Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Arsen’s saying something about a war, but I can’t listen anymore. I push past him and hurry toward the entrance, my heart racing. How could I be so stupid? There are guards back at my place, but the twins know where I live. Without me there to make sure she’s safe, I can’t trust anyone. I can’t even trust my own men.
Only I can protect her.
“Tigran, damn it, what the fuck?” Arsen grabs my arm before I can storm out the door.
“Dasha,” I say, and I must look fucking psychotic because even my hard-as-hell brother pulls back from me like I’m foaming at the mouth.
Arsen’s jaw tightens. “She isn’t Natalia. You know that, right? What happened to Nat—”
I storm out of there, not bothering to reply. That name sets my whole body on fire, and I’m desperate to go see my wife, to make sure she’s safe. Fucking Natalia. It had been much too long since I’d thought of her, but now that girl’s ghost haunts me still. Each time I think I’ve moved past her, suddenly she returns.
Alexan looks up from his phone, startled. “Boss, what’s up?”
“Drive home,” I snap at him. “Drive fucking fast. And don’t talk. Hurry, break laws. Get me back home.”
Alexan’s face goes serious as he puts the car into gear. “I’ll get you there.”
The tires kick up dirt as we rush back to the house.
Chapter 16
Dasha
I’m weirdly disappointed.
The meeting with his brother and his aunt yesterday went really well. Afterwards, he stopped by just to tell me that he was giving me another night off, which I guess I appreciated, but it was also strangely frustrating. Because I wanted him in my bed. I wanted him to bury my mouth with his.
But okay, fine, another day off for my poor virgin vagina to heal from his big dick’s brutality. Or whatever the hell he’s thinking. I spent today cleaning up, building some furniture that came in the mail, hanging new pictures and paintings, and basically just putting on the finishing touches. I ate lunch with Vito at my table, and then I sat my ass on the couch and waited.
And waited. And waited. Nervously sweating, thinking about Tigran dragging me into my bed. Is he going to be gentle this time? Do I even want him to be? I feel like I only got a glimpse of what he’s really like in bed.
Does he really like handcuffs?
And when can I wear them?
That’s all I keep obsessing about all night long. Except it starts to get late, and he still hasn’t shown up. I even work up the courage to poke my head into the hall, but there are only a couple of guards lurking nearby. When one notices me and gives a curious frown, I duck back into my room and lock the door, my heart skittering.
No Tigran. No nighttime visit. No weird steamy sex.
Like I said, a disappointment.
I’m not even sure why I feel this way. A week ago, I would’ve been insanely relieved that he’s not visiting. Except things have changed between us.
We had that intimate dinner, him sitting across from me on the floor. It was so odd but also so normal. Tigran’s not the kind of man I can picture doing something like that. It was sweet and gentle, and it made me want him even more. Then there was the way he acted all protective of me when his aunt and his brother visited, like he wanted to make sure my feelings were spared.
The man talks like he’s a heartless monster, and maybe he is.
But I’ve seen another side of him.
“Ah, screw it.” I start getting ready for bed. I wash off my makeup, running my fingers down my scar. Images flash through my head. The bars of my cage. A Celtic cross on the wall. A sneering young man and a long, thin knife.
Someone pounds on my door and I nearly scream.
Sweat cools on my skin as I hurry to answer. I haven’t let myself get anxious about what happened in a long while, and I’m annoyed that I’m doing it now. There’s more pounding, insistent this time, and I yank it open, afraid that something bad’s happening.
It’s Tigran. He looks at me with odd, unrestrained anger and a hint of fear in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he says and storms into my room without asking.
Normally, with anyone else, that would bother me. But for some reason, it doesn’t even faze me. “I’m fine, I was just getting ready for bed. What’s going on?”
He grunts at me and starts looking around. He checks windows, looks under the couch, kicks open the bathroom door, and rips open the shower curtain. “What are you doing?” I ask, following him around as he searches my place. He’s acting like a murderous ghost is hiding in the closet or something.