Page 19 of Marked By the Mob

“Fuck you,” she snarls.

I laugh. I can’t help it. Even now, trapped and outmatched, she refuses to surrender. It’s infuriating and impressive and so damn attractive I can barely think straight.

“You’re good,” I admit, my voice rougher than I intend. “Better than most men I’ve fought.”

“Let me go.”

“Not yet.” I lean closer, close enough to see the flecks of green in her gray eyes, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin. “You need to understand something, Emma. We’re not your enemies.”

“You bought me at an auction!” she spits. “You’re holding me prisoner. How does that not make you my enemy?”

“Because we’re the only thing standing between you and men who would actually hurt you.” My grip on her wrists tightens fractionally. “That makes us your best option, whether you like it or not.”

“My best option would be letting me go.”

“That’s not happening.”

Her eyes flash with renewed fury, and she tries to twist free again. The movement brings our bodies flush together, and I feel the exact moment awareness replaces anger. Her breath catches. Her pupils dilate. Suddenly the air between us feels charged with something far more dangerous than violence.

I should step back. Should put distance between us before this situation gets more complicated. But I don’t move. Can’t move. Not when she’s looking at me like that, all defiance and heat and something that might be curiosity beneath the rage.

“Artur,” she says, and my name on her lips does something to my control.

I lean down slowly, giving her time to turn away, to tell me to stop. She doesn’t. Instead, her gaze drops to my mouth, and that’s all the permission I need.

I kiss her.

8

EMMA

The kiss is fire and fury, all teeth and desperation. Artur’s mouth moves against mine with a hunger that matches my own, and for a moment I forget everything except the feel of him. The taste of him. The way his hands grip my waist like he owns me.

Then reality crashes back.

I shove hard against his chest, breaking the kiss. He releases me immediately, stepping back with his hands raised, but his dark eyes are still heated, still locked on me like I’m something he wants to devour.

“Don’t.” My voice comes out sharp as a blade. “Don’t you dare think you can do that again.”

“Don’t what?” His lips curve into that infuriating crooked smile. “Kiss you? You kissed me back, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that!” I’m furious with myself more than him. Furious that my body responded, that heat still pools low in my belly, and that part of me wants to close the distance betweenus again. Furious at his arrogance. His absolute certainty that he can touch me whenever he wants.

“You think you can just take whatever you want?” I step forward. “You think because you threw money around at some sick auction, you get to put your hands on me whenever the mood strikes?”

His smile vanishes. “You’ve been pushing every boundary since you got here. Testing us. Provoking us at every fucking opportunity.”

“I’m not provoking anything.”

“Bullshit.” He moves closer. “You walk around this estate like you’re daring us to react. You look at us like you want to either kill us or fuck us, and you know damn well which one your body’s choosing.”

Heat floods my face. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He’s close enough now that I can feel the heat radiating off him. “Then why are you still standing here?”

I should slap him. Should tell him to go to hell. Should remember every reason this is wrong.

Instead, I grab his shirt and pull him to me.