Page 7 of The Pakhan’s Stolen Bride

It’s the only honest emotion people have.

But then she looked at me.

She didn't have the eyes of a victim. She had eyes like a cornered lioness—defiant, angry, and so goddamn full of life it made my heart stop for a beat. I’ve killed hundreds of men, and most of them died with a dull, vacant look in their eyes. But Via? Her eyes were a challenge. They told me to go to hell in three different ways before I’d even said a word.

I wanted her immediately. Not for the debt. Not for the leverage. I wanted to see if I could make that fire in her eyes burn for me instead of against me.

"Where are you taking me?" she demands. She’s trying to tuck her hair back, her fingers shaking, but her voice is steady. "If you think my father is going to just let you walk away with me, you’re delusional."

I lean back against the seat, stretching my legs out. The car lurches forward, the tires screeching as we pull away from the wreckage of the cathedral. Dimitri is in the front, eyes on the mirrors, rifle across his lap.

"Your father is currently busy trying to find enough of his men to form a funeral procession," I say, my voice cold.

"Mikhail—"

"Mikhail is dead," I cut her off. I don't tell her about the ports. I don't tell her about the skimming. I don't owe her an explanation for why I killed the man she was about to marry. "He couldn't pay his debts. So I took the next best thing he had. I took you. You’re mine now, Viallentinka. Get used to the idea."

"I am not an object!" she snaps, her eyes flashing. "You can't just 'take' a human being because of a debt that has nothing to do with them!"

"In my world, I can do whatever the fuck I want." I check the slide on my Glock, the mechanical click sounding loud in the quiet cabin. "You’re lucky I’m the one who found you. Mikhail was a thief and a coward. He was using you as a shield. Do you really want to mourn a man who would let you take a bullet for him?"

She flinches, her gaze dropping to the floor of the car. For a second, I think I’ve broken her. I think the "princess" is finally going to cry.

"I wasn't mourning him," she whispers. Then she looks up, her lip curling. "I was just thinking that even he had better taste in clothes than you. Nice suit, by the way. Did you buy the 'Cliché Villain Starter Pack' or does the 'Obsidian-Eyed Psychopath' look come free with the kidnapping?"

I stare at her. The silence in the car stretches, heavy and thick. Dimitri clears his throat softly, probably waiting for me to break her jaw.

Instead, I feel a slow, dark heat spreading through my gut.

"You have a very sharp tongue for a girl who is currently trapped in a soundproof box with a monster," I say.

"I've spent twenty years with monsters, Ilya. You’re just the one with the biggest ego."

I move.

I’m fast—faster than she expects. Before she can even gasp, I’ve slid across the seat and pinned her against the leather. My hand goes straight for her throat.

I don't just rest it there. I squeeze.

Not enough to crush her windpipe, but enough to make her gasp, her eyes widening as the air supply thins. I want her to feel the monster. I want her to see the lack of restraint in my eyes.

"Listen to me very carefully, little bird," I rasp, leaning in until our noses are almost touching. "Mikhail is dead. He’s a memory. And your father? If he sends one man after this car, if he even breathes in the direction of my territory, I will send him back his favorite daughter in a dozen different boxes. Do you understand?"

Her pulse is frantic under my palm. Thump-thump, thump-thump. It’s like a trapped bird. But she doesn't look away. She stares into my eyes, her face starting to flush from the pressure on her neck.

"Go to hell," she wheezes.

I smile, and I know it’s a terrifying sight. "I’m already there, sweetheart. I’m just bringing you along for the ride."

I shift my weight, my body pressing her deeper into the seat. The white lace of her dress is thin—so thin, I can feel the heat of her skin through it. I can feel the curve of her hips, the softness of her belly, and the way her legs are trying to kick me. And then I see it.

Through the silk and lace of her bodice, her nipples have hardened into tight little peaks.

I freeze. My brain short-circuits for a second. She’s terrified. She hates me. She’s currently being choked by a man who just murdered her fiancé and blew up her wedding. But her body... her body is reacting to me.

"Are you aroused, Viallentinka?" I ask, my voice dropping into a low, carnal growl. I ease the pressure on her throat just enough for her to breathe, but I don't let go. I move my thumb, tracing the line of her jaw. "Does the 'cliché villain' make your heart race?"

Her face goes from pale to a brilliant, angry red. "I'm not—it's cold in here! You’re a delusional pig!"