Page 117 of Cruel Demands

“Coming from you, that word has lost some credibility.”

His mouth twitches. For one second, he almost laughs. I see it happen. The brief collapse of control, warmth threatening at the edges of his face. The moment catches me off guard. Worse, it reminds me of the conservatory. His hand reaching into the silver packet. His ridiculous insistence that he hated the Fritos after finishing the bag. I look away first.

Mikhail ruins it immediately. “There will be rules.”

I turn back. “Excuse me?”

“You will not follow me again.”

“That was already low on my to-do list.”

“You will not discuss what you saw last night with anyone,” he says. My expression changes. “Not Anya. Not Petyr. No one.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good.”

“And you will not look into Orlov again.”

“That was also rapidly losing its appeal.”

“You will not access anything outside your assigned work.”

“How am I supposed to know which criminal documents are approved for interns?”

His expression hardens. “Taylor.”

“I get it.”

“And you will not leave your apartment at night without telling someone where you are going.”

I laugh. He doesn’t. My laughter dies. “You’re serious.”

“Of course.”

“By tell someone, you mean what? Call my mom?”

He sighs heavily like he is world-weary, and it’s all my fault. “Obviously not. I will give you an approved list of people to call.”

“Ha! Yeah, no.”

His eyes narrow. “No?”

“You don’t get to make rules for me.”

“These are not negotiable.”

“Or what? How about I just ignore you?”

He takes one step closer. I hold my ground.

“You saw men last night who now know your face. Vladimir searched your wallet before he brought you inside because you are smarter than you think you are but apparently not as smart as I thought you were. So they know your name. They expected you to be handled. And instead I kept you alive.” His jaw tightens. “I bought you some protection last night by making them believe you are mine. But you do not seem to understand what happens to curious girls in this city. My city.”

I feel a chill across my spine. So many possessives with him. My city. Being mine. “I don’t know if this city is yours, but I’m not yours.”

Mikhail’s eyes drop to my mouth. The movement is small, but I feel it everywhere. I hate that too. I hate that my body remembers him independently of my fear. That some part of me still knows how his hands felt, how his voice changes when he’s close enough that no one else can hear it.

He steps nearer, and I don’t move back. “You should obey me, Taylor.”