Page 85 of Black Ledger

“Why the fuck did you do that?” My gaze locked on his bruised knuckles.

He’d punched my date. The one time I had decided to try out men again after Chad… Severin had intimidated him, then punched him in the face, and it wasn’t even a well-formed punch. I didn’t know what bothered me more: that he did it or that he had poor form and hurt himself.

Because Severin never had poor form.

He was muscular and dominant. It was why he was so fucking dangerous: because he wasn’t just a strategic genius; he was also the brawn.

It wasn’t fair, really.

That good-looking. That jacked. That smart. Just fuck him.

We would never be evenly matched. I was highly trained, but he’d always, always be stronger. At least I was faster and far more surprising than him, which was why I managed to slap him just now.

Severin touched his cheek, his eyes darkening, but he said nothing. His muscles coiled, and his usually jovial lips pressed into a severe line. Harsh and unyielding, and he was a wall of muscle in front of me.

My heart shuddered in my chest as the icy wind bit at the nape of my neck, and I glowered at him. He could fuck a new girl every single night, parading them in front of me like they were Rose Bowl floats, and I couldn’t even flirt with a guy? Couldn’t even go on one fucking date?

We hadn’t even kissed yet, and I might have finally, finally gotten my first true kiss. At age twenty, for fuck’s sake, and then Severin had to burst in, rip him away from me, and punch him in the face.

“You will not kill him,” I said, crossing my arms and standing my ground. “This is not a Chad situation.”

Once again, Severin said nothing. And it was infuriating. I suddenly understood how my constant silence felt to him. But why? Why did he have to switch places with me now? It was my job to be maddeningly quiet and expressionless.

“You will not kill Spencer.” I poked him in the chest, trying to get some sort of response out of him. “You will not send me his head in a box as a gift. Do you understand?”

Still fucking nothing. Just anger and darkness pooling off of him like steam.

I let out a huff, and I punched him in the chest. Again, he let me, not trying to block at all. But it was like punching a mountain. I shook out my hand. Well, this conversation was utterly useless.

I turned on my heel and continued to walk away because fuck him. If he wasn’t going to say a word to me after punching my date in the face, then I didn’t have to give him any of my time or energy. But as I walked away, I realized that if I didn’t get a promise from him, he would send me Spencer’s head in a gift box.

I stopped in my tracks and futilely said again, “You won’t kill him.”

His dark presence lingered behind me.

Once more, I faced him. “Say something,” I screamed, my voice caught by the icy wind.

His expression hardened as he took one menacing step forward and captured my jaw in his hands. “I won’t kill him because he hasn’t touched you yet. But I will send you the head of any man you let touch you.”

Every muscle in my body grew taut like a bowstring. My pulse jumped beneath my skin, and his fingers slid down my neck to feel the movement.

What did he mean by that? Why say it? Why do it? He refused to let me have any dates, any men, but he fucked half the cheerleading squad. He just wanted to possess me and fuck me like all his other girls, and I refused to be just another notch on his belt.

He didn’t want me. Not really. I was a fleeting goal for him, and if I let him fuck me, he’d move on to his next conquest the very next day, if not the same hour.

No, I was a game to him—a challenge. I’d watched him do this same thing to countless girls in high school. And foolishly, I’d thought I would be immune to his sinister ways, but somehow, in the last two years, his eyes had fallen on me. His fixation had latched onto me and hadn’t let go. Severin Volkov didn’t desire me for me. He just didn’t want anyone else to have me.

“You don’t own me.” The words came out through gritted teeth, and my tone was poisonous. “I’m not yours.”

“No, you aren’t.”

His hands fell to his sides and slid into his pockets, but the cruelty didn’t leave his stance. It was etched into him; he was formed from wickedness and dark cravings. I knew the way he liked to fuck his women. It was a lot like the way he killed. He stalked, he tormented, he chased, and he satisfied the darkness that coated his soul.

I knew because his former conquests whispered of his dominant, primal ways.

I shook my head, my nostrils flaring. “I don’t like this version of you.”

“Good.”