2. Damian #2
I’m tugging the girl forward as I speak, leading her up the aisle toward where the priest is standing, intending to stride right past him toward the altar so he can follow.
But she flails in my grasp like a trapped animal, and when she twists around, kicking me hard in the knee, she throws me off just long enough to finally get free.
She bolts for the door, running like her life depends on it. Except her life depends on what happens in here, tonight, and she hasn’t seemed to pick up on it yet.
I catch up to her in three quick strides, wrapping my arms around her waist yet again and lifting her off her feet.
"Let me go!" she screams, struggling against my hold. "Let me go right now!"
I carry her to a pew near the back of the church and set her down, blocking her path to the door with my body. She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and there are tears streaming down her face.
"What the fuck is going on?" she demands, her voice echoing in the empty church. "Why did you bring me here? What do you want from me?"
I admire her nerve. For all that she’s kicked, screamed, run, and tried to harm me multiple times, she hasn’t fallen apart.
Plenty of women would be a melted-down, crying disaster right now…
hell, some men would be, too. But not this woman.
She’s staring up at me defiantly with teary eyes, clearly ready to bite, kick, and scratch her way out of this if she can.
She’s a wildcat. A little hellion. And something stirs deep within me at the sight of her, a dark, deviant heat that can imagine all kinds of things I could do to her, all the ways I could pin her down and take her, the way her nails and teeth would feel in my skin as I?—
My jaw tightens as my cock twitches, and I shove the roiling desire down. This isn’t the place, or the time, and this certainly isn’t a woman I should want. I have no idea how old she is, but she looks young. Legal, probably, but too young for me .
And she has no idea how much danger she’s in.
“Do you want to die?” The question comes out sharply, abrupt, and the girl freezes in place. I swear even the tears on her cheeks stop rolling as she stares at me, stunned.
“What?” she manages, her voice a feather of a whisper in the air, the sound strangled.
I stare down at her. “It’s a simple question. Do you want to die?”
“I—” She blinks rapidly. “That’s a stupid question. Of course not.”
“Good. Then you’re going to marry me.” I reach for her arm to pull her up from the pew, but she flinches back, scooting away from me. She shakes her head, slowly at first, then faster.
"I'm sorry, what did you just say?”
"You heard me." I reach for her again, and she scoots back farther, making me follow her down the pew. My jaw tightens, teeth grinding with irritation. “I don’t have time for this?—”
She lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical. "You're insane. You're actually insane if you think I'm going to marry you."
I catch up to her, closing the space between us as I lean down, trapping her between my arms braced on either side of her against the back of the pew.
My knees are on either side of her legs, preventing her escape.
“You’ll marry me, or you’ll die. You want to get fucking killed?
Fine. Leave. You’ll be dead before morning.
” I step back, giving her space. “I have places I need to be tonight, still. This wasn’t supposed to take the whole damn night. ”
Her breath hitches, and she stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “I—I don’t understand?—”
“I’m trying to protect you,” I growl. “But I don’t have time for this. If you want to die, be my fucking guest.”
She licks her lips, and my eyes flick traitorously back to her mouth. Her lower lip is fuller than the top one, though the top has an enticing bow, the dip of it deep enough that the tip of my tongue?—
My jaw tightens as a hot lick of desire races down my spine. The girl is still sitting on the pew, breathing hard, though she doesn’t look as if she’s about to run at any moment now.
“You’re trying to protect me.” She repeats the words, her voice trembling. “By marrying me? I don’t even know who you are. I mean, I’ve seen you once or twice, but…” She licks her lips again. “You don’t even know my name.”
“I planned to ask before the vows,” I bite out. “Yes or no? It’s your funeral.”
She blinks rapidly. “I—” She shakes her head and pushes herself up from the pew suddenly.
For a split second, our bodies are very close, nearly touching, before she takes a quick step to the side and turns to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re going to have to give me more of an explanation than this, Damian.
” Her chin tilts up, that defiant look written all over her face.
“What the fuck is going on? I got taken from work, told to get into a van, dragged to that warehouse with those men…” Her voice shakes, and for a split second, I think she’s going to start crying again, but she sucks in a breath and holds it back. “I need you to tell me?—”
“Those men who took you from the club tonight weren’t going to let you go home afterward,” I interrupt her.
“They were going to keep you—and the other girls—there. Use you until their audience got bored, until they couldn’t make money off of you any longer and needed fresh meat.
” My voice is harsh, and I can see her eyes widening, her face paling—but I press forward.
It’s clear she needs to understand the gravity of this, of just how much danger she’s in.
"And then they would have trafficked you, sold you to the highest bidder.
When whoever that was finished with you, you would have disappeared, and no one would have ever found your body. "
Her face has gone bone-white, and she looks as if she’s about to pass out. “They… you… how do you know this?”
“Because the men behind it are supposed to be allies of my boss. They double-crossed him. My men and I came to deal with it.”
She’s visibly shaking all over now. “So you stopped them.”
“I stopped them for now,” I clarify. “But they'll find you, and they'll kill you to make sure there are no witnesses left to what happened. You're the only girl who survived the shootout. You’re a loose end for them now. If you just go home, they’ll send someone to come and finish you off. "
I see it hit her then, the danger that she’s facing. She shudders, her hands clenching into fists, her face bloodless as she stands there looking at me. I can see her thinking about the implications, about her choices—and realizing that she doesn’t have many left.
“How does marrying you protect me?” she whispers.
“I work for the most powerful Bratva pakhan in Miami.
" I raise an eyebrow, looking down at her.
"Konstantin Abramov. The family that took you tonight just declared war on us.
If you're my wife, you'll be under the protection of the Abramov Bratva.
They won't touch you. And if they try, you’ll be safer with me—with the protection I can offer you, that Konstantin will extend to you, as my wife.
If you want to live, this is your best and only option. "
She stares at me for a long moment. “This is insane,” she whispers. “What if the other girls had survived? What would you have done then? You couldn’t marry them all?—”
“No,” I interrupt her. “But they didn’t survive. You did. I found you, and I needed to make a decision on how to keep you safe. This is my solution. Take it or leave it.”
She blinks rapidly. “Why? Why protect me?”
My jaw tightens. “Does it matter?”
“It matters to me.”
I let out a sharp breath, impatient with how long this is taking.
“You’re innocent,” I say simply. “You don’t deserve what they were going to do to you.
And you don’t deserve to die.” I pause, seeing her eyes narrow.
“In my world, dikaya koshka , there is a great deal of harm. I have spilled plenty of blood, hurt countless others. But I can help you.”
“This is insane,” she repeats, and I shrug.
"Maybe. But it's the only way you're going to survive this."
Her lips press together, nearly as pale as the rest of her face. She looks toward the altar, where Father Martinez has retreated, and then back at me. "If I do this, if I marry you, what happens then?"
"Then you live."
“And if I say no?”
“Then you die. Not right now, but probably before the sun rises. Certainly before another day passes. It won’t take them long to find you.”
I can see the terror and confusion in her eyes. Her entire world has changed in a matter of hours, her perception of everything around her shifted dramatically. I feel a pang of sympathy for her. This would be hard for anyone, and she’s dealing with it better than most.
I think she knows it’s not really a choice. But I need her to say yes. I’m not sure that Father Martinez will conduct a ceremony with a bride who’s clearly being forced, no matter how much money we put in his coffers. And anyway, even if he would, I can’t drag the words out of her.
She swallows hard, glances toward the door, and then back up at me, as if she’s trying to determine just how truthful I’m being. Whatever it is that she sees in my face, she nods slowly, her face still white as a sheet.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll marry you.”