Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95627 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
What the fuck?
"If I wasn't too drunk last night he would have left you immediately."
Fucking Artem.
Heat rose in my cheeks as I fought back tears, pushing my way past her and out of the library.
There was no use in defending myself. She had already made up her mind, and it wasn't my job to change it. But it still stung, and it was all his fault.
Each step I took felt heavier than the last.
I could feel invisible chains tightening around my ankles, my wrists, my throat.
Each time I thought I'd found a foothold, a way to assert myself, he was there, undermining it.
The world was shrinking around me, controlled by his invisible hand.
People who once ignored me now actively despised me.
My freedom was an illusion he granted, then stripped away at will.
Fucking with my living arrangements was controlling.
Fucking with my friendships was a dick move.
But dangling my education in front of my face then ripping away the opportunity to excel was unforgivable.
The realization of how completely he had ensnared me slammed into me.
I leaned against the wall outside the library, trying to steady myself and catch my breath.
How far would his control reach? Would I ever have anything that was truly mine again?
Or would everything I touched become another link in the chain he was wrapping around me?
He was not going to win. Not this time.
But even as I thought it, fear’s icy fingers crawled up my spine.
Because deep down, I wasn't sure I could fight him.
And worse still, a small part of me wasn't sure I wanted to.
CHAPTER 15
ARTEM
I stood with my brothers, staring down at the piece of shit traitor who was working for Solovyov. He had been working for my family in Russia for years before he moved to the U.S. to work under Gregor. I didn't even know when he turned on us.
I sucked down the rancid air and kept my hands tight at my sides, trying to control the urge to lash out with a yell and a hail of fists.
It wasn't the traitor's constant lies, or even the way his blood was staining my new white shirt that pissed me off.
It was Kostya's grating laugh.
I loved my brothers, as they loved me. We were loyal to each other and had a bond that would never be broken. That bond also meant they were the only men who could see through my bullshit and knew how to get on my last goddamn nerve.
"Kristoff," Kostya said, squatting down to be at eye level with the man. "All you have to do is tell us what we want to know. Then all of this will stop."
The man wheezed and Kostya stood back up before slamming his fist into the man's face again. Blood poured from his nose and the newest cut on his lip like a fountain.
"Come on man, these shoes are new," he said, taking a step back. "If I would have known you were such a bleeder, I would have dressed more appropriately."
"What is the appropriate ensemble to wear to an interrogation?" Pavel asked.
"Well, that would depend," Kostya said, keeping his tone light. "For the ones who know how to clot, black on black is good for hiding the occasional stain, but for a man like this who gushes blood at the slightest tap...perhaps a stylish rain slicker and galoshes? Something fitted, sophisticated, and easy to clean."
Pavel pursed his lips, considering it, and nodded, before he turned and punched Kristoff in the mouth. Kristoff leaned over and spit a molar onto the concrete in a glob of blood and spit.
"And for the guest of honor?" Pavel asked. "Surely they have a different dress code. This entire event is dedicated to them."
"Well, that depends...for most, something that you don't care about, that you can just simply burn after."
"What about something constricting that will help slow the blood loss?" Pavel asked. "Or maybe a dark maroon color to match the blood. Make it look less obvious?"
"If that was the goal, they should wear brown pants with how often they shit themselves," Kostya added and both my brothers started laughing like we had all the fucking time in the world.
Maybe they did. But there were other things I needed to tend to. Like the spitfire I left sleeping in the hotel. The manager on duty sent me a message when she left, and I knew soon she would find out what I did, and I wanted to watch her reaction.
Most women would have been overwhelmed with gratitude for the luxury apartment, eager to please me for such generosity, but Viktoria wasn't like most women.
She was going to lose her mind, and I wanted to watch her pale cheeks turn as red as the golden-red highlights in her hair and her brilliant blue eyes fill with rage. When I left the tonic on the nightstand, she looked so peaceful. An angel with a halo of silky hair on the black silk sheets, sent to tempt me away from business.