Page 28 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

He opens his mouth again, probably to say something harmless and stupid, and then one of the guards is on him. Fast. Brutal. A hand to the throat, crates hitting stone, apples rolling, the boy slammed against the wall so hard his head cracks back.

“Don’t speak to her.”

I freeze for one second, then fury takes over.

“Stop it!”

The guard doesn’t. He cocks his arm back like the kid just pulled a weapon instead of making conversation. I step in, grab the guard’s sleeve, and he actually jerks away from me harder than he did from the boy.

The kid is red-faced and choking when the second guard drags him through the gate and out of sight. When I demand an explanation, the guard’s face goes stiff. “Karpov said no unnecessary familiarity,” he mutters.

That does it. I turn and head inside, furious enough to break something with a name on it.

Maksim is in the legal room with a folder open and his reading glasses in one hand. He looks up once, sees my face, and sets them down.

“What happened?”

I slam the door behind me. “Your dog put hands on a boy for talking to me.”

His jaw tightens. “Who?”

“Oh, good, we’re narrowing it down by breed now?” I snap.

“Elena.”

“No, don’t Elena me.” I walk straight to the shelves, then turn to him. “You don’t get to stand there and act like this is some minor staff issue. This is you. This house. This whole rotten setup where every man around me acts like I’m a bomb in a dress.”

His face closes off. “He forgot his place.”

I laugh right in his face. “Thank you for proving my point.”

He comes around the desk. “You’re angry.”

“I’m insulted.” My voice climbs anyway. “You keep wrapping this in protection, but what you want is control. You want me handled, watched, moved around, fed on schedule, spoken for, spoken about, and kept in a glass box until you decide I can breathe.”

“That’s not what this is.” He keeps his voice level.

“It’s exactly what this is,” I blurt. “You look at me and see a listed asset wrapped in skin.”

That lands. I see it hit him.

Then he moves.

One second, I’m standing there shaking with rage. The next, he’s got me backed into the shelf, one hand braced beside my head, the other locked around my waist hard enough to keep me in place.

“You want the truth?” he says, eyes locked on mine. “I am the only reason you haven’t already been claimed by worse men than me.”

For a second I just stare at him, breath coming fast, anger sitting right on top of the need to push him away. He’s too close. I catch the clean, male heat of him, and I don’t want to give him an inch. I could push him, even slap him, but my body moves first. My hand fists in the front of his shirt and I drag him down to my mouth hard enough to hurt.

He lets out a rough breath against my lips, and then he takes the kiss back from me. He isn’t gentle, and he isn’t asking. His hand comes up, firm at my jaw, holding me where he wants me as his mouth presses harder, deeper, until I stop thinking and hold on. It turns fast, heat, anger, something tight snapping loose. He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t give me space to think, just keeps me there, held and answered in the same breath.

8

ELENA

I’m so furious I can’t see straight. I grab the front of his shirt and drag him into a kiss so punishing, I taste iron. He groans into my mouth and grips my waist, pulling me in hard enough to bruise. When his tongue sweeps across mine, my entire body pulses with hate and need.

My hair gets fisted in his hand, his mouth demanding and rough as he drags me back onto the desk. He tears my sweater off, fingers hooking behind my bra and ripping it free. I gasp at the sudden cold, at the way his eyes devour every exposed inch like I belong to him. My nipples tighten under his gaze, and I hate myself for the reaction.