Page 50 of Twisted Tyrant


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I open the desk drawers and rummage through them all until my fingers close around a pair of scissors. I pull them out. Luka obviously didn’t search the room for potential weapons when he locked me in here like a caged rat. Shame on me for not checking the drawers sooner.

With my other hand, I hang the dresses over the door and go to work shredding the shit out of them. Stones and beads fly into the air as I slice the fabric. I work fast to mutilate the gowns beyond repair and recognition. Minutes later, I examine my handiwork. A surge of anger floods my veins when I stare at the shreds of fabric that blanket the floor.

“Fuck you, Dima.” I finally feel empowered and a little bit free. I fist the scissors and lunge for the last dress. I drive the weapon straight into the center of the gown, then continue my assault by plunging the tip into the wooden door where the dress hangs. I smirk at the destruction I just caused.

I’m definitely bringing the scissors with me. You never know what other kind of tailoring I might have to do in preparation for this wedding.

The thought of the devastation I can do with those sharp blades actually makes my lips lift.

Luka walks into the safe room, surveying the mess scattered all over the floor. He turns his slightly amused gaze on me. “I’m sure the tailor would have done any alterations you wanted.”

“Fuck the tailor. I’m not wearing any of these.”

“I already told you I don’t give a damn if you wear a fucking potato sack.”

I wrap my arms around myself to keep from shivering. Luka’s tattered Guns ‘N Roses T-shirt hangs off my frame, the worn fabric soft against my skin. It looks rough and gritty but somehow is comforting.

Kind of how I feel about Luka.

“I won’t marry him. I’d rather die than be his wife.” I clench and unclench my clammy fingers, bile rising in the back of my throat when I think of Dima sliding an engagement ring onto my finger.

“Keep fighting it and you just might.”

“You’d really let that happen?” I snap. “You’d be okay with someone putting a bullet in my head because I didn’t want to marry your brother?”

Luka’s eyes rake over my body, flickering with darkness when they land on the T-shirt. “What I want doesn’t matter. It never did.”

I inch toward him on legs that feel like overcooked spaghetti strands. I take a chance and reach out to touch with a tentative hand. A shock of electricity sizzles my fingertips when I graze the swirls of ink adorning his corded bicep.

“Stop.”

“Why?” I slide my palm over his smooth skin. His muscles tense but he doesn’t yank his arm away from me. “Are you really okay with him touching me, Luka? With him fucking me?”

Luka’s lips twist, his eyes glittering with fire. “I don’t give a damn what he does to you.”

“Liar. You are a liar.” I swallow hard, my pulse hammering against my throat at his nearness. The intoxicating scent of sandalwood mixed with sage makes me woozy with desire, and oblivious to the danger he poses. “You don’t want to give me up to him. Why can’t you say it? Why won’t you just tell me the truth, dammit?”

“You want the truth? You want to know how I really feel about you?”

Luka dips his head down low and grips my shoulders. His hardened gaze freezes over everything that lies in the depths of those turbulent ice blue pools. His lips are so close that I can capture them with my own and pull him close, never to let him go.

“You’re not my problem anymore, Natasha. Get the hell out of my life.”

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