Page 32 of Twisted Proposal

Her words were slurred as she gripped onto the wall harder, nails digging into the plaster as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. "Make the room stay still."

At least she knew the difference between the asshole trying to cop a feel and a real man.

"Hey man, I got her," a frat bro with a death wish said, reaching for her arm with sweaty fingers.

"If you even think about touching her, I will personally remove every offending finger. Slowly."

The frat guy put his hands up high in the air like we were in a spaghetti western and I was trying to rob him, and took several steps back, nearly falling over himself in his haste to retreat.

He stepped back into a puddle of vomit, slipped, and screamed as he landed on the linoleum floor, the impact knocking the wind from his lungs. Then he pissed himself and started to cry, the dark stain spreading across his khakis as tears streamed down his flushed face.

I looked back at Viktoria, disgust curling my lip. "This is what you risk your safety for?" Motioning to the crying coward on the floor with a dismissive flick of my wrist.

She was watching him with a look of revulsion on her face before she turned to me, those eyes—those fucking eyes—trying to focus on my face.

"What I do in my time is none of your concern." Her words were still a little slurred, but they were stronger, steadier, each syllable dripping with defiance that made my blood simmer.

My mouth watered at the curve of her neck as she tilted her chin up in challenge.

She was still very drunk, but the more she spoke, the less I was concerned about an asshole like that having slipped something in her drink.

It still didn't excuse her behavior.

"That's where you're wrong," I said, each word precise, lethal.

I stalked toward her like a predator closing in on prey.

She clung to the wall, her knuckles white, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

CHAPTER12

ARTEM

"I'm okay, I can get myself—" Her words cut off as I picked her up, threw her over my shoulder, and turned to walk out of the house. The heat of her body burning through the fabric of my suit.

She beat her closed fists against my back as I carried her out, screaming at me to put her down or else, each blow as ineffective as a butterfly's wings beating against stone.

"Or else what, princess?" The endearment was mocking, but the possessiveness behind it was real, and that unsettled me.

"I swear to God I will end you." Her threat was adorable. Like an angry kitten trying to roar like a lion.

"Keep acting like a brat, and I will treat you like one. I don't care who sees." My hand rested on the curve of her ass, fingers splayed wide, claiming ownership.

It was a lie. I absolutely wanted to spank her tight little ass to teach her a lesson, to watch as my handprint bloomed red on her flesh, but I would be damned if anyone else saw her like that.

She was mine to punish. Mine to protect.Mine.

One quick slap to her ass in the far-too-short, cheap black skirt was enough to silence her protests as I carried her to the helicopter. The sound of my palm against her flesh was satisfying, the slight sting in my hand nothing compared to the shock that went through her body.

"If you throw up in here, you’re cleaning it up," I warned as we took off, the vibration of the helicopter no doubt adding to the sensations coursing through her body.

Not even ten minutes later, we landed on the roof of one of the best hotels in the DC area. The concierge met me on the roof with my room key in his hand, his face carefully blank as he took in the sight of the disheveled, beautiful woman slung over my shoulder.

Vladan must have called ahead.

I made a mental note to give him a raise.

"Sir, we have the presidential suite ready for you and your...companion." The man recovered quickly enough that I'd let it slide. "Is there anything you will be requiring?"