Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Needing to make this tool disappear and prove she belongs to me and only me, I clasp her around the waist with my free hand, splaying my fingers across her smooth flat belly.
“The past is the past. As of today, she is mine and will belong to me until her father’s debt is paid in full.” Her body jolts against me, but she doesn’t say anything.
“What seems to be the problem?” A booming voice questions from behind the little leech who thinks he can take what’s mine.
Sidorov.
My quarry approaches and stops behind the smaller man. “Yanov. What is happening?” Sidorov's eyes bounce lazily from me and then to Ely, where they pause and darken. “Oh, you found a little toy.”
Yanov, or whatever his fucking name is, stiffens. “No, she is not a toy. She is mine. I don’t share.”
Mr. Sidorov grins while holding his hands up. “Oh, wvell,” —his accent is thick— “then all is good. No problem.”
I take a step back, bringing Ely with me. Damnit. I’m trying to conjure up a response, a way to salvage this shit show. I need Sidorov so that I can get out of this mess, and with the way he’s looking at Elyse right now, I could use her to my advantage. But can I bring myself to go through with it? That I don’t know.
Looking down, my eyes catch on Elyse, her bare shoulder that’s littered in scars. She doesn’t notice me staring. Her entire body is a bundle of nerves, and her own gaze is cast down to the floor submissively.
What…?
I squint, trying to read the letters that look as though they’ve been etched into her skin.
Y A N O V.
Each letter is carved into the back of her shoulder in jagged slashes.
This fucker. This piece of shit.
My stomach roils, the contents threatening to climb out of my throat. I’m supposed to wear a mask of boredom, but how can I when I see something like that? The irony doesn’t escape me—his mark is similar in aspect to what I do with my Oakmount conquests. It’s a type of branding. The only difference is that the girls I slice beg me for the blade. They want my mark—it’s part of the whole Sebastian Arturo experience and they wear it proudly, showing it off like a damn gold metal.
This though… This is different, and I know without asking that Ely didn’t ask to be branded by this man.
I grit my teeth through the nausea and breath through my nose, tightening my grip on her.
“Elyse, who is this man...”
She trembles against me, and leans her weight backward so much that I have to widen my stance for better balance. “He’s…he’s a friend of my father’s.”
I stare the man down, ready to explode. Who the fuck does he think he is? I feel even more compelled to protect her against this twisted fucker now. He’s either got a death wish, or he’s dumber than a box of rocks. I don’t really care what the excuse is, but he’s soon going to find out what happens when you fuck with the wrong person.
His name might be carved into her skin, but that don’t mean a fucking thing.
Elyse is mine.
MY FUCKING ELY.
The asswipe takes a predatory step closer, and Mr. Sidorov slams a hand down on his shoulder, stopping his progress, as if he knows where this is going.
“Yanov...”
Unfortunately, his friend isn’t listening, and it’s even more unfortunate that my patience is threadbare. I didn’t come here to draw attention to myself, but I’m very close to saying fuck it and slitting the fucker’s throat just to prove a point.
“Ely, don’t lie,” he spits out the words, and she flinches at their impact. “Tell this man the truth. Tell him you belong to me.”
Elyse’s trembling becomes full-on shaking now. Shit. She’s probably on the verge of a panic attack.
“It doesn’t matter what she says. Legally, she belongs to me.”
Yanov snarls at me, spittle flying from his lips. “Paper is useless. Prove it, here. Now. If she belongs to you, show me.”
“Show you?” I growl. “She’s not a fucking dog; she doesn’t do tricks.”
Yanov looks into my eyes, and if I thought I was a soulless asshole, this guy is ten times worse. I see an endless pit of darkness, and I can understand why Elyse fears him so much. He’s a slimeball who needs his face used as a fucking mop.
“Perhaps you don’t know her as well as you claim. Ely does all kinds of tricks, don’t you?” He snickers like he knows something I don’t. Fucker is going to end up gutted like a fish if he continues with the stupidity.
“Don’t talk to her.” I hiss through my teeth.
I shouldn’t have brought Ely here. I could have figured out some other way to approach Sidorov—