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)
Like I needed him.
He gripped the small of my back and pulled me from the wall, laying me out across the desk.
His hands were everywhere. Over my clothes. It wasn’t enough.
I needed more.
A crash echoed from below.
Reality hit us like a slap.
We froze.
He stepped back, touching his lips.
I nearly mirrored him, but stopped myself and slid off the desk.
We stood, panting, staring.
I inched toward the door, hand reaching—
His jaw tightened.
He moved.
He flipped me again, arms pinned behind my back.
“Fuck you, let go of me!” I cursed him in Russian, calling every plague down upon him.
“Sorry, printsessa, but I can’t risk you screaming,” he whispered.
Then came a sharp pressure—an expert nerve pinch.
The world blurred. I fought the darkness.
Fought with everything I had.
It didn’t matter.
My body sagged.
Strong arms caught me.
The last thing I saw was the shattered chaos of my office before the darkness swallowed me whole.
CHAPTER 9
ZOYA
“Welcome back,” a deep, rumbling voice said.
It sounded far away as I struggled to open my eyes.
My head pounded, and my limbs were heavy. Immovable.
How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours?
He was here.
The bastard who attacked me, who took me.
I needed to wake up.
I needed to be clearheaded to fight whatever bullshit he was about to throw at me.
The world around me tried to fade back into blackness, but I refused to let it. I fought tooth and nail to not let the cold, blissfully numbing abyss take me.
It wouldn’t win. I needed to be present and focused.
The pounding in my head intensified, like a vice squeezing my temples. The pressure was excruciating. But pain was good.
Pain meant I was alive, and if I was alive, then I could still fight. If I was alive, there was a chance that I’d be able to get myself out of this.
Death was the only thing that would stop me. I had come too far to let anything short of my mortality slow me down.
Roman was just another monster I had to face.
I fought against the man who bought me and won; I fought against my father, and I won.
This time would be no different.
When my eyes finally fluttered open, they landed straight on him.
Roman sat in a large leather wing-back chair across from me, leaning back, one arm draped over the side, his long, powerful legs crossed casually, like he had all the time in the world.
Everything about his body language was relaxed—from the way he held the short crystal glass of dark amber liquid up to the glow of the candlelight, to the way he was practically reclining in the chair.
Sitting there like he didn’t have a care in the world, because everything, and everyone, answered to him.
Then there were his eyes.
Those dark eyes watched me with quiet amusement, a smirk ghosting over his lips as he swirled the glass, making the candlelight dance on its surface.
“Always a pleasure to see you, printsessa.”
He was so cocky, so arrogant. My palm ached to slap that smirk off his beautiful face.
The attack came back to me in waves. The way he held me down, the way he grabbed me, the way his hands roamed my body as his lips… how I responded in kind…
Okay, maybe he deserved the cocky smirk. This time.
Then I remembered the way his fingers cut off the oxygen supply to my brain, rendering me completely unconscious and giving me the excruciating headache I was feeling now.
This son of a bitch took me, and I didn’t know why.
What I knew was that I needed to leave.
I also knew that he wasn’t just going to let me walk out the front door. My muscles tensed, ready to flee, as he slowly lowered his glass.
His long legs uncrossed, and I knew I only had seconds.
The moment he stood up I would lose any advantage from speed… not that I had much of one to start with.
Men that big should not be that fast—but I knew he was.
Using all the strength left in my heavy-limbed body, I tried to stand, only to find I couldn’t.
Chains rattled, and the cold steel of shackles bit into my ankles and wrists.
Red-hot anger filled me.
It crept up my neck from my chest to my face; it moved faster with every single elevated heartbeat.
Chains? Really?
He had shackles around my wrists and ankles.
Who had shackles just lying around?
When did I walk into a medieval dungeon?
I thrashed and flailed, trying to break free.
He just watched, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips while he enjoyed his drink.
“Where the fuck am I?” I demanded.
Roman took his time, bringing his glass back up to his mouth, swirling the liquid inside again before taking a long sip. It was a power play. He was showing me I had absolutely no control over any of this. He was the master of this situation, and I was on his time, not the other way around.