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NATASHA
I’m jolted awake by a sharp knock on the door of my new jail cell. I slam my fists on the plush mattress in the private suite at Dima’s house where I slept last night. “Fuck off, Dima. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
My skin crawls at the memory of showing up on Dima’s doorstep yesterday. The cocksucker looked at me like I was a piece of dirt on the bottom of his shoe. How the hell do you marry someone you detest so much?
After making a snide comment about the Guns N’ Roses T-shirt I had on, he disappeared into his office. I didn’t see him until hours later when he found me sitting cross-legged on the floor of the library playing my imaginary guitar after unsuccessfully trying to find a phone. When I asked him if I could call my mother, he flat-out ignored me like the asshole he is.
I’d love to find a phone and bury it in his skull.
The door to the suite slams open, and Dima appears, fully coiffed and dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo. “I thought I told you to get dressed.” He crosses the room, his lips twisted into a snarl, and yanks the comforter off of me.
A flicker of annoyance flashes in his eyes when he sees I’m still wearing Luka’s Guns N’ Roses T-shirt.
It’s the same shirt I wore when I left his house yesterday.
The one I refuse to strip out of anytime soon.
“I told you to burn that fucking thing.”
I wrap my arms over my chest, taking a deep breath to settle the blood simmering in my veins. A faint whiff of Luka’s cologne infiltrates my nostrils, and I pull it deeper so it can infuse my lungs with his scent.
Dima holds up a few dress bags. “Since you decided to destroy the other ones I sent, here are the last choices. Don’t keep me waiting.”
“I don’t really give a damn about your schedule.” I grab the comforter and pull it back over me. “You may as well go by yourself because there’s no way I’m getting into a car with you.”
I watch his spine stiffen, the vein in his neck pulsing. If I push him a little harder, maybe he’ll erupt.
God, I want to see him erupt and then turn to ash.
I smirk at his irate expression, noticing that his face is free of any scars or markings. There are no battle wounds apparent on his perfectly chiseled jaw. My eyes drop to his hands. Perfectly manicured, as I expected.
Dima walks toward me, a fiery glare glimmering in the depths of his eyes. I clutch the comforter, wondering what he’s going to do, if he’s going to grab me or hurl the nightstand lamp across the room. Anything to show me that it’s blood, not ice, running through his veins. Luka runs white-hot. Does Dima have any heat inside of him? Or is he as dead as he seems on the surface?
“You will come to the wedding. And you’ll play the part of the gracious fiancée.” The corners of his lips curl slightly upward. “Do you know why?”
I turn my face away from him in defiance. Fuck him if he thinks I’ll answer. I tug the comforter tight against my chin until it’s suddenly torn from my hands. I gasp, whipping my head back around.
“If you don’t get your ass out of this bed and put on one of these dresses, I will drive to your house, find your mother, and slit her throat.”
“You are a disgusting excuse for a human being.”
“Actually, I’m rather merciful. Remember, Natasha. I could’ve done the same thing to you.”
“You would never have done it because you don’t ever get your hands dirty, do you? You always delegate that work to everyone else.”
“Does it matter, if I get what I want in the end?” He lifts an eyebrow, so cool, so controlled.
I want to see him lose his shit.
I want to find out if there is any fire raging deep inside of him.
But judging from the look in his eyes, he’s a cold fish.
He pulls a velvet jewelry box out of his jacket pocket and drops it on the nightstand. “When you come downstairs, I want this on your finger. If you decide not to wear it, I will cut off both of your ring fingers and you’ll find out how miserable it’ll be to play your precious guitar without them.”
I leap out of the bed, my limbs itching to punch and kick the shit out of him. “You’re such bullshit, Dima. You won’t do anything, will you? You’ll just give the orders. Well, guess what? I’m not an order taker.”
“Let me explain this so that it’s crystal clear to you.” Dima hovers over me, his eyes void of any spark or emotion. He’s controlled and calculating. Seemingly unshakeable. “This is business, Natasha. You don’t always get to pick your partners. As part of the Resnov family, this job falls on you. And if you test me, you and your family will suffer.”
