Page 188 of The Devil's Thorn

“You think this is about control?” His voice was gravel. Thunder in human form. “You think this is aboutmekeeping you in line?”

I shoved him again. “Isn’t it?”

His chest rose and fell hard, soaked and shining beneath the moonlight and the storm. “You don’t get it.”

“No,” I snapped. “You don’t get it. I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to be dragged into this world. But since I’m already neck-deep in it, I won’t sit quietly and let you decide when I’m useful.”

“You call going into enemy territory aloneuseful?”

“I got information,” I shot back. “Real information. More than you had. And you’re pissed because I did it without your permission.”

His eyes narrowed, fire sparking behind them. “No. I’m pissed because I almost lost you without even knowing I should be looking.”

The silence cracked between us like lightning. My breath caught, just for a second, but I didn’t let it show. I kept pushing. “And whose fault would that have been? Huh?” I spat. “You said it yourself—no one is untouchable in your world. But maybe you just don’t want anyone else to touch me butyou.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

“You’re a liar, Romanov.” I hit him again. Not hard. Just enough to feel it. Enough to push the edge a little further.

His hand caught mine. Then the other. In the blink of an eye, he spun me—twisted me—my back slammed into the wall beneath the overhang of the resort. Cold, wet stone dug into my spine. His body pressed into mine, trapping me. Caging me.

His grip on my wrists was firm, unyielding, pinning them above my head. The breath tore out of me.

His face was inches from mine, eyes molten, unreadable, every muscle in his jaw working as he stared down at me like I was the storm and he was ready to drown in it.

“Don’t you ever—” His voice was low, dangerous, “—accuse me of wanting to control you just because I care if you die.”

I swallowed hard, rage still bubbling under my skin. “You don’t get to use that word.”

“What word?”

“Care.” My voice was sharp, bitter. “You don’t care. You protect what’s yours. You just haven’t decided what the fuck I am yet.”

His fingers tightened slightly on my wrists. “You think I haven’t decided?” he rasped. “You think that’s what this is?”

“I think you’re used to everyone falling in line. And I never will.”

His eyes flicked to my mouth, then back up. We were soaked through. The world around us thundered, lightning flashing across the black sky like a warning.

And neither of us moved. We breathed each other in like poison. Like it was the only thing we had left to feel.

“Go to hell!” I snapped finally, my breath ragged as I tried to pull my hands free, even though I couldn’t move. “That’s where you belong, isn’t it? Hell, Romanov? I’m sure they have a throne waiting for you down there with your name carved in blood!”

He said nothing. Just stared.

That infuriating stillness in his eyes—like he was studying me. Like he could read past every insult and into my marrow.

“And you think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?” I kept going, the words venomous now, crafted to stab. “Dragging me across the world. Playing this power trip. Pretending like you’re untouchable. You’re not. I’ve seen men better than you choke on their own blood.”

His jaw clenched. Still silent.

“You don’t scare me,” I lied. “You’re nothing. Just a spoiled little tyrant trying to play king with stolen pieces.”

His grip tightened. Just enough. But I didn’t stop.

“And all those women who fell for you? How many? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? All of them fucking stupid. If I’d let you touch me—if I’d actually let you in—you’d ruin it. You ruin everything, Rafael. That’s what you do. Because deep down, you’re just a monster in an expensive suit.”

His eyes darkened. Thunder cracked above us.