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As I exit the SUV my fingers ball into fists, fury has me seeing red. My kisa went on a date with another man. She’ll regret that. She let him touch her, gaze at her exquisite body, make her blush for him. I’m done playing games with her, tonight I’m going to make her mine. Permanently.
I stride toward the sports car that almost gave my men the slip. To my surprise, the driver’s door opens and out steps Connor fucking Bane, the man must have balls the size of Jupiter to confront me head on like this. His features are stern, the expression in his eyes unreadable. What I don’t see is the one emotion that I wish was present: Fear.
This fucker isn’t afraid of me. That’s about to change. Because looking at him now, all I see is his hand on Arianna’s, his lips smiling at her, his body too close to hers.
I walk right up to him and jab. My punch is so powerful that it knocks him out cold. His body crumples onto the asphalt.
A startled cry comes from inside the vehicle. The passenger door flies open, and my kisa makes a run for it.
Begi, kotyonok, begi. Run, little kitten, run.
With a wolfish grin, anticipation rushing through my tense muscles, I dart after her.
She kicks off her heels, running barefoot along the filthy sidewalk. With every few steps, she glances over her shoulder, watching as I gain on her. Her eyes widen.
That’s right. I’m going to get you.
My much longer stride eats up the distance between us. I catch up to her beneath a street light, and reach out, ready to grab her, to touch her body for the first time.
She spins around, facing me. For a moment, I think she’s going to give up, give in and come quietly with me like a good girl. I should know by now that my kotenok has claws.
She lifts her arm and pepper sprays the shit out of me.
I cover my eyes with both hands, grunting at the red-hot pain in my lungs and nose. I can’t breathe or see. Even so, I lunge for her, catching her by surprise. With one hand, I disarm her and lift her over my shoulder. She struggles and screams, pounding her small fists against my back. In this deserted industrial area there’s no one to hear her cries for help.
Eyes, nose, and throat burning, I carry her to one of the SUVs and toss her in the back seat. She claws at me when I follow her inside. A fresh tickle of pain slashes across my face. I touch the wound, my fingers coming away bloody.
Damn, she’s feisty.
“Maks, subdue her.” I hold her as steady as I can while Maks injects a sedative into her arm. Then I release this fierce creature and watch as her attempts to fight back become slower, lethargic. Finally she quiets down.
“We’re all good here, Boris. Tell the men they can go home,” I order.
Boris shoots me one hard glance before he exits the driver’s seat and marches off to fulfill my command. He’s still pissed at me for not putting a firm date to his acceptance as my second, but I don’t have time for that shit right now. My other plans come first.
“Maks, take us to the church. Get the fucking priest out of bed and tell him we’re coming.”
“You got it, Pakhan.” He takes over as our driver.
I relax into my seat, wiping at my burning eyes, as anticipation has my knee bouncing. In less than an hour this woman will be my legally—mostly—wedded wife.
She looks so peaceful sleeping on the seat next to me. I pull her body against my side and loop my arm around her, nestling her against me, and sigh.
Maks shoots me a concerned frown in the rearview mirror, but I ignore him. He won’t actually ask questions or voice his concerns—not tonight. Not while we’re in the middle of this. Which is why I’m having him, and only him, as my witness for what I’m about to do.
Boris would have a fucking fit if he knew I wasn’t only going to kidnap Arianna Pontrelli but actually marry her too. He’d have all kinds of questions that I’m not yet ready to answer. The only explanation I can give my men is that she’s part of an unsettled debt, and I’ve called it due.
I can’t tell them I need her father’s help, or that I don’t trust a single one of them other than Maks, or that my kisa is so much more than a debt collected.
That last part, I barely want to admit to myself.
This is pure business.
No, it’s obsession.
I hate that judgmental voice in my head. It needs to shut the fuck up. I’m not obsessed with her, it’s simple lust. Once she’s my wife, I’ll fuck her out of my system and then I’ll stop thinking about her all the time. She’ll stop crowding my thoughts and I’ll be able to focus on work better.
Even in the past few months having to deal with my uncle’s funeral, and taking over the Bratva, and investigating his death, thoughts of her have intruded as soon as I let my guard down.
