanks the bottle back from my hand and takes a big swig from it before he answers me.

“It’s simple,solnishko. Our fathers have decided a truce would be much easier to uphold if we were legally tied together. Romantic, isn’t it?”

“Romantic?” I ask through my teeth. “You’re out of your goddamn mind!”

“Maybe.” He leans back against the couch and extends an arm on it, exposing more of his bare chest, “But this was not my idea, princess, so you’re wasting your fury on me.”

“Oh, don’t worry Artem—I have plenty of fury to go around.” I turn on my heel, needing out of this room that is drowning me in his scent.

“Giselle.”

I freeze, but I don’t turn around to face him again.

“You might want to get used to the idea, because it looks like we’re going to be stuck with each other. What is it they say? Until death do us part, right?” he mocks, and before I can whip around and let him have it, Roman and Max storm into the room.

Roman looked like he was over it, narrowing his eyes at Artem. Max, on the other hand, looked like he was waiting on his bag of popcorn to enjoy the show.

“What the hell is going on in here now? And how did you even get this bottle back?” He snatches the bottle from Artem and moves to put it somewhere out of his reach.

“Oh well you know, your brother was just explaining to me how my father found him to be suitable enough to marry me off to him. Doesn’t he just look the part?” I throw out, shooting Artem a glare as he returns a mocking one to me.

I look back at the two and Max throws up his hands.

“Hey, don’t look at us, we’re just the messengers caught in the crossfire. He’s been sitting here the last day and a half drinking like he has nothing else to live for. We thought you’d be able to snap him out of it.”

“Don’t pretend to be worried about me now, Maxim,” Artem spits out to him, and I can tell I’m missing some sort of tension here.

“Sorry, hold the fuck up—what the hell areyouso miserable for?” I yell to Artem as I point my finger at him. “You’d be so damnhonoredto have the opportunity to ever have a chance with someone like me! I’m the one who gets the psychopathic, alcoholic?—”

“Alright come on, you’re beating a dead horse, he’s clearly going through some shit,” Roman attempts to reason before I get to finish my insult.