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)
“Not that I blame you, with all those followers offering you their virginity and whatnot, but still.” Her lips twitch. “You’re confident. Strong. Able to take command. Fearless, even, the way I’d imagine a soldier would be. You’re protective and intense. You come alive when you have someone to look over, a battle to win, a villain to fight. Which, if you think about it…” Her voice trails off, and she grows a little shy. “Is kind of ironic, yet charming.”
I lean back in my seat and steeple my hands. Listening.
“Yet even though you’re dangerous, you’re somehow… familiar. Someone who’s really more like my book boyfriends than they are, and on the one hand, I feel like I know you… but on the other, I feel like I’ve just scratched the surface.” She leans in. “You come across as bold and fearless, but a part of you wants to prove yourself to… someone. Maybe your brothers. Maybe me.” She shrugs. “Maybe yourself.”
A part of me wishes I could pull the mask back down.
Chapter 19
EMBER
Flying alone with Rodion feels like we’ve crossed some invisible line, hurtling forward faster than the jet’s engines can take us. Something about being cocooned at 40,000 feet with him makes it feel… serious.
I don’t want it to be serious.
Do I?
The great thing about book boyfriends is that you actually call the shots. You can escape into the fantasy and explore moral lines you might never have a chance to do in real life. But when the real-life hero is sitting right across from you… it’s a lot harder to close the book.
Rodion lounges across from me, his sharp gaze watching me. I look down at myself and sigh.
“You have nothing to worry about, little queen,” he says. “They’ll love you.”
“They?” My fingers play with the corner of my book, the paperback an anchor I don’t dare look up from. “You mean your fancy Bratva crowd? Don’t lie to me, Rodion. I don’t fit in your world.”
“You fit wherever I decide you do,” he replies without missing a beat, a calm authority in his voice that makes my stomach clench.
Oh no he doesn’t.
That sparks something in me—a mix of frustration and a heat I don’t want to name. “Well, it’s a good thing I decide where I belong,” I shoot back, finally looking up. “And I don’t need your permission.”
Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his focus now is so intense it’s almost suffocating. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I’m going to control you? That you’re some pawn to me?”
His voice drops lower, rougher. “I don’t play with things I want to keep.” Heat rushes to my face, and I’m grateful for the hum of the engines to drown out my shallow breath.
I decide to redirect. “What about you, Rodion? What’s so important about this gala? Why drag me along?”
His jaw tenses. For a second, I think he won’t answer. “This isn’t just a party. It’s a test,” he says finally, his words clipped. “The kind of test where the wrong move could cost everything.”
“Everything?” I press, my pulse quickening.
Surely not everything…
“My family. My place with them.” His mouth tightens, and I glimpse something raw in his eyes. “You.”
My heart beats faster. I know he’s not saying it lightly, and yet, the weight of it…
I tilt my head, forcing a small, defiant smile. “That’s dramatic, even for Mr. Bratvabloodline.”
His eyes darken. “Say the word, Ember, and we turn this plane around. Right now. No gala. No danger. Just us.” It’s not the first time he’s offered this, but…
I swallow hard. “That’s not an option.”
I can’t imagine the trouble he’ll get into, and what’s waiting at home for me? I mull it all over, thinking, wondering…
“You’re thinking too loud,” he says, his voice low and teasing. Even the sound of his voice, all raspy and deep, sends a shiver down my spine.
“I wasn’t aware my thoughts needed approval,” I reply, my voice steady even though his gaze makes it hard to breathe. I’m teasing, though, because I know he is.
His rough hand reaches for mine and holds it. I stare at my small, pale fingers, the nails slightly tapered but unpainted, still in such sharp contrast against his darker, tanned, inked hand and blunt fingertips. It feels oddly symbolic, and I’m not sure what to do about it.
His smirk fades, replaced by something sharper. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, the full force of his attention pinning me in place. “You’re right. You don’t need my permission. But I don’t need yours to keep you close.” His words land like a punch, stealing my breath, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
When he speaks again, his voice is softer but no less intense. “You’re mine, Ember. And they’ll all see that.”
Hmm. That’s what he thinks.