Page 10 of Precious Hazard (Perfectly Imperfect #11)

“Two… I’ll simply kill you . Make your body disappear without a trace.

That would certainly solve more than one of my problems.” The death threat is a bluff, but I let her see the truth of my next words.

“I will not have my loyalty or commitment questioned. I will obey my don and marry the woman of his choosing. But that won’t be necessary, of course, if my intended bride isn’t among the living anymore. ”

That plump lip beneath my thumb starts quivering.

Tara blinks, and two tears slide down her cheeks.

My eyes trace their paths over her flawless, rosy skin.

Not so tough, after all. I knew she wouldn’t be.

Although, in the minute after I shot that son of a bitch for hitting her, she surprised me.

She stood perfectly still. Didn’t scream.

Didn’t flee like most other women would have.

But the two glistening droplets making tracks across her flesh don’t lie, even though Tara remains mute.

“So my advice to you is to take option three,” I continue. “In less than two months, you’ll walk down the aisle. You’ll smile, and when prompted, you’ll say ‘I do.’ Do you understand?”

Another tear breaks its confinement, falling like scalding acid on my skin. Any second now, her tough girl act will dissolve, and she’ll go into a complete meltdown. She’ll agree to the marriage, and she’ll beg me to get rid of that gun.

Her lips part ever so slightly, like she’s ready to utter the words. For a fleeting moment, the tip of her tongue connects with the pad of my thumb. That faintest touch sends a jolt of electricity straight to my cock.

It takes me several heartbeats to register the pain.

It’s not in my dick, but rather my thumb, trapped between Tara’s sharp, white teeth.

The crazy woman bit me! I yank my hand back and lunge toward her, wrapping my other hand around her throat.

Leaning into her face, I growl, “You’re a damn savage. Just like the rest of your lot.”

“Fuck you!” she snaps while her hands fly to my face and she tries to jam my eyes back into my skull with her thumbs. “You tricked me, you bastard!”

“ Ma sei impazzita! ” I grab her wrists, pulling her hands off me. My actions force her off-balance, and she falls forward, bumping her forehead into mine.

“Ouch!” she cries out and tries to free her hands.

I tighten my grip on her slender wrists, not enough to hurt her, but sufficiently so she can’t escape. Her forearms get trapped between our bodies as I pull her against my chest.

A big error on my part.

Our foreheads are still pressed together, and the tip of her tiny nose is brushing mine. I have no choice but to stare directly into the mystical green orbs that are a mere hairsbreadth away. They stare back.

The sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo engulfs me, further fucking with my mind. I would have expected the stench of brimstone and burned sage from a witch like her, definitely not mouthwatering summer berries.

Her warm, rapid breaths fan my face, setting off tingles across my lips. Trying to kill the sensation before it spreads, I scrape my tongue and teeth over my bottom lip. The only thing it does is make me yearn to find out how she tastes. Sweet or bitter? Probably a fusion of both.

And then, a different craving surfaces. I want to know what it would be like to have this hellcat in my bed. Would she purr? Mewl sweetly? Or would she hiss and scratch my back?

Knowing Tara as little as I do, I’m betting on both in this, also.

“Let go of me, Satan,” she sneers through her teeth.

I raise an eyebrow. “Satan?”

“DeVille. Devil. Satan. Suits you to a tee.”

A corner of my mouth twitches. I shouldn’t find her so damn amusing. She’s feral, rude, and childish. The exact opposite of the women I’m attracted to. So why the fuck am I fantasizing about having her under me? About ravaging that sassy mouth just to shut her up?

Reluctantly, I release her. The moment she’s free, she pushes away, scooching as far from me on the seat as possible.

Her short-sleeved white top is spattered with blood, and there are smears on her face, too.

I grab a box of tissues and a bottle of water from the door pocket and set the items on the seat between us.

“Use this to clean yourself up.”

She doesn’t look at me as she pulls out a tissue and begins to gingerly wipe her left cheek. The one that’s reddened by Katrakis’s hand but unmarred by his blood.

I clench my teeth and grab another tissue, splashing a bit of water on the napkin. “Look at me.”

“Nope.”

“Tara.”

“What?” She turns toward me.

I seize her chin once more, holding her head in place as I clean the blood off her smooth skin.

The woman glares at me the entire time I carefully swipe the wet tissue over the right side of her face and around those luminous, green eyes. I work slowly, lingering as I gently wipe her chin, nose, the shell of her ear… everywhere, even after all traces of blood have been removed.

Tara says nothing, just continues to stare at me.

She stays motionless, but the air around her is constantly shifting.

It’s almost as if a skittish, feral cat is frozen in place in front of me.

Tiny goose bumps have broken out across her arms, making the fine hairs there stand on end.

Just like a cat’s fur tends to do moments before the creature pounces.

“You cold?”

“Yes.”

I discard the soiled tissue and shrug out of my suit jacket. “Here. Put this on. I’ll turn up the heat.”

A look that’s part disgust, part longing crosses her face as she glances at the jacket in my hand. She flattens her lips, then snatches the garment and puts it on.

“Better?”

“A little,” she says, turning away. “Why do you care if I’m cold?”

“I don’t. But you ending up sick and bedridden doesn’t work with my plans.”

Tara hums and wraps the jacket tighter around herself.

The rest of our drive passes in silence. Popov’s place is outside the city, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. The air around us remains charged.

“I’ve got a few business things I need to handle in the next couple of days,” I say as we’re nearing the Serb’s compound. “But I’m free on Tuesday. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What for?”

The BMW stops at the massive gate blocking the entrance to the grounds. I lower the privacy partition and let Riggo know that I’ll handle getting us in.

A security guy approaches, but before he can knock on the driver’s window, I slide mine down and catch the man’s attention.

“Ms. Popov had a slight car problem tonight, so I’m dropping her off.”

The guy glances at Tara, then gives me a nod and yells something over his shoulder in Serbian.

“Why would you be picking me up, Satan?” Tara asks again once the car advances past the guardhouse.

“Dinner.”

“I’m not going to dinner with you.”

“Of course you are. Otherwise, Drago might get suspicious when, in about a month, we tell him we’re getting married. As it stands, our secondary meet-cute sparked undeniable attraction between us, and we’re eager to see where it leads.”

“Do you really think that my brother will believe that crap?”

“He will. Because, let’s be honest, you’re not exactly known for your thought-out decisions, Tara. Trust me. The background we have on you is very thorough.”

The car slows down and stops in a circular driveway in front of a four-story mansion.

I get out and come around to open Tara’s door.

Ignoring my outstretched hand, and with her lips tightly pressed together, she all but sprints out of the vehicle toward the house.

At some point during our tussle, her hair must have come undone.

Or maybe she yanked the tie out herself.

However it happened, her dark strands are now whipped up in a blustering gust of wind.

Just before she reaches the front door, she stops and turns on her heel.

The coldness of the glare she directs at me easily rivals tonight’s breeze.

Standing there, essentially drowning in the too-big jacket, bathed in the warm glow of the windows on either side of the main door, her scowling expression gets kinda spoiled.

But my balls still ache at the resultant view.

She’s beautiful.

A vengeful she-cat, bearing her canines and sharp claws.

“Mark my words, Arturo DeVille.” Her vitriol carries on the wind while she points her finger at me. At least, that’s what I imagine she’s doing. It’s hard to tell with the sleeves of my jacket swallowing her entire hand. “I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

“Of that, gattina , I don’t have the slightest doubt.”

***

The streetlights are out, and not a single window is lit. Only a sliver of the moon, mostly hidden by clouds, provides enough light to guide my steps. The air is crisp, hinting at imminent snow. It’s freezing.

“Asya!” I yell as I run down the deserted, pitch-dark alley.

The ground is hard and cold. My limbs are numb, even though I’ve been running for hours. Searching.

“Asya!”

My toe catches on something on the concrete, making me stumble and lose my stride, but I recover and continue running. Shouting my sister’s name.

Weeks. It’s been weeks since she vanished without a trace.

The days and nights have bled together, becoming an endless, horrifying oblivion I can’t escape.

I’ve questioned, bribed, or beaten every rat in this damn city who could possibly shed light on her whereabouts.

All without success. No one has seen her.

No one has a clue. She simply disappeared into thin air.

“Asya!” I shout at the top of my lungs.

There is no answer. Just the wind blowing empty soda cans and scraps of paper along the desolate road I blindly run down.

It’s my fault. I should have protected my sisters better. Should have had tighter, twenty-four-seven security around them. Then, the girls never would’ve been able to sneak out. They’re my responsibility. Mine to watch over. Mine to keep safe.

I failed.

So I run. Searching in the dark. Searching until I find something.

Until I get her back.

I can’t stop. I have to find—

I spring up in bed, covered in sweat. Heart jackhammering against my ribcage. It’s still dark outside, without even a faint ray of moonlight to break the murk. Reaching for the nightstand, I grab my phone to check the time. Four a.m.

“Great.”

Tossing the phone on the covers beside me, I drop back onto the pillow.

Five more hours until I need to be at the office.

Might as well use the time to check my emails or go over the new contract that dropped into my inbox yesterday.

There’s no way I’ll be able to go back to sleep now. Not after that dream.

Nightmares have plagued me since the day Asya went missing.

Intensified tenfold when Sienna swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills because of her grief and nearly died.

They continued for months, long after Asya was found safe and sound.

Before tonight, I haven’t had one in over a year. Something must have triggered it.

I just don’t know what.