Page 63 of Unrequited

Then I snap my fingers. A signal to my men.

From here, I can see the dead body of the man I killed to make it to this altar.

That’s the Kopolov’s problem now.

The distant hum of tires draws every eye to the windows.

“Do you have a bag packed for your honeymoon?” I whisper in her ear, my blood still heating at the thought of her alone with another man, even though he’s lifeless, not ten yards behind her. “Yes,” she whispers, guarded. “It’s in the front hallway.”

“Take it with you, but I’ll buy replacements.” I want to choose what she wears. “You’ll come with me as you are. My bride. Zoya McCarthy.”

It sounds wrong in my mouth. Strange. Twisted.

Zoya, the Russian princess. McCarthy, the Irish stronghold.

Zoya McCarthy. She’s mine now.

She is mine.

My beautiful lass who hates me and once loved me.

I’ve sworn the men with me to silence. They will obey. No one breathes a word outside of the McCarthy clan.

I’ll tell my father on my own terms when I’ve laid the groundwork.

“You can leave,” Rafail says. “We will come for her.”

“And if you do,” I say with an iron voice, “you know exactly what the fuck will happen.”

“Oh, will you two shutup,” Zoya snaps. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

A ripple goes through the crowd. I killed a man planning to marry her, and they’re shocked she told me and Kopolov to shut up.

This girl. This woman. She’s going to end up over my knee before the sun goes down.

I’ve told her before, and I’ll say it again: McCarthy women submit to their husbands. She’ll learn her place.

Yes, she will.

She turns to them, her eyes fierce and her voice breaking.

“Don’t chase us. Don’t come after me.” She shakes her head. “I told you, I love him.”

She’s only saying that because she doesn’t want more bloodshed. Still, something in me yearns for her words to ringtrue.Some day.Some day.

I take her by the elbow. Her skin is soft, warm, electric against mine.

I want to carry her, hold her, kiss her.

God help me, I will.

So I do. I carry her over the threshold of her home, and I’ll do the same over mine. I lift her into my arms.

She gasps in wonder, wide-eyed, and meets my gaze. I kiss her in front of everyone—her brothers, my men. Let them watch. Let them come after me.

I know exactly what I’ve done. I know what I’ve started, even with the weight of my reputation and the reach of my power.

I’ve murdered my men. I’ve stolen the Russian princess. I’ll have to answer for it, and I’ve taken steps that even my father will never forgive.