Page 11

The moment I step into the room, the metallic scent of blood thickens the air. It’s familiar. Comforting.

The man is already on his knees, arms wrenched behind him by two of my men, his face bruised and streaked with sweat.

I exude nothing but cold, merciless authority as I approach. The only sound in the room is the steady drip of water from a rusted pipe and the faint, uneven breaths of the man kneeling before me.

A Spade rat.

The guards had found him lurking on the estate’s perimeter, a little too careful, too deliberate in his movements. He wasn’t just some lost fool. He was watching. Waiting.

For what, Julie?

I smirk. James Spade finally decided to act, then? Pathetic. Sending one man, a disposable spy, as if that would be enough to take her back.

“Name,” I demand.

The man doesn’t answer.

Ivan steps forward, his knife glinting under the dim light. He drags the flat of the blade along the spy’s throat, just enough for him to feel the cold steel against his skin.

My smile doesn’t waver. “I’ll ask once more. Name.”

The man grits his teeth. “Vince.”

Vince. Meaningless. Forgettable. A pawn, nothing more.

“How long have you been watching my house, hmm?”

Silence.

I nod at Ivan.

Without hesitation, Ivan grabs the man’s hand and slams it onto the table. The room tenses. The man thrashes, but my men hold him steady. His breathing sharpens, sweat gathering at his temples.

I watch, my expression blank, as Ivan lifts the knife.

“No—”

The blade slices down.

A sickening, wet noise fills the air as a finger drops onto the concrete floor.

The man’s scream tears through the room, raw and ragged. He gasps, writhing against his restraints, but my men keep him in place.

I crouch in front of him, resting my elbows on my knees as I study him.

“You’ve been sent to retrieve Julie,” I say, as if it’s fact.

His bloodied hand trembles. His breathing is uneven, lips shaking from the shock.

I smile, leaning in. “Do you think James Spade will send more men for her?”

His pain-clouded eyes flick up to mine.

I already know the answer. James Spade doesn’t care about Julie, but hurting his family is considered a personal slight. If he did, she wouldn’t have been here this long. I also know power when I see it, and James will care—if I make him.

I tilt my head, feigning curiosity. “Why would your boss send you alone, Vince? Did he think you could just walk in and take her back? Or….” My smile deepens, dark amusement curling in my voice. “Did he send you knowing you’d fail?”

A flicker of something—doubt—crosses Vince’s expression.

I let the silence stretch, watching him squirm, watching the realization settle.

Then, slowly, I stand. The entire room tenses. “Tell your boss,” I say, voice calm, collected, “that his daughter is no longer his concern.”

The man barely lifts his head. “What?”

I smirk. “Tell him that she belongs to me now.”

Ivan’s brow furrows slightly, but he says nothing. The guards shift, uncertain, but I ignore them.

I step closer, dropping my voice lower. “Tell him I intend to marry her.”

The silence that follows is thick. Even Vince, still trembling in pain, stares at me in stunned disbelief.

Ivan’s jaw clenches, but I don’t turn to him. I keep my focus on the rat in front of me.

“Deliver my message,” I say smoothly. “Tell James Spade that his princess will be mine.”

The man hesitates, still caught between agony and confusion.

I nod to my men. “Get him out of here.”

The guards haul him up, half dragging him toward the door. His blood leaves a faint trail along the floor.

I watch as they go, my mind already turning, already calculating.

James Spade will have no choice but to react. Whether he’s willing to fight for her or whether he’s simply trying to save face, it doesn’t matter.

This will force his hand.

The door swings shut behind the guards. Only Ivan and I remain.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, arms crossed, eyes sharp and assessing.

I already know what’s coming.

Finally, he exhales. “You intend to marry her?”

I smile, dragging a chair forward and sitting down, stretching my legs out lazily.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

He scoffs. “I just don’t see the advantage here.”

I don’t answer immediately, just let my fingers tap idly against the armrest.

Ivan shakes his head. “What’s the real play here?”

I glance at him, amusement flickering in my gaze.

“Marriage is power,” I say simply. “Nothing makes a man angrier than losing something that belongs to him.”

Ivan exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “She’s not going to take this well.”

I sneer. “She doesn’t have to.”

He studies me for a long moment. “This is dangerous.”

Everything in this world is dangerous. I shrug. “We’ll see how far James Spade is willing to go for his daughter.”

Ivan doesn’t argue further, but his silence speaks volumes. He doesn’t agree with me but remains silent as he mulls it over, just staring, his jaw tight, his expression blank. Then he exhales sharply.

“I still don’t get it,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Marrying her?”

I sigh. “I don’t expect you to get it, Ivan.”

His eyes narrow slightly, frustration simmering beneath his usually controlled exterior. “You just cut a man’s finger off to send a message. Now you’re talking about wedding bells?”

I chuckle darkly, dragging my hand across my jaw. “Julie Spade isn’t the endgame. She’s the bait.”

Ivan folds his arms. “Bait for what?”

I pull out my flask and take a long sip. “Humiliation,” I say simply, watching the amber liquid swirl in my glass. “James Spade might not give a damn about his daughter, but she’s still his. Still Spade blood.”

Ivan’s lips press together, considering.

I take a slow sip, relishing the heat of the whiskey down my throat before continuing. “And what’s more humiliating than having your daughter—the one you cast aside—taken by your enemy? Not just taken, Ivan. Claimed. Made mine.”

His expression darkens, understanding sinking in.

“James and Sophia won’t be able to ignore this,” I continue smoothly, watching him. “It’s a direct insult, a public mark of their weakness. They’ll have to react.”

“When they do,” Ivan mutters, rubbing a hand down his face, “you’ll be ready.”

I put my flask away. “Exactly.”

This isn’t about Julie. Not really. She’s just a piece in a much larger game, the perfect way to lure James and Sophia into making their move. Once they do, once they step into my trap—

I will dismantle the Spade family from within. When I’m finished, there won’t be a single trace of them left.

Ivan exhales again, still looking like he wants to argue, but he knows better. “I assume you’re going to tell her yourself,” he mutters.

I smirk. “Of course.”

As I make my way out of the room, a different thought enters my mind—Julie.

The way she looked at me when she fought back earlier. The way her lips parted, breathless and angry, when I manhandled her back to the house. The way her body fit against mine, small and fragile but full of fire.

I didn’t let myself think about it then.

Didn’t let myself acknowledge the way her touch, however brief, sent a flicker of heat through my blood.

Now, as I approach her door, I wonder… what will she look like when she hears the news? When she realizes there’s no escaping me?

A wicked satisfaction curls in my chest as I reach for the handle.

I push the door open, stepping inside, and freeze. My smirk falters slightly as my gaze lands on her.

Julie stands by the bed, barely covered in a small towel, her damp blonde hair cascading over her bare shoulders. Her skin glistens slightly, still damp from the shower, her curves on full display beneath the flimsy fabric. Her breasts are small and full, and water trickles down her collarbones.

She gasps, clutching the towel tighter against her chest, her entire body going rigid.

For the first time since I took her, she looks truly vulnerable. Her wide blue eyes are locked on mine, her lips slightly parted, her breath shallow.

For a brief moment, I don’t move, because she’s fucking stunning. Even in fear, in embarrassment—she’s breathtaking.

Her cheeks flush a deep shade of pink, and it’s not just from the heat of the shower.

I let my gaze trail over her, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curves of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, the way her toned thighs press together in an effort to hide herself.

Julie notices. I see the way her breath hitches, the way her fingers tremble against the towel.

There’s something else beneath the mortification—something reluctant, hesitant.

She’s attracted to me. She doesn’t want to be, but she is. And fuck, I enjoy that realization.

I take a single step forward, watching as she stiffens, her knuckles turning white where she grips the fabric against her skin.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, erratically, as if she’s caught between fight and flight.

I tilt my head, my voice smooth as silk. “Expecting someone else?”

Her throat bobs as she swallows. “Get out,” she whispers, barely audible.

I grin. “That’s not how this works, sweetheart.”

Her body trembles. Not just in fear. Her gaze darts away, as if she’s struggling to meet my eyes.

Interesting. Very, very interesting.

I lean in slightly, just enough to watch her breath hitch again, to feel the tension radiating off her.

“I came to deliver some news,” I murmur, letting my gaze flicker over her once more before meeting her eyes again. “You and I, Julie—we’re getting married.”

Her breath catches. The color drains from her face. Her lips part slightly, but no sound comes out.

It’s beautiful, watching the horror settle in. She knows she’s trapped. As she stares at me, as realization slowly washes over her, her eyes shimmer. She looks like she’s about to cry again.

I take a final step back, giving her space, knowing I don’t need to say anything else. The damage is already done.

I turn, stepping toward the door, but not before letting my gaze drop one last time. A slow, lingering look.

Her legs. Her waist. The curve of her hip beneath the towel. When I meet her eyes again, she’s breathless. Flushed. A mess.

I smirk. “Sweet dreams, Julie.”

Then I shut the door behind me.

My pulse is steady. My breathing controlled. My face—calm, unreadable. My body? My body betrays me.

The second I saw her, dripping wet, barely covered in that towel, something shifted. Something tightened. I felt it deep in my core—the heat, the hunger, the sharp and immediate want. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt something that strong.

Julie.

Standing there, flushed from the shower, hair damp and wild over her bare shoulders, the curve of her hips barely concealed by that thin excuse for fabric.

I can still see it; the way water clung to her skin, catching the dim light. The way the steam from her shower left her glowing, her cheeks pink, her breath coming too fast.

The way her hands clenched that towel so desperately, as if she thought she could actually hide from me. She couldn’t. She never could.

That image—it’s burned into my mind, refusing to let go, refusing to fade.

I press my back against her door, lingering for a moment longer, listening. Silence. She’s not crying. She’s not screaming at me through the door, throwing something, demanding I stay away.

Maybe she’s too stunned. Or maybe—she knows I’m still here. The thought makes something dark twist inside me.

I close my eyes, jaw tightening. Fuck. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. She’s leverage. A means to an end.

Right now, I can’t seem to get past the fact that she is also a woman—a beautiful, infuriating woman whose body is now burned into my brain, and my cock twitches in response.

I push off the door, inhaling deeply as I start walking. My steps are slow, measured, but my thoughts remain tangled in the memory of her body.

I should go to my office. There’s work to be done, men to keep in line, a war to prepare for.

Instead, at the last second, I veer toward the stairs. To my bedroom.

I never change course on impulse. I don’t let distractions—especially not a woman—get in the way of my goals.

Right now, the only thing in my head is the way she looked at me. The way her breath caught. She knew I was looking. She felt it. The tension, the heat. The knowledge that she’s mine.

She just doesn’t know it yet. I grip the railing, my fingers pressing into the wood as I climb the stairs.

Okay. Maybe this marriage is a really good idea. The Spades will suffer. Julie will be bound to me. Best of all, I’ll get to have her. The thought sends another wave of heat through me, sharp and undeniable.

I inhale deeply, trying to clear my mind, but it’s no use. The way her body had looked under the dim glow of her bedroom light is seared into my memory. Her damp skin. The delicate curve of her waist. The fullness of her breasts, barely hidden beneath the towel she clutched so tightly.

That fucking towel. A flimsy, pathetic barrier between me and what I already know will be mine.

I drag a hand through my hair, frustration and amusement warring inside me as I push open my bedroom door. The room is dark, the heavy curtains drawn, casting long shadows across the space. I step inside, shutting the door behind me, but the restlessness doesn’t fade.

I strip off my jacket, tossing it onto a chair before walking to the bar in the corner of the room. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, the rich amber liquid swirling as I bring it to my lips. The burn is satisfying, but it does nothing to dull the fire still simmering inside me.

I set the glass down with more force than necessary, jaw tightening. This should be simple. She’s a pawn, a tool to bring the Spade family to its knees. Now….

Now, I want her for more than just strategy. I picture the look on her face when I told her we were getting married. The horror. The disbelief. The way she’d gone silent—as if her brain couldn’t fully process what I was saying.

She’ll fight it. Of course, she will. She’ll claw and struggle against the idea of belonging to me.

In the end, it won’t matter, because she will be mine.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips as I lean back against the bar, rolling my shoulders, shaking off the tension.

I strip off my shirt and head toward the bathroom, my muscles tight with lingering frustration. The mirror reflects my broad chest, my abs carved from years of training, and the dark ink that coils over my arms—a map of my past, my sins, my victories.

“You’re losing focus,” I mutter to myself, dragging a hand through my hair before stepping under the hot spray of the shower. The water scalds my skin, but I welcome the burn.

It’s nothing compared to the heat raging inside me.

Julie’s image won’t leave my mind—the way her body looked under the dim light, the way her lips parted in shock, the way her breath hitched when she realized I was watching her.

Mine.

I let the water wash over me, my hands bracing against the cool tile as I take slow, measured breaths. This game has only just begun, and I intend to win.

When I finally step out, I dry off quickly, slipping into a pair of loose sweatpants before collapsing onto my bed.

Even as exhaustion creeps in, my mind refuses to quiet. She’s trapped here. In my house. In my world.

And soon, in my bed.

A slow, wicked grin tugs at my lips as I close my eyes. Sweet dreams, Julie.