Page 28 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

He grabs me by the arm, his fingers digging into my skin so hard, it feels like the bone might crack. He looks extremely angry as he drags me out of the VIP lounge, his stride so long and fast I practically have to run to keep from tripping over my heels.

The whispers are gone. The crowd parts for us like the Red Sea, the guards watching us in silent, terrified awe.

10

ILYA

My grip on her upper arm is iron, the silk of her sleeve sliding uselessly under my fingers as I haul her down the dimly lit VIP corridor.

She’s stumbling, her black stiletto heels catching on the heavy plush runner of the hallway. Her breath is coming in short, furious gasps, her free hand clawing at my wrist in a desperate attempt to break my hold. I don't slow down. I don't look back at the trail of security guards or the heavy, vibrating bass of the house music shaking the concrete walls behind us.

"Let go of me! Ilya, you’re hurting me!"

I keep moving, my jaw clamped shut so tight, my teeth ache. I can feel the eyes of my soldiers on my back as we pass. Dmitri is already at the end of the hall, his hand resting on the brass handle of a heavy door marked with a gold plaque. He pushes it open, stepping aside to let me pass, his eyes fixed on the empty corridor behind us.

"Keep the hallway clear," I grunt, shoving her through the threshold. "Nobody comes in. If a Russo even looks down this corridor, put a bullet in his skull."

Dmitri nods once, his face cold and unreadable, and pulls the door shut. The lock engages with a heavy, satisfying click.

I turn around, my eyes scanning the room. It’s a private executive bathroom, tiled in cold black marble with gold fixtures and a massive, lighted vanity mirror that stretches across the far wall. The air is cool, smelling of bleach, expensive lavender soap, and the rain leaking in from the ventilation shaft.

She’s already scrambling backward, her back hitting the edge of the marble vanity. Her golden hair is falling out of its neat pins, clinging to her damp cheeks. Her chest is heaving, the plunging neckline of the black silk dress shifting with every rapid, panicked breath she takes. Her lips are parted, wet, and trembling.

"You're insane," she pants, her knuckles white as she grips the edge of the stone. "You almost killed him."

I walk toward her, my boots leaving dull, wet prints on the polished floor. I slowly peel off my leather gloves, tossing them onto the marble counter. "Vladimir Russo is a walking corpse. He spoke to my wife like she was a street whore in front of my captains. If I hadn't cracked his skull, Viktor Russo would have thought I was weak. The entire city would have thought so."

"I took care of it!" She stands her ground, her chin lifting in that stubborn, irritating way that makes my blood run hot. "I didn't need you to play the big, bad protector."

I slam my hand against the marble right next to her hip, the sound echoing off the tiles like a gunshot. She flinches, her breath catching, but she doesn't look away.

"You put a target on your back, Viallentinka," I growl, my face inches from hers. I can smell the vanilla of her skin, mixed with the sharp, sweet tang of the champagne that splashed onto her bodice. "Viktor Russo is looking for any excuse to start a war. He wants my territory. He wants my ports. And you just gave him the perfect leverage on a silver platter. If Vladimir had pulled his gun, my men would have cleared that room. Do you have any idea what that means for your father?"

She swallows, her throat bobbing, her eyes darting to the locked door before returning to mine. "My father is a Denisov. He’s survived worse than Viktor Russo."

"Your father is an old man with half a security detail and a frozen bank account," I say, my voice dropping into a low, vicious register. "He’s alive because I allow it. He’s alive because the alliance is signed. The moment Russo thinks I don't care about the contract, he will slide a blade into Petr's throat just to see if I blink."

Her defensive walls crumble, just for a second. The defiance in her eyes wavers, replaced by a raw, naked terror that she tries to hide by biting her lower lip. "Then why did you bring me here? Why didn't you just leave me at the estate if I’m such a liability?"

"Because you're my asset," I rasp, my hand coming up to wrap around her throat, my thumb pressing right into the notch of her collarbone. I squeeze, just enough to make her gasp, her small hands instantly flying up to grip my forearm. "And you need to learn your place. I told you to behave. I told you to stay quiet. Instead, you decide to show the entire northern council that you’re a wild little beast."

"I won't let them talk to me like that," she wheezes, her fingers digging into my suit sleeve. "I won't let anyone... anyone think I’m just a toy."

"You are a toy, Via," I murmur, my thumb tracing the rapid, terrified flutter of her pulse. "You’re my toy. And tonight, you’re going to learn what happens when you break the rules."

I release her neck, but before she can draw a full breath, I grab her by the waist and spin her around.

She lets out a sharp, startled shriek as her hips hit the cold edge of the marble vanity. I press my weight against her back, pinning her body against the stone. The black silk of her dress is slick under my hands as I reach down, grab the hem, and bunch the fabric up past her waist.

The view makes my breath catch in my throat.

She’s wearing the thin, black lace thong I selected for her, her pale, smooth cheeks completely exposed to the bright lights of the vanity mirror. Her thighs are shaking, her bare skin goosebumped from the cool air of the room.

"Ilya, don't," she whimpers, her forehead resting against the glass of the mirror as she tries to push back against me. "Not here. Please."

"You should have thought about the venue before you threw that glass, sweetheart," I say, my voice a dark, empty hum.

I raise my right hand, my palm flat and heavy. I don't hesitate. I bring it down with a loud, stinging crack right across her bare bottom.