Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Her fiery gaze locks onto mine, challenging me in a way no one has ever dared. She’s smaller, fragile, yet she stands as though she’s made of iron and steel. A goddamn queen in her own right.
“And what exactly does that mean, Semyon?” Her voice is low and cutting. “Punish me how? What else can you take from me?” She can’t hide the way her lower lip trembles.
I catalog every breath, every micromovement. I imagine her tied up in my bed, handcuffed and vulnerable. I imagine her kicking her legs over my lap while I teach her manners. I imagine her screaming my name and begging to come while I hold back pleasure and make her earn her climax.
I sigh and brush my finger along the curve of her lower lip. It’s dry, a little chapped. She’s worked long hours at the bakery and tabled her self-care.
Noted.
“You don’t seem to fear me, little Anya.”
Her voice is small but her stance immovable when she responds. “What is there to fear when you’ve already lost everything?”
Oh, she hasn’t lost everything.
“So dramatic. I thought better of you.” I take my hand from her neck and place it on the other side of her head so she’s caged beneath me. “But you forget something.”
She doesn’t take the bait. Doesn’t respond. Only stares at me, trying desperately to hide her fear.
“I don’t play by the rules.”
Chapter 7
ANYA
I trudged up to the house, rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes. I didn’t want anyone to see me cry. Crying was a sign of weakness. My mother was at work—she had just opened the bakery—and my father… I hoped he wasn’t home.
The sun filtered through the trees, half blinding me because, at twelve years old, I was still too short to see much of anything. I just needed to get home, find a bandage, and I’d be fine.
Voices came from the back of the house, and I immediately recognized them. Shit. It was too late to turn around—they’d already seen me. Semyon and Eli. I turned and made my way toward the front door, but they were scrambling with something, hiding it under a pile of books. I didn’t care what it was—a cigarette, a dirty magazine, could’ve been anything. All that mattered was that they didn’t see me.
“Anya?” My brother’s voice traveled the short distance. I didn’t reply and kept walking. I heard Semyon say something to Eli in a low voice, and Eli gathered a bunch of things and ran to the back of the house. It was Semyon who came for me.
“Anya, what did you—” He froze when he saw me—my knees bloody, abrasions on my arms, tears welling up in my eyes. I looked away.
And then he ran. He ran to me. No one had ever run to me before.
“Who did this to you?” I knew by then he was part of the Bratva, so of course Semyon thought somebody had hurt me.
I shook my head. “No one did this to me.”
I told him the truth, but I could tell he didn’t believe me by the way his eyes darkened with doubt. His body language spoke louder than words.
I swallowed hard, caught in the intensity of his gaze, in the storm behind those glacial blue eyes. It seemed in those few seconds that passed between us he was weighing his options. I stared, half-frozen in place.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He bent, coming nearer to me than he ever had before, and scooped me into his arms effortlessly.
I opened my mouth to protest but was so taken off guard nothing came out. This was Semyon. So near. So strong and unyielding. Protective.
His grip was steady and firm but surprisingly gentle as he carried me like a baby, his chest firm and warm beneath my cheek. When had he grown into this? Semyon wasn’t the scrawny boy who trailed after his older brother, shadowed by grief and duty.
He was a man now. A real man, older than me, bound to duty and family… and now holding me like I mattered.
“Semyon—” I began, but the words died on my lips. His face was closer than it had ever been, and the intimacy of the moment completely rattled me.
“What happened, Anya?” he asked in a dangerous whisper.
“I fell,” I said, not meeting his eyes.
“Off what?” His voice was a low growl. He sounded angry. Why was Semyon angry? I was hurt, I was crying, I was bleeding, and I thought my leg might be broken—and he was mad?
“Off my bike,” I told him honestly. “I just went for a ride down by the train tracks, and I was going fast, and my bike hit a rock. I don’t really know what happened, but it went out from under me, and I just…” I sniffed, turning my head away. He shook his head gently.