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She was still panting as Mikhail got to work binding her wrists and ankles. The young woman didn’t fight back this time. Once she was properly subdued, Mikhail cleared everything into his duffel bag, tossed it over one shoulder, and yanked Annika off the bed. With her ankles tied together, she could only shuffle forward inch by inch.
Without warning, Mikhail simply threw her over his free shoulder and carried her down to the parking lot. He strode across the desolate lot to the farthest corner space, where his sleek black BMW was waiting for him. He threw the duffel bag in the passenger seat, then thrust Annika into the back seat and clicked her seatbelt in place before taking the wheel himself. As the engine hummed, he glanced back at her in the rearview mirror. The young woman met his gaze steadily. Despite his annoyance, he inwardly admitted that it was impressive how little fear she showed. He threw the car into reverse, backed onto the highway, and took off to the southeast toward Nevada.
By now the sun was nearly set. The landscape looked gray and nondescript in the faint moonlight. As he drove, Mikhail routinely looked back at his quietly seething bride. Over time, her anger seemed to fade. She turned to stare out the window into the darkness. Mikhail turned on a rock station to drown out the quiet.
After nearly three hours of stubborn silence, she suddenly broke in, “What about my father’s Bentley? Are you guys just going to leave it on the side of the road?”
“You seemed pretty okay with it when you had a flight to catch,” Mikhail scoffed. “Besides, if he wants it back so badly, he can come get the damn thing himself. I’m tired of collecting Egor Baranov’s lost belongings.”
“I don’t belong to him, you know,” she insisted.
“You’re right. You belong to me,” he clarified.
She held up her head in defiance and said, “Until the priest says those magic words, I belong to myself, thank you very much.”
Mikhail snorted. “Right. And you clearly do so well on your own.”
“I would’ve gotten to New York City if not for you,” Annika grumbled.
“You wouldn’t survive a day in the Big Apple by yourself. A sheltered little brat like you would be eaten alive,” he told her. “You couldn’t even get to the airport.”
“My mom canceled her credit card,” she muttered. “I ran out of gas.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. You wouldn’t be anything without your daddy’s money,” he shot back. “You Baranovs have no honor.”
Annika let out a sharp laugh. “Honor? That’s rich coming from a guy who put a gun to my side and nearly strangled me in a shitty motel room,” she snapped.
“I went easy on you,” he replied. “Grow the fuck up. This isn’t schoolgirl shit. This is real life. You’re engaged to the future Pakhan. You’d better start acting like you deserve the role.”
“I didn’t ask for it,” she said, pouting.
“Too bad. This is bigger than you or me,” Mikhail responded.
He turned the radio up to drown out anything else she might say and kicked the speed up a notch. It took several more hours of driving through the night to get back to Las Vegas, during which the betrothed pair barely shared another word. Despite her obvious distress, Annika dozed off and on. Mikhail knew the girl had to be exhausted from her escape effort. That was good; the less energy she had to fight back, the easier it would be to control her.
It wasn’t until the BMW was flying through the Arts District that Annika woke up and asked, “Wait. Where are we going? Aren’t you taking me home?”
“Yes,” Mikhail replied. “My home.”
“You mean I’m not going back to my father?” she questioned. To his surprise, she almost sounded relieved.
“You’re not his problem anymore,” he reminded her again.
He parked outside of a sleek, upscale high-rise complex in the heart of the Arts District. The building shimmered silver in the early light of dawn. The streets were as empty as they ever were in this part of town. Mikhail deftly grabbed his duffel bag before opening the back door.
He fixed Annika with a warning glare and said, “I’m going to remove your ankle ties. If you make one wrong move, you’ll regret it.”
By now, Annika was too tired to argue. She simply nodded and offered her ankles for him to untie. Once she was able to walk, he took out his gun again and pressed it into the small of her back, urging her forward. The young woman obediently walked with him into the lobby of the building. It was dead quiet, with only a single security guard working the entry. Instead of raising an alarm at the sight of a girl held at gunpoint, he merely gave Mikhail a knowing nod as they passed. The guard was a longtime soldier of the Sokolov family. He knew the game.
They stepped into the elevator and rode it all the way to the top floor. On the way, Mikhail couldn’t help but stare at the young woman in the reflective wall. He noted that, even with bags under her eyes, no makeup, and unwashed hair, Annika was stunning. He felt a stirring deep inside himself. The desire to possess her in every way was overwhelming. She would soon be his property, after all, and he ached to steal her innocence for himself. By the time the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to his penthouse apartment, Mikhail was fighting the urge to take her right there and then. It would be so easy, and she was so ripe for the taking.
But not yet. It had been a long night. There would be plenty of time to explore the perks of his engagement later on. He prodded Annika across his stylish but minimalistic penthouse in the dark.
“Nice place,” she murmured. “For a criminal.”
There was so little fight in her words. Mikhail led her to a small second bedroom with an attached bathroom, opened the door, removed her wrist restraints, and shoved her inside. She whirled around, wide-eyed, and tried to run back toward him in a panic. But Mikhail slammed the door shut in her face, hearing her whimper and crumple to the floor on the other side.
“Please don’t leave me here,” she sniffled.
