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This guy hasn’t said a damn word to me.

And who does that?

Who throws someone over their shoulder and just carries them off like that?

He’s crazy.

He’s ridiculously hot— but he’s completely crazy.

My father must owe him a lot of money, and for some reason, he thinks I can pay.

I have no idea why he thinks carrying me, slung over his massive shoulder, is the way to have a conversation about it, though.

“Can you please just let me go? I don’t know what my father owes you, but I can’t help him pay it. I don’t have any money,” I say.

He stares straight ahead, out at the road in front of us, not saying a word.

I huff loudly. My frustration has a deep undercurrent of fear. I know how dangerous these debt collectors can be.

Although this guy doesn’t look like a typical debt collector, he’s way too classy for that. The debt collectors I’ve dealt with have foul mouths and dress like they’re trying to show power, but they just look dodgy and scummy.

This guy exudes power without saying a word, and his aura is one of pure danger. Despite that, I’m getting impatient and verging on starting an argument with him.

My stress is quickly turning into full-blown anger.

His car growls as he accelerates out of a corner. I roll my eyes. Stupid men and their stupid overpriced toys.

The car is clearly expensive, as in more expensive than any house I could ever afford. But I don’t know enough about cars to say what it is.

“Is that what this is all about? My father owes you money?” I ask, looking directly at him. My patience is wearing thin.

My eyes trace over his profile. The strong, angular lines of his face, his clean-cut look with masculine features.

I get annoyed with myself for perving on this guy again. Someone so rude and obnoxious doesn’t deserve to be that good-looking.

But I can’t tear my eyes away from him.

He has a tattoo over the side of his neck; it’s a detailed moth, with its delicate wings curved over a skull, and it looks like it moves down over something like a moon, but his shirt is covering too much of that part for me to be sure.

“Is that a luna moth?” I try another tactic to get through to him. “They are beautiful creatures.” I’m doing my best to keep my voice stay and calm. “What does it mean?”

Nothing.

Silence.

Cold.

Empty.

Except it’s not empty. I can feel tension radiating from him. Annoyance, or anticipation of something. What is he planning?

I look out of the window and try to work out where in the city we are.

We’re near the main street, the business district. “Where are you taking me?” I ask, leaning closer to the window.

We pull off the main road just as I ask, and he drives beneath a very ornate building that looks almost gothic in design.

“Is this the courthouse?” I mumble to myself. My heart is racing. The palms of my hands become damp with sweat, and I keep chewing on my lower lip, anxiety flooding through me. Is my dad in legal trouble?

Surely they can’t expect me to stand in front of a judge on behalf of my father. I didn’t sign or agree to anything.

This is nuts.

“Please, just tell me what this is about?” I plead again, but his stonewalling continues.

“You’re so rude,” I huff angrily, trying to stop myself from letting tears escape. There is no point in letting this guy see me cry. He doesn’t care about anything except what he wants. He doesn’t even care that he’s terrifying me.

Who the hell is he?

The car comes to a stop in a parking bay near the elevators.

“Get out,” he snaps, his deep voice making me jump after such a long silence.

I push the door open and climb out. I look left and right, wondering if I should try and make a run for it. But there really isn’t anywhere to go, and I’ve already been given a fine display of his brute strength and the force he’s willing to use to keep me close.

I’d rather walk than be carried over his shoulder again.

I clench my jaw and allow him to wrap his massive hand around my upper arm and pull me close to his side.

I’m pretty sure that if I put up a fight, I’ll be a sack of potatoes again. I’d like to retain my dignity.

At least at a courthouse, someone will explain to me what’s going on.

There will be someone else to talk to besides this asshole.

Maybe they’ll let me know what my father owes and what they expect from me.

I’m kind of relieved to be here instead of at some bookie’s private home. This is at least legal.

He pulls me towards the elevator, and we stand inside in silence. The space feels incredibly small next to the massive bulk of muscle that is his body. And he’s so freaking tall.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored walls and hurriedly brush my fingers through my hair. Even though I’ve just been practically kidnapped by this guy, if I am about to stand before a judge to defend myself, I should look respectable.

The doors chime politely and slide open. The guy pulls me out into a bright, clean hallway with carved stone alcoves and white marble floors. Our footsteps echo through the open space as we make our way down, past several large hand-carved wooden doors.

This building is gorgeous.

If I weren’t so full of panic, I would want to stop and admire the beautiful details of it.

He stops outside one of the wooden doors and knocks with three loud thumps of his knuckles.

“Come in,” a voice calls from inside.

He pushes the door open, and I’m dragged into the room with him.

It’s an office.

A very large, luxurious office with beautiful views of the city from the wide windows.

“Nestor, good to see you again, my friend.” The guy sitting behind the desk stands and comes around to shake my captor’s hand.

Nestor. The guy has a name.

“Argyle, thanks for arranging this on short notice.”

My eyes trace up and down Argyle. He looks like a lawyer or a judge or something very official. “I’m ready whenever you are. The paperwork is prepared, and we can go right ahead.”

“We’re ready. The sooner the better,” Nestor confirms.

Ready for what?

I can’t seem to get my tongue to form words at the moment.

My mouth is dry, and my throat is tight.

I’m overwhelmed with the formality of this place.

I’ve never been inside a courthouse like this one.

The one I went to was less fancy, a government building filled with lines of people waiting to sort out some issue or another.

“You two can stand here.” Argyle gestures towards an open space near the window. He comes to stand there as well, holding some documents which he places on a tall standing table, just big enough for a book and a cup of coffee.

“Alright, are there rings?”

Rings?

“No, I will sort that out tomorrow.”

“No problem.”

Argyle starts talking and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach.

He’s going through the process of officiating for us.

We’re getting married?

What the hell?

This can’t be real.

I stare in horror from Argyle to Nestor, who is calmly listening and nodding.

No, this can’t be real. This isn’t happening. This is absurd. There is no way that this is what’s happening right now.

Yet Argyle is still talking. “Do you, Nestor Rostov, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?” he asks, looking directly at Nestor.

Rostov. That was the name written on the front of the building. Does he own that building? Why would someone so powerful want to marry me? What the hell is going on?

“I do,” Nestor says, firm and deep.

“Do you, Lara Abakumov—"

“No, no, I don’t. This is some kind of a joke, right? This isn’t real? This is a stupid joke,” I blurt out angrily, my cheeks hot with rage as I yank my arm away from Nestor’s grip.

He sneers at me, his hazel eyes flaring with rage.

I step away from him, looking to Argyle for support or help. “I’m not marrying him,” I say desperately.

Argyle’s expression doesn’t change. He’s calm and patient as he waits for my outburst to come to some kind of conclusion.

“You can’t make me marry you. There isn’t even a witness.”

“The documents say otherwise,” Nestor says with disinterest.

“Why in the world would you do this? I don’t understand the point of this,” I say, my eyes pleading, stinging with tears.

Nestor, to my surprise, starts laughing. It’s a dark, malicious sound that sends a cold shiver running down my spine. He’s taunting me. He’s mocking me somehow.

“What are you laughing at?” I scream at him. “This isn’t funny.”

His face floods with annoyance as he steps close to me and grabs me around the throat.

“Stop messing with me, girl. You can play cute and coy and innocent all you want. I know your father, and you are from the same line of liars and cheats. Stop wasting my time and get this over with.”

“No,” I say angrily. “I won’t.” Tears are flowing down my face now, but I’m not scared, I’m furious. I can feel the tension in my brows and the locked set of my jaw as I glare at him.

His hand tightens around my neck, and for a moment, the air is cut off. I gasp, then gag in panic, reaching up to grab his wrist and try to pull him off me.

“Listen to me very carefully, girl. I’m not playing games. I’m not fucking around. You can drop the act and stop pretending to be the victim here. I’m not falling for any of it. You will marry me. You will honor the deal, and you will stop wasting my time.”

His hand loosens, and I gasp for air, my head throbbing, screaming for oxygen.

“I-I can’t—" I stammer.

“You can’t? I see. Well, I tell you what—if you don’t marry me, I will kill you.

Then I will hunt your father down and kill him as well.

So, either you stop arguing, say the vows and sign the documents, or die.

It’s as simple as that. And if you know anything about me, you know not to test me, Lara. ”

The way he says my name, with that dark music in his voice, stabs fear into my heart.

I believe him.

I believe every word he just said to me.

He stares at me for a long moment, his fingers still around my throat, letting his words soak deep into my mind, making sure I understand that this isn’t some kind of game or joke like I accused him of.

Weakly, I nod.

I have no idea what is happening, or why it’s happening, but there is no doubt in my mind that he will kill me if I don’t go through with this.