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“Sign it.” I glared at the marriage license on my desk.
Honestly, I was just as happy to forge her signature, but I had a point to prove.
The priest stood by the door and watched this all play out in patient silence. I could almost guarantee that this was not his first shotgun wedding. Plus, I was paying him handsomely for his trouble. As for Roman, his eyes bounced between me and Sloane like this was a tennis match. But even he knew this situation was too volatile for him to intervene. Mymalishkawould find no allies in this room.
The hate in her eyes would haunt my dreams for the rest of our lives, but I had to do this. I needed to stake my claim on her. Mind, body, and soul.
We were the darkest of soul mates. I knew I was forever seared into her mind since the day I kidnapped her. Her body was mine from the moment I’d impregnated her. Her soul would never forget mine now that we were bound together in the eyes of our deity.
Now I just had to make it legal in the eyes of American law.
“Malishka,”I growled. “You are either with me or against me, and if you are against me, you will not like what I will do.”
Sloane pressed her forehead to the barrel with flashing eyes. “Go on! Do it. If you’re going to kill me, stop being a fucking pussy about it and get it over with.”
She was trembling, her beautiful body shaking despite her bravado. She was scared. And she should be. But she was also smart enough to know I wouldn’t kill her…
Yet.
Not while she was carrying my child.
My cock hardened in my slacks. Fuck she was beautiful. Even defiant and afraid, I wanted to bend her over and rail her. Her fear was like an aphrodisiac to me.
I shifted into Russian to thank the priest for his time, reminded him of the very generous sum I had donated to the church earlier that day, and promised to drop off the signed paperwork. I then told Roman to see him out.
Once we were alone, I glared at Sloane. “Are you going to sign it or not?”
Stunned, I saw that she was nibbling on her lip like she was contemplating her options. There weren’t any fucking options.
In order to keep her focused, I pulled back the hammer.
Eyes widening in alarm, Sloane wrapped her arms around her belly as if to protect the baby and screamed, “Fine! I’ll fucking sign it!”
Tears poured down her face as she snatched up the pen, scrawled a half signature on the line, and threw the writing device down. She then stared blankly at me, as if to ask,“Are you fucking happy now, asshole?”
I took in her radiance, her heaving chest that showed my name etched into her skin, the way the light sparked in her watery eyes, her quivering lips so full and kissable. I had broken her yet again. But I also knew how to put her back together with two words.
“Good girl,” I whispered.
She covered her face and slowly crumpled to the floor, as if the weight of my words were too much to bear. She sobbed uncontrollably, pouring out all her frustration and anxiety into the rug.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She tried my patience, true, and I let her get away with shit I would never allow another, but love was nothing if not complicated and dramatic.
“You don’t love me. You’ve forced me to marry you, and you don’t even love me.”
Her words hurt my heart, as did her tantrum. This stress wasn’t good for her or the baby.
She might not realize it, but she had matured me. I was a little more tempered, a little more patient, a little more forgiving.
I had to be, for the both of us.
I set aside my own anger for the movement and joined her on the floor. “Come here,” I murmured and gathered her in my arms.
Sloane didn’t fight me. If anything, she melted into my embrace and clung to me as if her life depended on it, as if I were her knight in shining armor sent to protect her from the dragon that plagued her.
Sadly, I was one in the same.
I was both her hero and her monster.
