Page 13 of The Bratva Enforcer and His Virgin Bride

I crouch immediately, panic and frustration crashing together inside me as I start gathering them up with shaking hands.

The covers are wet.

One of the pages bends.

I want to cry.

Behind me, a car door swings open sharply.

I barely notice.

I’m too busy trying to save my books before the water ruins them completely.

A pair of polished black shoes stops directly in front of me.

Expensive.

Painfully expensive.

My gaze drifts upward automatically.

Black trousers.

Long dark coat.

Tall.

Lean.

Controlled.

And then finally—

His face.

I go still for half a second.

He’s… stunning. Sharp features. Pale skin. Dark hair swept neatly back. Gray eyes so cold they almost don’t look real.

He looks like the kind of man romance authors invent after going through emotional trauma.

The dark hero Ashley is always trying to force me to read about.

The kind I always pretend to hate.

His mouth curls into a snarl.

“If you want to die, miss,” he says coldly, “how about jumping off a bridge instead?”

I blink, then gasp.

I rise to my feet immediately, clutching my soaked books against my chest. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not excused,” he snaps without hesitation. “Learn to watch the road before you put an innocent driver in trouble.”

My mouth falls open.

Innocent driver?