Chapter 14 #3
With a growl, I storm after her. She’s taking off down the driveway in her bare feet and a little black dress that clings to her ass and waist and shows off her long, toned ballerina legs. Where the hell does she think she’s going to go with no shoes, ID, or phone?
And while I’m not surprised my blushing bride is running, I am surprised it took her this long. Part of me expected her to bolt before she even walked down the aisle.
“Katya,” I call after her. “Come back here.”
She ignores me, her long black hair hanging down her back. I shouldn’t picture wrapping it around my fist and using it to hold her where I want her while my cock disappears down her throat, but I do.
I get closer. So close the faint scent of her shampoo hits me.
“Katya,” I try again. “You’re bleeding.”
“Why should you care?” she snaps without looking back at me.
“Because I’m responsible for you now.”
It’s the truth. I may not have wanted to marry her, but now that I have, she’s mine. I don’t take that lightly.
“I’m responsible for myself.”
She picks up her pace. The main road is still about half a mile away.
I have plenty of time to catch her. There’s not a chance in hell she’s going to escape me.
I start walking faster, gaining on her. In another beat, I break into a run, taking her by surprise.
I catch her around the waist and spin her so she’s facing me, her tits crushed into my chest. Her eyes are wide and the purest, lightest shade of blue I’ve ever seen.
“You’re mine now,” I remind her. “Mine to protect. You do what I say you do, you live where I say you live, and you don’t throw temper tantrums because you don’t like it. Got it?”
“I don’t subscribe to your old-school alpha male patriarchal bullshit, zasranets.” She shoves at my chest. “Let me go.”
“Your feet are bleeding.”
“So?” she spits out. “Who cares?”
She’s right. I shouldn’t care. I should let her walk off with bloody feet. Maybe she’d learn the hard way that when it comes to where she lives, who she interacts with, and anything pertaining to her general safety, I’m going to be the one in charge from now on.
I tell myself it’s just so I have the opportunity to spank her ass again as I lower my body to her midriff and hoist her over my shoulder in one quick move. I band an arm around the backs of her knees, keeping her still.
“Like I said,” I bite out. “You’re mine, whether you like it or not. I don’t take that lightly.”
“Maybe you should.” She wiggles and shimmies, trying to get away.
It’s not working. There’s no way in hell Katya’s escaping me.
I give her a sound spank to keep her from moving around so damn much. I don’t want to drop her. She’s feistier than she was the last few times I carried her this way. So I lengthen my strides, moving faster. The sooner I can set her down and have a look at her feet, the better.
I’m already halfway back to the house when she starts thrashing with new desperation. She narrowly avoids kicking me in the nuts.
“I’m not living with you!”
“Yes, you fucking are.”
She pounds on my back. “You’re going to have to lock me in.”
I give her another swat. “That can be arranged. Behave, cara mia, or you’re not going to like the result.”
Juggling her writhing body and the door, I make it back inside.
“Put me down!”
Striding into the living room, I dump her onto the nearest couch. She goes down softly, but she’s flailing and spitting mad. Which is how I like her. A subdued, sad Katya is something I don’t know how to deal with. I want the hellcat who bares her claws and uses them on my chest.
“Stay put,” I order her. “I need to look at your feet.”
“So you’re a doctor now?” she taunts, swiping the hair out of her face.
“Jack-of-all-trades,” I drawl. “And if you move an inch, you’re going to find out what else I’m good at.”
With that threat hovering in the air, I stalk to the bathroom and rummage around in the cabinets for a first aid kit and other supplies.
I find everything I need easily and head back to the living room, surprised when I see that she’s actually listened to me.
She hasn’t run off again. She’s on the couch the way I dumped her, feet dripping blood onto the hardwood.
This woman.
Cazzo, I hope she’s not going to need stitches.
I lower to my haunches and start working, cleaning off her feet first. There’s a small sliver of ceramic coffee cup shrapnel stuck in one of her heels.
“This is going to hurt,” I warn her, picking up a pair of tweezers I’ve wiped clean with alcohol.
“I can take care of it myself.”
“I saw how well you take care of yourself.” I give her a pointed look. “Stomping through a broken coffee cup and taking off down the driveway without any fucking shoes.”
“You broke in to my apartment—”
“Hold up, I didn’t break in to anything,” I interrupt, grasping her foot as I try to dislodge the sliver with the tweezers.
“Your men, then. And without my permission, all my belongings were packed up.”
“My men didn’t break in either. They didn’t need to.” Carefully, I pull out the sliver, catching her flinch and wince as I pluck it free.
We own the building she lives in, a fact I’ve not bothered to divulge. Convenient. All it took was one call to the manager and everything was in motion. But she doesn’t need to know that.
“You know what I’m saying, Andriani,” she snaps.
“We’ve been over this. It’s Scorpion. Or Lorenzo.” I pause as I wipe the cut with an alcohol pad and then apply some antibiotic ointment before smoothing on a bandage. “Or Daddy or God. Take your pick.”
I add the last two to piss her off, and it works.
She yanks her foot from my grasp. “I’d prefer bastard. Or egomaniac. Or delusional prick.”
I tsk and take her other foot in a firm grip. “That’s no way to talk to your husband of only one day, cara.”
“Sorry,” she says with patent insincerity.
Her fire makes my dick hard. I love when she’s sassy and snarky, using that tongue to tear me a new one.
Whenever her piece-of-shit brother is around, the fire dims. I’ve seen the way she interacts with him, and I know she’s afraid of Pakhan.
I don’t care what she said that day at her brother’s penthouse.
He’s strong-arming her into this, and I want to know how and why.
Now that she’s mine, I can start digging.
I clean up the dirt and blood, finding another shard embedded in the ball of her foot. “This one might sting too.”
I pluck it out, but it’s deeper than the first piece was, so this round involves a bit of squeezing.
I hear her sharp intake of breath, but she doesn’t otherwise show any hint of pain.
I would imagine she’s suffered far worse in her line of work.
Being a ballerina is rigorous, strenuous, and hard as fuck on the body.
I finish up my task, slathering on some ointment and then covering the cut with another adhesive bandage. “Just like new.”
“Thanks.” She jerks her foot away from me, still pouting.
About being married to me, moving in with me, or the damage she did to her feet with her stupid stunt, I can’t be sure. I straighten to my full height, and my cell goes off. The second I see the screen, I know I need to take the call.
It’s Priest.
I tap the screen and answer. “What’s up?”
“There’s a problem with the shipment,” he tells me without bothering to say hello.
“Fuck.”
Last night, we were moving a large quantity of drugs into our territory.
The deal had been scheduled long before the wedding, and we had some of our best guys on it, making sure everything went well.
As a goodwill gesture to the Bratva because of the wedding, we were going to split it with them, fifty-fifty.
I pace away from Katya, not wanting her to hear what’s going on, and scrub a hand over my jaw. “Is it the kind of problem I’m assuming?” I ask Priest quietly, needing to know what we’re up against.
“It’s worse,” he bites out. “Meet me here in ten minutes. We’re going to have to head back into the city.”
“What about Katya?”
“The women should stay here for now. I’ll send some guards down to the guesthouse. If she wants, she can move to the main house with Luna and Isla for company. There’s plenty of room. It’s your call.”
From the tenseness in my brother’s voice and the fact that he’s planning to leave his wife behind, I know something bad went down. “I’ll bring her along with me,” I decide instantly.
I’m not chancing leaving my flight-risk wife alone for what could be one or more days. She’ll be better off at the main house with Luna and Isla.
“See you in ten,” Priest clips.
I hang up the phone and turn to the wife I didn’t want. “Pack up your overnight bag. We’re headed to the main house.”
Her mouth opens like she’s about to argue, but I cut her off. “Now, or I’ll cuff you to a bed while I’m gone.”
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To the city. I have a few errands to run. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“But—”
“Just fucking do it, Katya,” I interrupt.
She must realize I’m deadly serious, because she stares at me for a beat and then nods. “I’ll go get my things.”