Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92957 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Can I break my brain? She had asked.
Am I losing my mind?
Did she?
She's shaking, but she's okay, I reassure myself as I run my hands around her body. "Are you all right?" I ask, my heart pounding.
I feel helpless, afraid. It drags me back to years ago, back when I was barely old enough to understand what it meant to be in charge. I’d lost track of my brothers and sisters, and a cold dread settled in as the hours ticked by with no sign of them. They were supposed to be home, and with every minute they were missing, the fear clawed deeper. When I finally found them, swinging like idiots on a rope over the ravine, I was raw with fury. Zoya was soaked and shivering, the others laughing, oblivious to the hours that had passed.
I’d promised myself that when I found them, there’d be hell to pay. They’d know the consequences of making me think I’d lost them. But when I finally reached them, rage left me in a rush. All I could do was fall to my knees and pull the smallest ones close—Zoya in one arm, Rodion in the other—and make them swear to me, my voice hoarse with worry, they’d never do anything like that again.
I felt helpless then, and I feel helpless now. Hell, it’s half the reason I’m so fucking hard on all of them. She’s not wrong—the thought of losing everyone I love petrifies me.
Damn it. I’ve done this to myself. Every instinct in me screams to stay distant, to harden myself against anything even close to feelings. She’s not my lawful wife but someone I forced into a fake union to suit me and to punish her.
But then the other part of reason kicks in. She’s my wife now. My wife. The word feels heavier, more significant than any other in my life. It’s not like my siblings or my family. I love them with all of my heart, but wife…
Flesh of my flesh.
I’m not a religious man, but there’s something sacred to the ritual of marriage, to our bond.
I tell myself to keep my distance, but when she looks at me the way she’s looking now, like I’m her savior, and no one else in the world can protect her like I can. That look…
She lifts her small, blood-streaked, trembling hand to my face and brushes her thumb along my jaw. “You’re cut, Rafail,” she whispers, her voice soft with concern. “Are you alright? Let me doctor you up. Please.”
"I'm fine." I stand, holding her behind me. “It’s just a scratch.”
The car that barreled toward us is now a twisted wreck, its occupants either dead or captured. My team saw to that. Who were they? Does it matter at this point? Stupid fucking rivals.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out. My eyes scan the phone three times before I actually read the message because I know. It's only a matter of time before enemies regroup. They strike again. They always do. But now, so much more is at stake.
So much more.
I can still hear the screech of tires and her scream when she was hit. I don't ever want to experience that again.
This was not supposed to happen. I'm supposed to keep her away from everyone. Keep her away from the world. Safe.
Safe from everyone… even me.
But now that she's here, she's in greater danger than ever.
"I should have kept you in the house," I say, my hands gripping her as tightly as I can without hurting her.
"I'm fine,” she insists. “You can't exactly keep me in a bubble, no matter how much you wish that you could."
“I can fucking try,” I insist, which makes her clam up.
I remember what the doctor said.
Her hands tremble slightly, and it annoys me. She needs to be safe. She needs to be protected. She's mine.
And for a moment, I allow myself this weakness and pull her close to me. I cup the back of her head with one hand and her slender body with the other.
"Are you sure that you're not hurt?" I ask, my voice harder than I intended as my gaze roves over her, probing, seeking any sign of distress or injury. She shakes her head, her eyes still wide and stunned.
"Rafail, I'm fine. Let's get you to safety too."
I almost laugh. Fine.
Nothing about this situation is fine, and I damn well know she's not fine. She's trying to piece together a life she doesn't remember, and as her memory returns, the threat of her realizing that she ran from me—not her husband, but from the man who was supposed to marry her—looms. What is she going to do when she remembers that? How long can I keep her with me? No. I need to find a better way.