“I’m Konstantin Morosov.” His voice is dark and husky, and he toys with a glass tumbler of clear colourless liquid and ice that I assume to be the ubiquitous vodka that Russians favour. “You can call me Kon.”
I press my lips together.Kon. I want to form the word with my mouth. To hold it there and taste it. Kon. It suits him.
“This is where you tell me your name, Taylor,” he purrs. “We’re going to get to know each other.”
“You’re welcome to talk about yourself, but we’re not going to get to know each other in an emotional, biblical, mental.” I’m just picking random words now. “Physical, factual, or…” I shouldn’t have said that, because I don’t have another word. “Paranormal way.”
The corner of his mouth hooks up and damn him, he looks roguishly handsome.
“I’ve been missing out on paranormal,” he drawls. “Perhaps you could inform me about what that entails.”
“You’ll never find out.” Possibly because I don’t know.
He smirks, but doesn’t call me on it.
“Come here.”
His voice is dark and seductive, and tugs at my belly button. I dig in my heels to prevent myself from obeying.
“No. Yevgeny said I didn’t have to do anything.” Not quite true, but this courage is born of desperation, I suppose. Having nothing to lose.
No one is going to rescue me. There are no white knights or fairy tales. I’ve learned the hard way that dreams that come true are just nightmares in pretty dresses.
“Did he, indeed.” Kon’s eyes narrow. “That was very stupid of him.”
I don’t disagree. I’m probably making poor decisions.
“Come here, Taylor, or you will regret it.” His voice takes on a hard edge.
“No.”
My boldness amazes even me. However hot Kon is—and I’m not denying that—I have given up control of my whole life. This one thing is within my power. Yevgeny gives no options about dancing, or going on stage, where I go, and what I eat. But he didn’t tell me I have to do what this man says.
Here, I have at least the freedom to say no. To make it difficult.
And maybe it’s suicidal, but I won’t go to Konstantin Morosov like a meek little lamb. If he wants me, he doesn’t get it for some millions that don’t matter to him, anyway. I won’t be easy for this arsehole.
He leans forwards, putting his vodka aside. And if I thought the other bratva pakhans I’ve met were scary? It’s nothing compared to Kon. He’s sin and dominance incarnate.
His gaze flicks to the door, and he runs his thumb over his bottom lip as he holds my gaze as firmly as if his fingers bit into my flesh.
A shiver goes through my core, hot and achy and terrifying.
I’ve always been the sister with bad ideas, and my dormant libido has decided that now is the time to wake. I flush.
“Do not fight me, Taylor,” he says, the threat low and deceptively soft. His ice-blue eyes flash. “I will win.”
3
KON
Taylor steps backwards.
I want to reassure her I’m on her side. That I’m here to free her and take her home. She’s nervous and defiant and scared and she has no need to be afraid of me.
But there are guards at the door who could be listening, at very least. I can’t fuck this up by just telling Taylor the escape plan like it’s small talk.
Her eyes flash at my threat. “You’d have to catch me.”
