Page 15 of Bratva’s Stolen Bride (Obsessed Bratva Bosses #1)

PAYTON

He looks me up and down, and huffs out a furious breath. The phone clatters to the floor.

My sister is okay, and she knows I’m fine too. The weight from my shoulders is wonderful, but that’s all mixed up with my gut churning. Feliks said I was his, and I went against his express instructions.

I’m not his good girl.

The silence between us is unbearable. A ticking bomb before it explodes.

“Sorry,” I mutter eventually.

His brows lower even further, and if a man can have an internal battle raging inside of him, that’s Feliks right now.

“You will be,” he snarls, and it’s a lightning strike, burning down my spine.

Jaw clenched, he seizes my hand and drags me with him into the bedroom. Fear squeezes my throat as I look up at Feliks’ eyes, which have gone as wild as a winter storm at sea.

Abruptly, he drops my hand and strips off his shorts. I go bug-eyed.

“Put the white dress on,” he snaps as he pulls on a pair of pale tan linen trousers.

“What?” I ask stupidly.

“White. Dress. Now.” His tone has me scrambling to obey.

By the time I’ve managed to get it over my head, my hands shaking, Feliks is wearing a white shirt open at the collar, a tan suit, and shoes, and is watching me impatiently, no sign of humour or affection on his face.

The next thing I know, he’s lifted and tossed me over his shoulder.

“Feliks!” I yell. Well. Squeal.

He makes for the front door we entered through, and I uselessly wriggle. His arm is braced tight over my thighs, and my chest is draped over his strong back. I’m hit by the fresh warm air as we leave the air-conditioned house, the door slamming behind us.

“Feliks, what are you doing?” I ask, propping myself up with my hands on his buttocks. He does have an exceptional bottom, even if he’s a grumpy kidnapper.

He doesn’t answer, but I recognise the path we took when he drove us from the jetty and distress crowds my mind. Is he getting rid of me? Taking me somewhere else? What does “mine” really mean?

But instead of going to the old pickup or continuing that direction on foot, he takes a smaller track.

“Feliks?” I try again, but he still refuses to reply. “I’m so sorry, but I had to talk to my sister. She’ll have been beside herself.”

“I know,” he says abruptly.

That’s good, I guess?

“So, why don’t you put me down?”

He doesn’t reply, and I crane my neck to look around at where we’re going. Moments later, we’re through the trees and the path opens out to another beach, maybe even more beautiful than the one at the beach house.

In the middle of the sand there’s a wooden arch covered in flowers and draped white fabric. I gape as Feliks strides over to it, stopping abruptly underneath.

He slides me down his body, rucking up the long dress I’m wearing, but I can feel every part of him, hard, on all my soft curves. Including the hardness between his legs that presses into me.

By the time my bare feet touch the sand, I’m hot everywhere, and squirming.

Feliks still doesn’t say anything, but he takes a step away, a bit reluctantly, as though being out of arm’s reach is as painful for him as it is for me.

Strange thought. This man feels as essential to me as air, water, my sisters, and my eReader.

I take in our surroundings. The flower-covered arch, the lines of floaty white fabric. White dress. Linen suit. Gorgeous, romantic setting.

My brain can’t process it, because the pieces together are even more baffling. “Was this set up for that couple’s wedding?”

He nods, his face lined with tension.

I look up into his face. “I don’t understand.”

“Yes, you do,” he says harshly. “You’re a smart girl. You know that I meant it.”

Mine .

Recognition flashes between us. I can hardly dare to think what he seems to be saying. Us. Getting married.

A breeze catches my mostly-dry hair, and tugs at a lock, but before I can I push it out of my eyes, Feliks has stroked his fingers down the side of my face and tucked the unruly wisp behind my ear.

“That conversation started a ticking clock, Payton. Greenwich, the man your sister was with, is part of the London Mafia Syndicate. So is Richmond, the kingpin of the area you live in. And if they turn up here and try to take you from me, I’ll kill them.

It might be days until they arrive, but probably it’ll be hours.

” He takes a deep breath. “If you’re my wife, we might be able to avoid bloodshed.

Maybe they’ll respect that, and I won’t be forced to protect what’s mine . ”

My mouth has fallen open. I’m gaping like a very specific land-dwelling, Bratva boss-loving fish.

Loving?

Wait. What?

Can I love him after less than twenty-four hours? That’s insane, isn’t it?

Or fate , whispers my heart. He feels like the protective shell I should always have had. Not a fish after all, but a hermit crab that has spent its life naked, finally crawling into an iridescent shell with room to grow.

He’s totally different to me. Hard and difficult and morally grey at best.

But we fit. More than any person I’ve ever met, Feliks is a balance to me.

I know what love is. I love my sisters, and in the space of less than a day, Feliks is like that, but with a sexy extra, and a depth of affection that scares me.

“We get married to ensure they don’t try to take me from you, and then you won’t kill them,” I say.

“If there’s one thing I’ve heard about the London Mafia Syndicate, it’s that they value marriage.” He takes my hand. Interlacing our fingers, he swipes his thumb over my palm, then possessively over my knuckles.

And my god, he’s never looked as attractive as he does right now. Sincere and potent and yet a bit vulnerable.

“If you really want to leave, I’ll…” He stops, as though he can’t bring himself to say more. “But if you’ll stay with me, be my wife. Those are the options, and you need to decide quickly, because they’ll be on their way. Accept that I’ll kill them, or be my wife.”

His wife. I want that from the bottom of my soul, but he’s forgotten about all the other non-mafia issues. “What about Ivan?”

Feliks looks away, his brow creasing. “He’s dead.”

“But the man Hayley was with?—”

“Probably killed him,” Feliks interjects.

That blasts through me, but it’s a wind at sea, sweeping everything clean. All that remains is relief that Feliks doesn’t have to bloody his hands with his son’s end, and Ivan won’t come after Hayley or me again. I’ll never have to pretend to like him.

There’s just one question left. One thing between me and throwing myself into foolish but hopeful marriage with this gruff, grumpy, kind man who I’m besotted with. Maybe more.

“What about love?”