Page 15 of Desperate Crimes

The way her dress dipped between her breasts like a dare.

The way her hair fell in those soft, deliberate waves made for a man’s fist.

The way she smiled. Like the world was hers for the taking.

Well, it’s not. Not without me, anyway.

She’s mine.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

But she will.

She’ll learn that obsession is a kind of worship.

That the dark doesn’t always mean danger—it can mean devotion.

That I’ve sculpted a world with her at the center, and I will burn down anything that tries to steal her from me.

Even her own name.

If I have to lie? I’ll do it.

If I have to chain her heart to mine with silk or steel? I’ve got both.

If I have to make her forget everything but my touch? I’m already making plans.

She’ll scream, sure.

Fight me. Hate me.

But love—real love—isn’t soft.

It doesn’t come in daylight.

It’s made in blood and tears and need.

And she’ll need me.

She already does.

She’ll love me.

If I have to use every trick I know and invent a few more? That’s fine with me.

So, let them all rage.

Let Adrik Volkov hunt.

Let the whole goddamn world come knocking.

They won’t find her.

Not until she’s broken open and remade by my hands.

Because Leanna Volkov doesn’t belong to the world anymore.

She belongs to me.