Page 10 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

Fedya found everything about this woman fascinating: her anger, her irritation, her impatience, and even the poorly disguised fear in her eyes. Her chin was lifted, her jaw locked, and her muscles were stiff as her back hit the wall.

She tried desperately to hide the unease she felt from his revelation of his identity, but he could feel it rolling off her in waves. He could see it in the tension in her shoulders, from the twitching of her fingers.

Her hair was all over her shoulders, wavy strands decorating the sides of her face and neck. Her dress was still immaculate and her cheek was still stained with the lipstick she’d smeared off after he kissed her earlier.

She was so goddamn beautiful it was messing with him.

Even now, even as she looked at him with so many emotions he didn’t think possible at the same time. Shock, fear, irritation, anger, uncertainty, betrayal, worry, anxiety—all rolled into the downward curl of her lips and the deep furrow nestled between her brows.

Then an unexpected laugh forced its way out of her throat. The sound pierced Fedya’s ears, caressed his eardrums, and touched the beating thing in his chest. His throat tightened with the desire to hear it again.

“Oh my god,” she said, clutching her head between her hands like it weighed a thousand bricks. “I think I’m losing it.”

“You are not losing it.”

Her gaze snapped to him, her eyes furious and wild, but the caution hiding behind those green irises couldn’t be denied. At least, Fedya could give that to her. She was smart enough to be fearful of him, even though she was trying pretty damn hard to prove otherwise.

“No, I am,” she laughed again. It was derisive, bitter.

“I have to be. Just three days ago, I watched a cold-blooded killer snuff the life out of another man with a smirk on his face. Only to be dragged and humiliated by my own father, who had now sold me to him for guns ,” she said, spitting the last word with such acid he was surprised her tongue wasn’t burnt.

“And now, I’ve had the sickening pleasure of realizing that my so-called husband isn’t even who I thought he was.

I’m married to a Nikolai who has threatened to kill me, and you think I’m not losing it? ”

Fedya raised a brow. “Don’t be ungrateful. Hundreds of women would kill to be in your shoes.”

Maeve bristled, and he loved it. He loved the way her hands curled into fists, the way her jaw throbbed as if she was trying not to slap him, and the way her eyes burned into him with a malice that thrummed in his own veins.

“You expect me to be grateful that I’m married to a monster?” She took a step towards him. “You disgust me.”

Fedya’s smile was dark. “Careful now. You shouldn’t talk to your husband with such disrespect.”

“You are not my husband.”

Fedya was growing bored of her incessant denial of reality.

He closed the distance between them before she could say another word, and he took hold of her jaw, not painfully but firmly enough that she couldn’t escape his grasp.

His fingers pressed against her skin, forcing her to look up at him.

Her defiance didn’t waver; if anything, it intensified.

He admired it. Admire the way fury spilled across her eyes, burning into him with an intentional glare, even as she stood before a man who could crush her world with a single word.

But admiration didn’t mean tolerance, and Fedya’s patience was starting to thin beyond normal.

He may have found her beautiful—far more than he’d anticipated—and deemed her as his in every strategic and legal sense, but he didn’t find her denial of their union cute.

He wasn’t a fan of any kind of disrespect, and in that last hour since he’d married her, he couldn’t count the number of times she’d tested his patience.

“I told you not to touch me,” she hissed, her voice low, biting into his skin.

“Listen to me, Maeve,” he said, leaning in a fraction, his grip unrelenting. “I don’t think you understand what you’ve walked into—”

“I didn’t walk into it, you moron—”

His grip on her jaw tightened. “I don’t care if you were forced into it or not.

The fact remains that you are my wife. You belong to me now.

And what that means is that I can and will do whatever I want to you.

That means I can touch you—” He brushed his thumb along the edge of her cheek, and her eyes flashed, but she didn’t flinch.

“—or do whatever the fuck I see fit with you. Your life is mine now. Your mind, your body, your soul, your loyalty. They’re all mine now.

Yet, I won’t do a damn thing to you that you won’t end up begging for.

” He felt her stiffen beneath his touch then, and he was pleased that the impact of his words was registering in that pretty head of hers.

“You’ll crawl to me eventually. Because what do you hate right now?

I’ll make you learn to need. And the sooner you accept this, the sooner you accept the reality that there’s no way out of this, the better. ”

That did it. She was shaking, her entire body shuddering with a fury he could feel himself.

He released her jaw with a sharp flick of his wrist as if her skin had burned him, when in reality, it was the opposite.

She had ignited something in him—a dark, possessive thing curling around his heart like smoke, trapping his lungs in its hand, forcing its way into his brain.

And all she had to do was stand there and consume him with her first glance.

Then he stepped back, placing his hands behind his back with a pleasant smile on his handsome face, like he hadn’t just carved scars into her with his words alone.

He noticed that Cormac had given her to him without any luggage or personal items. His eyes briefly scanned her figure, lingering on the width of her shoulders, the roundness of her breasts in her dress, her slim waist, her hips and curves, and the length of her legs.

“I’ll get your essentials tomorrow,” he said. “Clothes, toiletries—whatever you need.”

“I don’t need anything from you,” she said, her words barely audible from how hard she seemed to be reigning in her emotions.

Fedya had struck a nerve; he knew that. But her reaction wasn’t short of what he wanted.

And no matter how angry she seemed, she wasn’t spewing nonsense like denying their marriage again.

Considering the circumstances that led to their union, Fedya felt a touch of sympathy for her.

She probably needed some time to get accustomed to her new life with him, and he was going to give it to her— if she behaved.

Though he couldn’t deny that the thought of her misbehaving thrilled him to an unhealthy degree.

“Unless you plan to wear that dress indefinitely, you’ll need something, and as your husband —” He grinned, all straight, white teeth.

He was finding that he enjoyed easily tossing that word around her, knowing fully well just how hard it rattled her.

“—It is my duty to provide. To make you comfortable.”

“I’d rather wear rags for the rest of my life than accept anything from you.”

“That would bother me,” Fedya said, shaking his head like it was unacceptable. “But there’s also the option of staying naked. I don’t think I would mind much, as long as I’m the only one around you.”

Maeve scoffed. Then she chuckled like she was going to cry. Her eyes actually watered. “ You are a sick man.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, Maeve. Come with me.

” Without giving her a chance to respond, he turned on his heel and strode to the tiny hallway that led to a single door at the corner.

He pushed the door open and turned to find her (unsurprisingly) standing right where he left her, burning a hole into him.

Fedya sighed and leaned against the doorway, folding his arms across his chest. “You must be tired, zhena . I wanted to show you around the house, but we can do that tomorrow. I’ll show you our room tonight.”

Maeve was still silent, fuming but silent, and he could see the gears churning in her head, the impulsive ideas starting to form.

Her eyes twitched when the words ‘our room’ leaped out of his mouth.

Her hands were fisted so hard her knuckles whitened.

Her cheeks were flushed, and sweat broke out on her forehead.

“How long are you going to stand there for?” Fedya said, his voice singsong. “I’m not that big on patience, Maeve.”

It was barely perceptible, but Fedya saw the split second her eyes flickered to his pistol on the coffee table, sitting alongside the disguises he had peeled off his body. His lips lifted in amusement, and his eyes revolved back to hers.

“Go on,” he said, nodding at the glinting black weapon. His voice was a dare. “Take it. Shoot me.”

Maeve swallowed, her feet still planted firmly on the floor.

She looked back at him, her eyes tightening, her facial muscles constricting, and it was clear to Fedya then that the woman in front of him had never held a gun in her life.

Her innocence was such an incredible turn-on that it sent a rush of blood to his cock.

“Maeve,” he called her name, his voice deeper, darker. His next words were a command. “Pick up the goddamned gun.”

She swiped it from the table in a second, her speed surprising him.

Her deft fingers wrapped firmly around the pistol like she’d held it a thousand times, but from the stiffness in her shoulders and the quivering of her bottom lip that she tried to hide with a hard bite of her teeth, Fedya knew better.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he smiled, tilting his head to assess her.

If he thought she looked sexy before, then she was one hell of a goddess with a gun in her hands.

She looked divine, wrapped in lace and rage.

He liked her strong grip around the cold steel, wondered if she’d hold his cock that well, too.

“The weight of it,” he mused aloud. “Heavy and cold, but light too. Like it was made for your hands. That burning itch at the back of your skull, wondering what it would feel like to pull the trigger. That voice that sneaks up on you, whispering and asking what it’d feel like to take a life.”

Maeve’s grip tightened around the revolver, her fingers flexing repeatedly.

“Keep talking,” she hissed, “and I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your skull.”

Fedya’s grin widened. “Oh, I’d love that actually.

” He straightened, spine uncoiling like a beast waking.

“Go ahead, my love. Shoot me. Kill me and get it over with. Leave me to rot, and you can get what you’ve been craving for since your father pushed you in front of me.

What you’ve been craving for, for God knows how long.

Your freedom. Kill me and walk out that door a free woman. No shackles, no husband, nothing.”

“I’m not your love. Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Never call me that.”

But Fedya didn’t stop. He walked closer to her even as her finger hovered hesitantly over the trigger.

“Don’t come any closer,” she warned as she stepped back.

“Funny, isn’t it?” he said softly. “You’re the one with the power in your hands, and yet you’re the one running . From me.” He closed the space between them and, in one devastatingly bold moment, he turned the barrel towards himself and slid the revolver into his mouth.

Maeve’s breath hitched, her eyes widened in disbelief.

“Do it,” he whispered, words muffled around the barrel. “I’m a monster, remember? Your father sold you cheap, like livestock, to a monster. A monster who has become your husband. You have the gun. Kill him .”

He saw the flash of confusion and fear in her eyes, probably wondering what kind of demon he was to utter such formidable words as if he weren’t talking about himself.

He saw the brief hesitation in her eyes and the tremble in her hands.

Then, the second her resolve tightened, her anger returned with renewed vigor, and she squeezed her eyes shut so tightly he was sure her eyeballs would melt into their sockets.

Her face crumpled into an ugly, broken thing, her jaw set.

Then she pulled the trigger.

Silence.

Nothing happened. No bang. No explosive gunshot. No death. No blood. Nothing.

Fedya smiled around the gun before pulling it from his mouth with a lazy, almost amused grace.

Dimples appeared on his cheeks, disturbingly at odds with the madness in his eyes.

Maeve’s eyes flashed open, and before she could comprehend what was happening, the gun was wrenched from her hands, spun in his palm, and pressed to the underside of her chin.

She froze. The breath stilled in her lungs. He could see her pulse hammering beneath the delicate skin of her throat, and he swallowed the urge to kiss her neck, to feel her pulse pound against his teeth.

His voice dropped, a strip of ice on her skin. “You want to know something about that little stunt?”

She didn’t answer.

“Only two chambers of this revolver are loaded,” he said. “The rest are empty.” He clicked the cylinder open with a flick of his thumb, turning it so she could see the glint of gold bullets nestled along the emptiness.

“Statistically,” Fedya added with a shrug, “you had one in three chances of blowing my brains out.” He leaned in, the muzzle still kissing her throat. Her eyes flickered, a muscle throbbing in her jaw.

“I would’ve let you,” he whispered. “Would’ve died right there if that’s what you wanted. But you were unlucky and you hesitated.”

Maeve’s breath shook as she stared at him. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

Fedya lowered the gun slowly. “If you’re going to be a Nikolai woman, you don’t flinch when you hold a fucking gun. You don’t falter. You see your enemy, you get rid of them. Chistaya ubiystvo . Immediately.” Then he was smiling another dimpled smile. “But I’m not your enemy, am I?”

He leaned even closer, brushing the edge of his lips near her ear. He felt her goosebumps against his lips.

“ Ya vash muzh ,” he whispered, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. “And you, for the nth time, are my wife. And your attempt at getting rid of me was incredibly entertaining. The cutest thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”

He stepped back, finally easing the pressure between them, letting her breathe again. His words were branded under her skin, just how he wanted it.

“Next time,” he said, tossing the revolver onto the table with a dull thud, “don’t miss.” He turned around and headed to the door from earlier. The one that led to their room. “Now come and see our matrimonial bed.”