Page 3 of The Pakhan’s Forced Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #3)

I’ve never met Ardalion Pushkin in person, but I’ve heard Benedikt complain about him on numerous occasions.

I know that the two of them are rivals, but I also know that they aren’t exactly enemies. Not really. Because there is a bigger alliance that ties Nestor to both of them, neither will do something too terrible to the other.

So basically, while I have no idea what Ardalion is up to right now, this situation doesn’t seem too bad.

The guy in the gray suit hands Ardalion a copy of our marriage certificate, and I have to bite back another giggle. Why in the world does he want to marry me? This is so random. I can’t believe this is happening to me.

But at the end of the day, it’s perfect!

No more dates. No more of Mom trying to set me up with the worst possible men on the planet. I get a break from all of that, and when this—whatever this is—is all over, Benedikt will come and rescue me.

I have no doubt Benedikt is going to come and get me. He probably already knows where I am. He always knows where I am.

Ardalion pulls me out of the chair. He eyes me up and down, trying to assess me in some way. Shaking his head, he pulls out a thick cable tie from his back pocket and wraps it around my wrists, pulling it tight, but not tight enough to hurt.

“What are you doing?” I squeal, wiggling against the restraints.

“I’m not taking any chances,” he says, then pushes me towards the office door. We step out into the corridor and walk to the elevator. He looks angry. I get the feeling that he wants me to be scared. Maybe that’s why he tied my hands now. It’s annoying, but it’s not scary.

Maybe I should give him what he wants in order to make this easier for both of us.

In the elevator, I scrunch my nose and bite at my lower lip, something I normally do when I’m anxious. His eyes are on me, watching, studying.

I let out a sharp breath and fidget with my hands, clasped in front of me.

The elevator doors slide open, and he grabs my arm and tugs me from the foyer, out into the street, and back into the car.

“What now?” I ask, keeping my voice small.

“Now you belong to me, little bunny,” he snarls, his eyes flaring.

Well, that doesn’t answer anything. But he just called me little bunny. No one has ever had a cute nickname for me before. I like it.

A giggle threatens to fall from my lips, and I pull my mouth tighter and swallow hard to push it away.

Benedikt used to call me a brat when I was younger. I was a brat, though—I would follow him around and try to be as annoying as possible. He had endless patience, though, and most of the time I failed. But he still called me a brat. That’s the closest I’ve ever come to having a nickname.

It’s not like I had a ton of friends, and it’s not like I was ever allowed to date anyone. It’s part of being the sister of a very powerful mafia lord.

You live a very protected, sheltered, and restricted life.

A very boring life.

This is probably the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me. “My brother will find me. Anywhere in this city, he will find me,” I say, sounding as scared as I can.

Ardalion smirks, a dark and dangerous smile. “That’s why we are flying out tonight. Right now, in fact. Your brother knows this city, but I own Los Angeles, and he will never find you there. And he’ll pay for underestimating me.”

Jeez, this guy is so angry. Ben must have really pissed him off.

It seems like this monster of a man only has one emotion. Maybe two. Anger and annoyance. What a boring life he lives.

Los Angeles. I’ve never been to LA before. Ben never wanted me to go.

But of course, he’ll find me anyway. He knows everyone everywhere.

“Los Angeles?” I say in shock. My reaction sets a glimmer of satisfaction across his face. He definitely wants me to be scared.

I’m really excited to see LA.

I’m happy to escape my mother’s relentless plans to find me a husband, and I’m happy to explore a new city without my brother breathing down my neck and sending guards to follow me everywhere.

I wonder what cool places I should visit while I’m there.

On the drive towards the private airstrip, I’m trying to figure out what I know about LA, but embarrassingly, it’s very little.

I’ve been to a number of other places, traveling with Ben and my mom, but because I was never allowed to go to LA, I guess I never bothered looking into it.

Ardalion’s private plane is waiting for us on the landing strip. His driver gets out and pulls the door open for us.

“I’ll see you back in our home city tomorrow,” he says to Ardalion.

“Good. Let me know what happens, make sure you have guys tracking everything,” Ardalion replies, then wraps his arm tightly around my shoulders and drags me towards the plane.

I tense and hesitate, pulling back, playing as though I’m reluctant and unwilling to leave Vegas.

I expect him to reprimand me and tell me to behave, but to my horror, he just bends down and throws me over his shoulder again.

I squeal in genuine surprise.

Jeez, this guy is as strong as an ox, and built like one, too.

I’ve never seen a man as solid as this before. My hands press against his back muscles, and they flex beneath my fingers as he climbs the steps onto the plane. Inside, he drops me onto a seat and snarls, “Don’t try anything.”

I nod meekly, backing into the seat to escape him, holding my tied hands defensively in front of myself.

He leans over and buckles me in, and his cologne drifts over me. For a moment, I close my eyes and breathe it in. He has a distinctly masculine smell. It sends desire pulsing through me, which I don’t like.

It’s one thing to be okay with being kidnapped, knowing I can escape. But to be turned on by the idiot who is taking me —that’s not in the plan. He might be sexy as all hell, but he’s grumpy and upright, and I haven’t seen him smile once.

Not that this is a smiling kind of situation, but come on, everyone enjoys a little dark humor even in tense moments.

Not this guy. He’s a stone wall of misery.

I didn’t notice the black ink tattoo over his neck before. It was too dark. It flows up from beneath the collar of his shirt, behind his ear, and along the edge of his jaw on one side of his face. It’s really intense and really sexy.

The heat from his body soaks into me, and I turn my face away from him until he’s finished buckling me in and steps back.

He looks down at me with satisfaction. He must think I turned my face away in fear. That’s good.

Ardalion sits directly opposite me, even though this plane is spacious, and he could sit anywhere. His legs are so long that they are pressing against mine. Mm. It’s distracting.

It’s weird to be so enticed by a guy. I’ve never actually met someone whom I wanted to date.

There was a cute boy in school who I thought could be a good boyfriend, but I was a kid then.

Apart from that, no man has ever caught my eye.

That’s why I wasn’t really bothered when Benedikt was so strict about me not dating.

It’s the reason I’ve only kissed one person, not even a proper kiss.

And it’s the reason I’m still completely innocent and clueless about men.

But this man makes me question everything. He’s way too hot. Way too enticing.

The plane begins to move over the runway, and my body tenses.

I bite my lower lip during take-off. I might have to fake being scared for the kidnapping, but I genuinely don’t like flying all that much.

Not ideal for a girl who wants to travel the world and see everything, but it doesn’t make sense for a solid metal object to be able to float effortlessly through the air.

To distract myself, I think about the cool things I want to do with my time in Los Angeles.

My fingers dig into the soft pillow of the seat, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

Shopping.

Beaches. I can get a tan. Swim in the ocean.

I might even be able to sneak out and go to a club.

Cocktails at sunset.

Isn’t there a Disney park there?

The plane jolts and I yelp in fright. My eyes shoot open, and Ardalion is watching me closely.

"Don’t like flying?” he asks, the slightest trace of amusement in his voice.

I ignore his question.

“Where in LA do you stay?” I ask, my voice shaking.

“Beachside,” he replies, short and not giving much away.

“I’ve never been.”

“Your brother never comes to LA. He knows it’s my territory.”

That makes sense.

“It’s probably not as fun as Las Vegas anyway. The shopping in Vegas is unmatched,” I snap, hoping I sound snarky and pompous.

“There is plenty of shopping in LA. My city has everything a person could desire.”

“Like what?” I may as well use my time on the flight to try and get as much from him as possible.

“One of the biggest, most extravagant malls is right around the corner from where I stay. People travel to LA just to shop there. And we have the best clubs in America—I know because I own a number of them.”

He isn’t pleased that I’ve apparently insulted his city.

“You own clubs?” I ask, thinking I should avoid those if I manage to go out.

“I own most of the clubs in LA,” he snaps.

Shit. That doesn’t help.

“What about—"

“Enough,” he snarls.

I come very close to rolling my eyes, but manage to catch myself in time, and instead, I flinch, letting out a small yelp.

He sneers and clenches his jaw. “No more talking,” he commands, as grumpy as ever. Sheesh, a girl can’t even ask questions.

I look down at my hands, then out of the window, keeping my mouth turned down at the corners to ensure I look sad.

The truth is, I’m ridiculously excited to finally see LA.

I’m nervous, too—I’ve never traveled without my family before—but that just means I get to do more things without being told it’s too dangerous.

I can’t wait to go shopping there. They must have a different culture, new things to see and do.

This is an incredible adventure.

Ardalion stares out of the window, too. He looks deep in thought with his eyes focused on the dark passing us.

I’m watching the ground, far below, as the lights of Vegas fade away in the night. A yawn sneaks up on me. My eyes water.

It must be pretty late. I was already bored and tired at the date and eager to get home—then all of this excitement happened. I blink, trying to stop the tiredness from getting worse, but it’s no good.

I close my eyes, unclip the seat belt, and curl my legs up onto the chair. Ardalion says nothing, but I can sense his eyes on me as I drift off to sleep.

I’d rather arrive in LA fresh and rested.

***

Ardalion leans over me, whispering my name.

His breath is hot against my lips as he stares into my eyes.

He reaches his hand up, brushing it over my cheek, letting his fingers linger on my skin as his eyes devour me.

“ Belle.” He says my name again, and my heart beats faster, racing, excited.

The deepness of his voice, the mischief in his smile, his touch, moving slowly over my jaw and down my throat.

His fingertips graze over the valley of my cleavage.

His moves closer, his lips inches from mine.

When he kisses me, it's like a fire is lit in my soul. I tilt my head back and let him claim me with his mouth.

“Belle,” he says, his hand on my shoulder and his thumb touching my neck as he shakes me gently awake.

My eyes shoot open, and just like in my dream, he’s leaning over me.

Kiss me.

His eyes are so dark they look black, black as midnight, and staring straight into my soul.

I push the remnants of the dream away and try desperately to focus, but he’s too close. He smells too good.

I take in a sharp breath. Why hasn’t he moved away? He can see I’m awake, but his hand is still on me, heat building beneath it. He moves his thumb, brushing it over my throat, and an electric sensation shoots through me, burning down my arms and legs.

My lips part, and I take in a slow breath of air that tastes like him.

“We’re in LA,” he whispers.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

I’m still locked in that dream.

I can’t get out of it.

Ardalion stands up. He seems distracted, agitated as he turns his back on me. “Get up,” he huffs.

I rub my bound hands over my face and blink away the last of the sleep haunting me. We’re in LA.