I stare at him, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. No. This has to be a joke. Who the hell is this man? And what kind of debt is he talking about? How does any of this have anything to do with us?
“Debt?” I snap. “What are you talking about? We don’t even know you—how could we possibly owe you anything?”
He doesn’t answer. Just looks at me, slow and unimpressed, like I’ve said something painfully naive.
“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. You’ve got the wrong people. So how about you let us go, and we can all pretend this never happened?”
His mouth curves, barely. Not quite a smile.
“Nice try,” he’s calm as ever. “But I don’t make mistakes.” His gaze flicks between us, deliberate. “I’ve got the right girls. Your family owes me.”
A beat.
“And I’m here to collect.”
It doesn’t take long for the pieces to click into place. This has to be about my brothers. Some old grudge, some unfinished business with Artyom or Mikhail. He probably couldn’t get to them directly, so he decided to strike at the easiest targets, us. Their sisters.
Who is he? When he spoke, I caught the faint Russian accent. What could have possibly transpired between him and my brothers?
My mind races with worst-case scenarios. What is he going to do to us? My pulse is frantic, slamming against my ribs. I force myself to take slow, deep breaths, trying to stay clear-headed.
I glance around the limo, at the two stone-faced men flanking us on both sides, and the other two sitting next to the dangerous looking man. Every single one of them looks dangerous. Lethal. There is no easy way out of this car.
I turn to my sister. She is shaking beside me, small tremors running through her body. Tears glisten in her wide hazel-grayeyes. I slide my hand onto her thigh and squeeze gently. When she looks at me, I mouth the words slowly:Calm down.
She tries. She really does. But the fear in her eyes is so raw it makes my chest ache.
This is all my fault. I never should have pushed her to sneak out with me tonight. We should have listened to Artyom. We should have stayed safely inside the house like good little Morozov princesses.
We wouldn’t be here, if only we had listened. Now look at us, dragged into a stranger’s limo in the middle of the night because I wanted one taste of freedom.
I tear my gaze away from Milana and snap it back to the man watching us. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me.
“You won’t get away with this,” I say, forcing my voice to stay strong even though my hands are trembling. “Our brothers will come for us. And when they do, you’re going to regret ever laying a finger on us. You and every single one of your men will be sorry.”
He slowly crosses one long leg over the other, the movement relaxed, almost bored. The expensive fabric of his trousers shifts smoothly.
My gaze betrays me instantly, dragging lower before snapping back up. His hand curls around his knee, large and veined, thesleeve of his black shirt riding up just enough for dark ink to peek from beneath the cuff. My stomach tightens.
I can’t stop staring at his hands. At the tattoos disappearing beneath the fabric. At the slow flex of his fingers. And suddenly, horribly, I’m imagining those same hands on me, sliding over my waist, gripping my thighs, pinning me…
My eyes widen as the sensation spirals lower, soaking me through with heat. Jesus Christ, am I seriously turned on right now?
“Is that so?” his voice is low and steady.
I lift my chin higher. “Yeah,” I reply, trying to clear the fog in my head. “It’s not too late. Let us go right now and we’ll forget this ever happened. We won’t tell our brothers about this.”
“Nah, I want your brothers to know I took you.”
I swallow hard. “I’m not sure you want that, you really don’t want to know what my brothers are capable of.”
Something like dark amusement flickers across his sharp features. He doesn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth tilts just slightly, like I’ve said something mildly entertaining.
“How about we wait and find out what your brothers are going to do, huh?” He shrugs one broad shoulder, completely at ease. “I’m curious.”
His calm certainty is terrifying. And I realize with a sinking, icy dread that this man is not bluffing. He doesn’t look even slightly scared.
And it terrifies me. The dangerous aura rolling off him is unmistakable, but his complete lack of reaction confirms this man is in a completely different league. He isn’t some hot-headed thug acting on impulse.
