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ZOYA

T he second Roman stormed into my room, my prison, I knew it was going to end in a fight.

He was pissed and just before the door slammed shut behind him, I caught a glimpse of the hilt of a blade buried in the side of the doorframe.

This was going to get interesting.

I was ready.

I had been ready since Gregor left an hour or so ago.

More than that, I was spoiling for a fight.

There was so much rage, so much anger bubbling up inside of me, I needed an outlet. Who better to unleash my fury on than the arrogant man who had the audacity to think that I would marry him?

That I would just willingly hand him everything I had built on my own.

How dare he think that just because he took me, fucked me, and then rescued me, I somehow owed him my life?

No. That was not how this was going to go.

I owed him nothing except maybe a knife to his throat.

When he was stupid enough to shatter the bed frame, essentially freeing me from the cuff, he made a mistake. That handcuff was the only thing between him and my madness.

I launched myself at him, ready to fight.

My nails were ready to sink into his flesh and rip and claw until I drew blood.

If he expected me to run away like a scared little girl, to give him an excuse to hunt me down like some predator looking for a snack, he had misjudged the situation.

That scared little girl was gone, left in the past.

I was backed into a corner and my only way out was to fight.

The Ivanov men had held me captive in their home, and their wives took care of me. Which meant Gregor had shown his hand and I had nothing left to lose.

Just being here meant I was a liability that they weren’t afraid of anymore. I realized the truth moments after Gregor left. I had two options, but Russia wasn’t one of them.

I could stay and be kept as Roman’s pet, signing all my power, my wealth, and my voice over to him.

Or I could die.

Even in Russia, I was a threat to them. I had allies there, more than they did after both halves of their family moved to this side of the world. Even if I never set a single toe on American soil again, I was a threat.

In this century, I didn’t need physical access to a man to hurt him.

Gregor Ivanov was not going to allow a threat, especially one that knew where he lived, to have the chance to hurt his family again.

He had put all the pieces together. Not just Los Infideles , but my influence and manipulation of Solovyov. He knew that old fool would not have been able to follow Marina across an ocean and still find her.

Hell, he wouldn’t have even known how to set up the meetings with United States senators, let alone figure out who had the power, and who would be more open to bribes.

Gregor had known for months that someone was working behind the scenes—chipping away at his crew, bleeding them dry move by move.

Now he knew it was me.

I’d been hiding in his blind spot the whole time—the little Novikoff sister, too insignificant to register as a threat.

And yet here I was, a direct challenge to his authority, his leadership.

His glaring mistake.

A humiliation he couldn’t let stand.

That was why it was time to eliminate me.

I wasn’t just a problem.

I was the reckoning he should’ve seen coming.

I’d bet Artem agreed.

Gregor probably even thought he was being chivalrous by giving me a choice between being Roman’s kept woman or death.

It made me wonder, though.

How far would Gregor go with this charade?

I assumed the only reason he was keeping it up was for Roman’s sake.

So would Gregor take me to the airfield and then kill me on the plane? Or would I not even get that far?

If I made it all the way to Russia, who would Gregor send to kill me? The Ivanov demon didn’t want to kill me, he wanted to keep me. Or was my refusal enough to change Roman’s mind?

There were so many variables and none of them ended in my freedom.

I didn’t think my refusal was enough to deter Roman.

Not with the way he was looking at me, the anger, frustration and just a little pain reflected in his eyes.

No, he was here to punish me, not kill me.

Still, this entire convoluted situation meant I had nothing to lose.

I refused to lose my independence, so they had to get rid of me, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

I knew I would lose the fight. I just never considered how I would lose the fight.

Roman had me in his arms almost immediately.

He devoured my mouth with savage, filthy hunger—his tongue plunging deep, like he was already fucking me with it, before pinning my body against the wall, every thick, hard muscle demanding my surrender.

Breathing ragged, he had one hand in my hair, pulling my head back, the other on my hip with a too-tight grip, bruises forming under his fingers.

His scent—leather, sweat, and sin—flooded my senses as his cock ground against me like punishment.

The heat rolled off of him in a barely contained inferno.

This wasn’t just anger.

Lust and desire mixed with the anger in his eyes, a primal need, and despite how I wanted to refuse my instincts and deny my desires, my body responded in kind.

Roman was nothing but power and rage, all bottled up and ready to explode.

I should have been terrified, but I wasn’t.

That same potent mix of hate, rage, and need flooded my veins. I did the only thing I could.

I gave in to it.

I didn’t know if we were going to fight or fuck, but what did it matter if he killed me now or Gregor did it later?

When I opened my mouth to scream at him, Roman claimed my lips again.

Why couldn’t his kiss be soft and pleading?

Why couldn’t he be sweet and loving?

I could fight soft and sweet.

I could deny pleading and loving.

But the violent demands in his touch, the power and the control were too much.

They hit like a shot of raw Russian vodka—dangerous, numbing, and dirty enough to make me drunk on him.

This kiss didn’t pretend to be something it wasn’t.

It didn’t need to.

It was far more intoxicating when pure.

He was brute, carnal power—demanding I fuck him with my rage.

Not obedience, but a challenge.

I surrendered to the call.

There was no other option.

I grabbed Roman’s hair, lacing my fingers in the dark locks to pull him closer. My thighs tightened around his waist, trapping him against me, like he had me trapped against the wall.

It wasn’t enough. I needed to make sure he experienced my defiance. I sank my teeth into his lip, and he grunted into the kiss and pressed me harder against the wall, making sure I could feel his cock, hard and ready against my core.

He broke the kiss and stared down at me, hunger in his eyes.

I hated the way he could undo me with a single look. I hated that no matter how much I fought, I couldn’t push him away.

“You’re a bastard,” I spat, twisting against him, feigning like I wanted to get free when all I wanted was that delicious friction against my center.

He saw right through me. He picked me up off the wall and slammed me down on the mattress.

His body lined up with mine, his hands on either side of my head, hovering over me and caging me in, his lips curled into a wicked smile as he leaned down.

I thought he was going to kiss me again.

If he did, I knew I’d be lost to it.

I turned my head away from him and let out a low, growling laugh.

“Are you lying to me, printsessa , or to yourself?” he whispered in my ear as his hips flexed and he pressed his hard cock against my core, giving me more of that incredible friction.

I stifled a moan, but it didn’t matter.

He still heard it. He still knew what he was doing to me.

My hands pressed against his chest as I tried to shove him away, but he didn’t budge.

When I pulled one hand back, ready to slap him, he let it happen. He closed his eyes as he took the impact, and when he opened them again, they were even more intense, more focused.

It was like the shock of pain only encouraged him.

“I think you’re lying to yourself. That ends now.”

“Get off of me,” I said between gritted teeth.

He leaned down again and whispered in my ear before placing a kiss on my neck. “As you wish.”

Faster than anyone had ever moved before, he grabbed both of my wrists and clipped the empty handcuff around my free wrist, then looped the chain around one of the broken wrought iron bars.

All I had to do to get free was sit up, but he had me pinned.

One hand around my throat, holding me down, not cutting off my air, but a constant reminder that he could.

The other moving down my body over my clothes, caressing my breast, smiling like a demon cat when he felt how hard my nipple was.

He continued to move down my body, slowly petting me, learning my every curve.

When he got to the hem of my shirt, he ripped it up, and before the cool air even touched my skin, his mouth was there, sucking and biting at the hardened bud.

I fought the speeding up of my heartbeat and the warmth spreading from his mouth to the rest of my body, but it was impossible.

His hand caressed my skin again, moving down and then sliding under the waistband of my sweatpants. I tried to twist away from his fingers, not wanting him to discover what I knew he would.

It was useless.

His fingers pushed between my pussy lips, finding me drenched and aching for him.

He didn’t say a word; if anything, he started sucking on my breast harder before letting go with an audible pop and moving over to the other one, nuzzling my shirt out of the way with his nose so he didn’t have to let go of my throat, or my cunt.

“Roman.” I meant for his name to be a warning, but it came out as a gasp of pleasure.

Using two fingers, he spread my lips and flicked his finger over my clit. My heart raced faster and the heat from his lips spread up my neck to my face, searing my cheeks as my breath became shallow.

“Are you still going to pretend you don’t want this?” he growled.

I kicked my hips up, trying in vain to get away from his hold.