Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
If they figured out who I was before I finished…
They’d kill me.
Every step forward was a step deeper into enemy territory.
And for what?
For a girl who went after my family?
Did I feel bad for her?
Was there some part of me that wanted to protect her?
There was no way.
No.
This wasn’t about saving the little printsessa.
This was about protecting my family.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
She went after one of us.
That made her an enemy of all of us.
It didn’t matter that I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her voice cut through a room, or the defiant tilt of her chin when she looked me in the eye.
Didn’t matter that something happened inside me the moment she touched me with the knife, something sharp and electric and completely unwelcome.
She was a threat.
A distraction.
A fucking problem.
And that was what I did for my family. Solved problems.
I took a breath. Let the cold air center me.
Then I stepped inside.
CHAPTER 8
ZOYA
Something was wrong.
I had been sitting at my desk for the last several hours staring at financial documents, bank statements, and transfer requests, trying to focus.
Instead, my mind preferred to drift, thinking about him.
Roman.
There was something about him, something that made it impossible to concentrate. That had never happened to me.
Roman was tall, strong, and had the darkest, most intense eyes I had ever seen.
And I liked the way he looked at me.
Normally, I hated when men looked at me.
Men like my disgusting husband, or the ones my father did business with, or the knuckle-draggers Mateo brought in after every underground fight. Deep down, they were all the same.
Women were things—to be used, abused, owned.
Whether they consented never mattered.
My brothers laughed about consent once. One of them said, "Why would I ask the washer what it wants before I put my load into it?"
The foul double entendre had their friends howling with laughter. I just felt sick.
When those men looked at me with the same hunger Roman had in his eyes, my skin crawled.
But Roman’s gaze didn’t make my skin crawl. It heated my body, made my thighs clench.
I didn’t understand it.
When his eyes traveled down my body, I found myself wondering what his hands would feel like following the same path.
Even now heat coiled low in my belly, a traitorous ache building between my thighs as my mind replayed the way he’d taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
I’d been fascinated by the way his muscles flexed in his ink-covered forearms. I wanted to know if the tattoos continued—up his arms, across his chest.
My mouth watered at the thought, my breath coming faster.
Why was it getting harder to breathe?
Thankfully, my office was isolated. The men stayed downstairs with the prisoner, and they wouldn’t let Roman out of their sight.
He wouldn’t be trusted yet. Not by them.
Pulling my knees apart, I let my hand trail from my knee up the inside of my thigh—
I wasn’t alone.
The air thickened. The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
A girl raised in this life didn’t reach adulthood without learning to listen to her instincts.
Someone was here.
Getting closer.
I kept still.
One hand moved back onto the desk to support my head. The other stayed underneath it, fingers brushing the cold metal of the gun strapped there.
Just as I reached it, a hand shot out and grabbed my wrist, slamming it to the desktop.
Another hand seized my free wrist.
I didn’t hesitate. I broke his hold on my wrists and fought.
Clawed, scratched, slammed my elbow backward—anything to shake him off.
But it was like grappling with a wall.
He pressed his body against mine.
Heat and that dark, tropical scent enveloped me.
I knew who it was before he spoke.
Didn’t mean I stopped fighting.
Papers flew in every direction; my laptop became a sacrifice to the chaos engulfing us.
I kicked back, trying to knock him off me with the chair. He shoved it aside like it weighed nothing.
Now there was no barrier between us.
He bent me over, pinned me to the desk, his hips flush against my ass.
I grabbed for the silver letter opener in its wooden base. Before I could fully grip it, he plucked it from my hand and tossed it aside.
“Tsk, tsk, Zoya,” he murmured, dark amusement lacing his deep, velvety voice. “Did you really think I’d make this easy for you?”
Roman.
I already knew it was him. The moment he spoke a wicked thrill shot through me.
“Get off of me,” I snarled.
“Are you going to be a good girl and come with me quietly?” he whispered in my ear.
My body practically melted at those words.
No.
I wasn’t going to swoon because he acted like he owned the place. I wasn’t going to go all soft because I liked the way his hands gripped me.
And I was absolutely not wondering if that was his cock pressed against me.
Fighting me had turned him on.