Page 6 of Twisted Proposal

I couldn't quite catch what he said. My mother was the only one who tried to teach me Russian, but she died when I was barely eight. My older brother, Dima, tried to take over, but my father forbade it. Apparently, he figured it would be easier to talk about all the illegal shit they were doing if I didn't understand the language.

At the thought of Dima, my stomach clenched. The familiar hollow ache of grief opened inside me. It had been several years since his death, and I missed him as if it were yesterday. He had been my protector against my father and younger brother.

Artem's men hauled my father and brother out of the room.

They continued to scream insults at me even as they were dragged out.

"You better keep your dumb whore mouth shut, sister, or else!"

"Remember what happened to your mother."

That final threat would have hurt, if it hadn't been used countless times in my twenty-two years.

Artem returned to stand before me. His expression had changed—harder now, more focused. More dangerous.

We were alone.

Alone in an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Alone with a criminal mafia boss who now knew all my weaknesses.

I inhaled a shaking breath as I locked my thighs together to keep my knees from buckling. My legs trembled with the effort, muscles burning from the strain. "Are you going to kill me now?"

He ran his knuckles over my cheek. The callused skin scraped gently over my bruises, sending conflicting signals of comfort and danger through my body.

"No," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that vibrated through my bones. "But you're about to wish I had."

Then he grabbed me.

CHAPTER3

ARTEM

My little bird had a broken wing.

Grasping her wrist in one hand, I felt carefully around her shoulder with the other.

She cried out and attempted to break free.

I wrapped an arm around her waist and held firm. Her small body twisted in my grasp, her hips brushing against my cock.Jesus.

She was afraid, injured, and covered in tire grease and dirt…and yet.

The moonlight filtering through the cracked window cast shadows across her face, highlighting the fear in her eyes—and something else. Something that made my blood run hot.

My fingers splayed open over her abdomen, searching for warmth through the thin T-shirt she wore. Anger like bile burned the back of my throat. She should not be standing in this run-down cabin in the middle of the night wearing next to nothing.

She should be in a bed, warm and safe.My bed.

The thought intruded without warning.

My gaze traced the delicate curve of her neck where her pulse pounded, a frantic rhythm that echoed my own. The cabin creaked around us, the very walls seeming to hold their breath, waiting.

Ignoring my body's response to her vulnerable nearness, I focused on the task at hand.

Taking a firm grip, I manipulated her arm, popping the shoulder back into its socket.

Viktoria screamed in pain as she turned away from me and bent forward, pushing her hips against mine.