Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
My chest tightens as I read about men vanishing without a trace, rumors swirling that they were taken, interrogated, tortured for weeks. Families left to guess, their silence bought with fear.
I click off the screen.
What am I doing?
I sit back, pressing my hands against my face, trying to steady my breathing. He’s reckless. Impulsive. Wild. And yet, somehow, he’s survived this long. But how much longer can anyone survive in a life like this? What if a single mistake could bring it all crashing down?
And yet, here I am, tangled in the web he’s spun around me.
I’m not usually neurotic or this nervous, but…
That’s it. At the risk of playing the role of needy, wannabe girlfriend, I go to text him again.
Hey. It’s me. Remember me? The girl you were obsessed with and now you haven’t even said good morning to??
No. Too toxic.
I delete it try again.
Hey. I know this might be over the top, but I haven’t heard from you all day and I’m wondering if you’re okay. I know the things you do are…er. Risky. Check in, okay?
I add a heart emoji and stare at it for a minute.
Too forward?
Then I remember the feel of his tongue between my legs and the way he made me come so hard I screamed.
Cheeks flushing, I sheepishly add two more hearts and send the message.
I drum my fingers on my thigh, waiting.
Nothing.
What do I even do with this nervous energy?
I could hit the gym… that might work. But even the gym has lost its appeal when I go alone and don’t have my inked personal bodyguard by my side.
I could go home and eat dinner like a sensible person.
Or I could—
“Miss Steele?” A friendly-looking woman with silvery hair tucked into a merciless bun smiles at me. “Mr. Kopolov sent me to fetch you.”
Fetch me?
I blink. “What?”
She smiles broadly. “He sends his apologies, miss, and said he wanted to give you warning but had no time.”
What the hell?
“Please. Come with me.” Smiling, she gestures toward a sleek navy town car that purrs at the edge of the curb.
“Um. Who are you?”
Still smiling, she takes out a business card and shows it to me.
“Mr. Kopolov asked me to assist you in preparing for this weekend’s gala?”
Oooohhh.
“Um. Yes?” I say hesitantly, though I feel the overwhelming need to verify what’s happening. “Just a minute.”
I pull out my phone to call Rodion, even though he’s ignored every single one of my calls today. My stomach churns when I see he’s not only ignored my messages but sent me one of his own:
Bratvabloodline
Go with Cindy and do what she says.
I’ll fill you in later.
Oh, the fucking nerve.
I clench the phone, debating whether to call him again out of sheer spite. Instead, I take a deep breath and remind myself that his cryptic commands, as infuriating as they are, usually have some kind of purpose. Still, I’m not thrilled about being shoved into some mysterious agenda without so much as a heads-up.
The car is already waiting downstairs, Cindy standing patiently beside it, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my tone wary as I approach her.
“Rodeo Drive, miss,” she says, smiling with a hint of a sigh like she’s anticipating the fun she’s about to have. “One of my very favorite places to shop, and it’s been a while.”
I blink. Rodeo Drive? As in the Rodeo Drive? I’ve heard of it, of course—who hasn’t? The stretch of boutiques that practically screams money, luxury, and exclusivity. A place so far out of my price range that it’s laughable.
I hesitate, glancing at Cindy’s polished appearance. Compared to her chic tailored blazer and heels, my casual skirt and top feel like a poor excuse for “effort.” But at least I wore a skirt, I remind myself. It’s better than the usual jeans and sneakers.
“Well,” I mutter, sliding into the car, “I suppose if Rodion is otherwise occupied, I could handle something like this.”
I think.
“Have you eaten?”
I shake my head warily. What does that have to do with anything?
“Ah. Mr. Kopolov instructed me to feed you first if you hadn’t eaten yet.” She smiles.
I open my mouth to protest because how dare he, but when my stomach growls, I remember how starving I am.
Fine, then. Apparently, the first stop is dinner. I suppose I’ll make better decisions on a full belly, and I can assume he’s paying, so…
Cindy ushers me into a sleek, minimalist restaurant with dark wood finishes and glowing pendant lights. The kind of place where the menu doesn’t list prices, just descriptions so elaborate you’d need a dictionary to translate them. I order a gourmet burger and a side of truffle fries because I want to eat fast and get to the shopping.
What I really want is to get to him, and I think a part of me knows that doing what he planned for me is a good first step.