Page 6 of Desperate Crimes (Mergers & Acquisitions #6)

P resent—On the Parkway An Hour After Lucy and Balor’s Party

The road hums beneath us, a low growl in my ears, steady and relentless like the beast inside me finally stretching its limbs after years in chains.

The dashboard lights cast a soft glow over her face—so peaceful.

Too peaceful for what she’s done to me. What she is to me.

Her head tilts slightly as the SUV curves along the coast, and I reach over without thinking, adjusting the pillow I tucked beneath her neck like she’s fragile, breakable, something precious I’ve already defiled just by touching.

She doesn’t stir.

Her perfume still clings to the air—something soft and expensive with just a hint of spice.

Lemon verbena and roses.

I’ve smelled it on her before, in passing, on silk scarves and satin pillows left in hotel rooms she thought were private.

I know her.

Better than she knows herself.

Every curve of her body, every expression she makes when she’s bored, when she’s angry, when she’s pretending to listen.

I’ve memorized it all, filed it away in a corner of my mind that’s always been hers.

Untouched by anyone else. Sacred.

I’ve waited so long for this moment.

So fucking long.

Waited while she teased the world with red-carpet smiles and barely there dresses.

Waited while she let pathetic, unworthy boys touch her hand and dream of things they’d never deserve.

I kept my distance.

Played the part.

The quiet one.

The good family friend.

But I’m not good.

Not even close.

I’ve heard the stories about unhinged men—obsessive, broken bastards who claim women like trophies. But me?

I make them look like fucking amateurs.

Because I’m not stealing Leanna Volkov from some shitty life, from bruises or bars or poverty.

Nope.

I’m ripping her out of paradise.

From her glass castle, her manicured world, where everyone bows and flatters and treats her like a doll. I’m taking her from silk sheets and private jets.

From Daddy’s approval and Uncle Josef’s security team’s watchful eye.

From a world where she’s coddled and pampered like a lapdog in designer chains.

And I’m going to show her what it means to feel.

To bleed. To want. To burn.

What it means to be mine.

The scent of salt curls through the cracked window like a ghost slipping inside my jacket.

Briny. Wild.

Sharp enough to slice through the tension thrumming just beneath my skin.

We’re close now.

So close I can already feel it.

The land knows me. The cliffs hum with my pulse. The road curves like a secret, winding through pine and fog as we ascend into my kingdom— our kingdom now.

Just a few more minutes and we’ll be hidden away, locked in the estate I carved out with my own hands.

For her.

Every room tailored to her taste.

Every lock, every camera, every inch of the security system designed with them in mind—the ones who’ll come searching.

But they won’t find her.

I press the button on the dashboard.

The heavy, repurposed barn doors effectively disguise the steel behind them. It’s aesthetically pleasing, but security is always the reason behind my decisions.

This place is a fortress. It was designed for that reason. Everything works as it should, and there’s hardly any sound at all as the garage slides open. Just a low mechanical groan that I pick up because I’m listening for it. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be noticeable.

I step lightly on the gas, pulling into the parking space, and then I press the button again. Those same doors close quietly, swallowing us into the dark like the mouth of a beast.

Motion-sensor lights flicker to life—cold, sterile. Clean. Controlled.

Just the way I planned it.

I turn the engine off in the SUV, and I suck in a breath.

This is it. We’re here. Sealed inside together.

Locked.

Hidden.

Safe.

Then I sit still for a second, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ache.

And I continue to breathe.

Slow. Deep. Centered.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long it doesn’t feel real.

But she’s here.

In my orbit.

In my world.

And everything is about to change.

My whole body is thrumming with electricity, anticipation riding my spine like a live wire. I feel alive in a way I never do in courtrooms or meetings or boardrooms filled with weak men pretending they matter.

This is what matters.

Her.

I step out of the truck. My shoes echo against the concrete as I walk to the passenger side, each step measured and reverent.

Like I’m approaching an altar.

Because she is an altar.

Leanna fucking Volkov. Mine.

I open the door.

And there she is.

Laid out like temptation incarnate.

The red dress clings to her. Like it was painted on— low at the neckline, high on the thigh, slit just enough to show a glimpse of heaven and the path to hell.

It’s obscene.

It’s perfect.

I’m so hard it hurts.

Leanna is what the world might call voluptuous. But that word’s too small for her.

She’s lush. Full.

A wet dream with a pulse.

Tits that defy gravity.

Hips made for grabbing.

A mouth that could ruin lives if she ever learned how to wield it properly .

Her sandy blonde hair spills over her shoulders in loose waves, kissed with just the right amount of highlights—golden strands that glint under the LED lights like fire and honey.

I know the salon she goes to. I know what scent they use when they wash her hair.

Her lashes flicker, and my heart stutters.

Not yet, Princess. Sleep a little longer.

I take a moment to just look at her. Let my eyes drink her in.

Her skin glows, even in unconsciousness. Her lips are slightly parted. Her chest rises and falls in slow, even breaths.

And her eyes— when they open —will cut straight through me.

Dark as night, like most of the Volkovs, but hers? Hers are different.

They’re volcanic.

Molten gold flecks swim in all that darkness.

Lava and sin and fire.

My fire.

She’s pure fucking kryptonite.

And she’ll wake soon.

Disoriented.

Scared.

Maybe furious.

Good.

Let her fight me. Let her scream. Let her call me a monster, a psycho, a bastard.

Especially when she learns she can’t hide her secrets from me.

I can’t fucking wait. I want her so bad.

But I want her ripped open and real.

Because when the screaming stops, when the fight drains out of her, when the shock wears off and she sees the truth in my eyes— that I would burn the world for her —then she’ll understand.

I’ll be there, waiting.

Ready to catch her when the world no longer makes sense.

When all she has left is me.

Unhinged?

Maybe.

But don’t confuse obsession with ignorance.

I know exactly what I’m doing.

I know the rules of this world.

And I’m breaking every goddamn one.

For her.

Leanna.

My Princess.

My captive.

My queen.

And it all starts now.