Chapter 1 #2
Up close, he was terrifying. His face was all hard planes and sharp angles, his skin pale against the jet-black hair cut severely short. A jagged white scar cut through his left eyebrow, giving him a permanent look of danger. His eyes were the color of a winter ocean—grey, flat, and freezing.
And they were locked on me.
"Going once!" I shrieked, my voice cracking. I tried to ignore the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "Going twice for the guy in the red hat!"
Theo didn't speak. He didn't bid.
He walked up to the edge of the pool table. He was so tall that his eyes were nearly level with my knees. He looked at the guys surrounding me, and his lip curled in a sneer of pure disgust.
Then, without a word, he reached out.
His hands were enormous. He grabbed my waist—his fingers digging into the silk, searing my skin through the fabric—and hauled me off the table.
I shrieked, dropping my cup. Vodka splattered onto his expensive coat. "Hey! Put me down!"
He didn't listen. He didn't even grunt. He swung me up and over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes, his arm clamping across the back of my thighs like a steel bar.
"Let go of me!" I thrashed, pounding my fists against his broad back. It was like hitting a brick wall. "Do you know who I am? I’m Mila Kensington! I’ll have you expelled!"
The room was dead silent. Three hundred people watching the Ice King abduct the Brat.
Theo turned, carrying me toward the stairs. The blood rushed to my head. I could see the floor moving past, the stunned faces of the frat boys.
"Put! Me! Down!" I screamed, kicking my legs.
He stopped.
We were at the bottom of the stairs. He shifted his grip, his hand sliding down to the curve of my ass.
Smack.
The sound cracked through the basement like a gunshot.
Pain—sharp, stinging, and shocking—bloomed across my right cheek. I gasped, my entire body going rigid. He had just… he had just spanked me. In front of everyone.
"Be quiet," he growled.
His voice vibrated through his chest, directly into my stomach. It wasn't a shout. It was deep, rough, and terrifyingly calm. It was the voice of a man who never had to repeat himself.
The shock paralyzed me. My mouth hung open, but no sound came out. The humiliation burned hotter than the vodka, but beneath it… beneath it was a jolt of electricity that zap-fried my nerve endings.
He resumed walking, carrying me up the stairs and out into the biting cold of the night.
The Tsar
She was lighter than I expected.
She looked like she was made of sugar and glass, but she felt like nothing in my arms. Just hollow bones and nervous energy. She smelled like trouble—vanilla perfume that cost three hundred dollars an ounce, mixed with the sharp tang of cheap alcohol.
It made my nose itch.
I marched through the snow toward my truck, ignoring the way she had gone limp over my shoulder. The fight had drained out of her the moment my hand connected with her backside.
I hadn't planned to do it. It was instinct. She was hysterical, spiraling, screaming nonsense. A sharp shock to the system was the only way to reset a brain that was misfiring. It was basic conditioning. But now, my palm tingled. The curve of her felt… soft.
I hated it. I hated that I had touched her. I hated that I could feel the heat of her skin through the thin silk of that ridiculous dress.
I reached my matte black Ford Raptor, unlocked the door, and dumped her into the passenger seat.
She scrambled back against the door immediately, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. In the harsh dome light, she looked like a wrecked doll. Her mascara was smudged, her hair was a bird's nest of platinum tangles, and her dress had ridden up high on her thighs.
She was shivering. Violent tremors that shook her whole frame.
"You hit me," she whispered. Her voice was trembling, stripping away the bratty veneer she wore like armor. She sounded young. Too young.
"I adjusted your attitude," I corrected, climbing into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. The sound sealed us in. The silence of the cab was immediate and heavy.
"You can't just kidnap me," she said, though the fire was gone. She hugged her knees to her chest, trying to cover her legs. "My father—"
"Sent me," I cut her off. I jammed the key into the ignition and the engine roared to life, blasting heat into the freezing cabin.
Mila blinked, the confusion warring with the alcohol in her system. "What?"
"Your father," I repeated, not looking at her. I put the truck in gear and pulled out of the frat lot, the tires crunching over the packed snow. "He froze your accounts. He cancelled your lease. You’re homeless, Mila."
"I have a hotel," she stammered, rubbing her arms. "I can just…"
"No credit cards," I reminded her. "No friends who will take you in once they realize the money tap is turned off. You’re done."
I risked a glance at her. She looked devastated. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it hard to stop it. For a second, just a split second, I felt a twinge of something in my chest. Pity? No. I didn't do pity. Pity was for the weak.
"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice small.
" The Fortress," I said. "My house."
Her eyes widened. "The hockey house? In the woods? No. absolutely not. It smells like gym socks and testosterone. I am not living in a frat house."
"It’s not a frat house," I said, merging onto the main road leading away from campus. "And you don't have a choice. You belong to me now."
The words hung in the air, heavier than I intended. You belong to me.
Technically, it was true. According to the contract in my pocket, I was her guardian. Her warden. But the way the words sounded in the dark cab felt different. Primal.
Mila stared at me, her blue eyes searching my profile. The fear was still there, but something else was creeping in. Curiosity. And defiance.
"I don't belong to anyone," she snapped, finding a scrap of her bratty courage. "I’m not a piece of property, Volkov. I’m not a puck you can just slap around."
"Could have fooled me," I said dryly. "Five minutes ago you were selling yourself to the highest bidder for attention."
She flinched as if I’d slapped her face. She looked out the window, her reflection ghosting against the dark glass. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know you’re a spoiled little girl who cries when she doesn't get her way," I said, my grip tightening on the steering wheel until the leather creaked.
"And I know that for the next five months, you are my problem.
So here is how this works, Princess. You live in my house. You eat my food. You follow my rules."
"And if I don't?" she challenged, turning back to glare at me.
I slowed the truck as we turned onto the private gravel road that led to the Fortress. The headlights cut through the dense pine trees, casting long, skeletal shadows across the snow.
I pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. The darkness rushed back in.
I turned in my seat, shifting my bulk so I was facing her. The cab was small, forcing her to lean back against the door to keep distance between us. The air between us crackled, electric and volatile. I could smell the vanilla again, cloying and sweet.
"If you don't," I said softly, leaning in until I saw her pupils dilate, swallowing the blue. "If you disobey me, Mila, I won’t send you back to your daddy. I’ll deal with you myself."
Her breath hitched. She looked at my mouth, then up to the scar on my eye. She was terrified, but she wasn't looking away.
"Is that a threat?" she whispered.
My gaze dropped to her throat, watching her pulse hammer against the delicate skin.
"It’s a promise," I said.
I opened my door and stepped out into the cold, leaving her breathless in the dark. The game had started, and she didn't even know the rules yet. But she would learn.
I would make sure of it.