Chapter 3
Zara
My hands won’t stop shaking as I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror.
The room is huge, with marble everywhere, gleaming brass, and expensive products on the counters.
Pale salmon walls, gorgeous lighting, thick rugs under my feet.
I’ve never seen anything like it outside of magazines and on screen.
But all I can think is, this isn’t real.
It can’t be real. With the taste of fear bitter on my tongue.
And something else… something worse. Much more dangerous.
Something wild, powerful, overwhelming. A fire, a dark desire that blazes between my thighs, makes my breasts heavy and my nipples hard as rock.
I want him. Crave him. Long for his touch.
I wanna bury my nose into his wide chest and get drunk on his woodsy scent, feel his huge hands on my body, the heavy weight of him pushing me into a mattress…
Oh God… I’m sick. I’ve never been with a man, never wanted one.
Never had room for romance, what with spending every ounce of energy, every second of the past almost decade fighting to survive.
And with one look, this man, this monster, brings something to life inside me I never knew was there.
Or could exist. Something I never even thought I could feel.
I splash water on my face, trying to pull myself together. Think, Zara. There has to be a way out of this. Out of this monumental mess, and the storm of emotions this man ignites in me.
But every escape plan I come up with crumbles under the weight of reality.
I have no money. No family. No one would even really notice if I disappeared.
Just a handful of friends going through the same life struggles I am.
And he’s right about the police: they won’t stop until they get what they want from me, and trusting them to protect me against Nikolai Maksimov would be fucking stupid.
A knock on the door makes me jump so hard that I bump into the marble counter.
“Five minutes.” His deep voice is perfectly calm, which makes all of this ten times worse. It’s like he has all the time, energy, and patience in the world to fuck up my life.
I look at myself one more time. My dark skin looks ashen with fear; my eyes are red and swollen. And with my cheap uniform, I definitely don’t look like someone who’s about to get married.
The door opens before I can respond, and Nikolai enters, filling the doorway.
God, he’s huge… shoulders so broad they block out the light behind him.
His thick hair doesn’t have a strand out of place.
The flawlessly cut suit he’s wearing probably costs more than I’ve made all year.
It’s fitted to his massive frame like it was sewn directly to his body.
My breath catches in my throat. Not from attraction, I scold myself, from terror.
Stop looking at him like that. He’s a goddamn killer. You fucking saw him murder a man. And you’re very high on the list of his potential next victims!
But I can’t help it. Even knowing what he’s capable of, my traitorous body is way too aware of how smoking hot Nikolai Maksimov is, and I hate myself for it.
But it’s not just that. It’s a dark, twisted fascination for what he represents.
The power he embodies. What his life must be like. Everything that makes him…
He steps inside the bathroom, and suddenly the spacious room feels tiny.
He’s overwhelming: all expensive cologne and controlled power.
I stare at the sharp line of his jaw, the flecks of rich brown in his dark eyes, the small scar cutting through his left eyebrow.
The one that makes him look even more dangerous.
And hotter, the sick part of my brain I want to strangle whispers.
One of his huge hands comes up to collar my throat, and I freeze at the contact.
His palm is warm and calloused, touching me with possessiveness.
And it feels good, so fucking good. Like I could let go.
Let him take charge. Finally, rely on someone else.
Let them hold me, care for me, fight my battles…
But my brain reminds me it’s the same hand that held a gun to Marcus’s head without hesitation.
What the hell is wrong with me?
I push back my shoulders and stare him straight in the eye, determined to try one more time. “Don’t force me to marry you.”
His smile reveals perfect white teeth. It’s the smile of a predator who’s cornered his prey.
And God help me, even that scary grin makes something big and warm and terrifyingly delicious unfurl in my stomach.
I’m losing my mind. I have to be. Because no sane person would look at a killer and feel their pulse quicken for any reason other than terror.
“Marrying me is the only thing that’s going to keep you alive, baby.”
His thumb traces my skin, and I hate how my body responds with a shiver that has nothing to do with fear.
His dark eyes devouring every emotion passing over my face, Nikolai leans closer, and I’m trapped between his massive body and the sink.
He’s towering over me, making me feel impossibly small despite my big-girl body.
His breath is warm against my skin, and I can see the corded muscles of his neck, the way his expensive shirt stretches across his chest.
My body is betraying me in the worst possible way. Even terrified out of my mind, I can’t stop noticing how broad his shoulders are, how his suit can’t hide the powerful frame underneath. How amazing he smells… expensive cologne and something darker, pure male.
He’s a killer, I remind myself desperately. He put a gun to a man’s head and pulled the trigger without blinking.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I want to die from shame because it’s not entirely from fear. There’s something about the way he looks at me, like I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever seen, that makes my body respond in a way that terrifies me.
I’m hot for my captor. A murderer. What kind of sick person does that make me?
“We need to go,” he says, stepping back. “The courthouse closes in an hour.”
“What if I say no? What if I refuse to say the words?”
Something cold flickers in his dark eyes. And for a second, I see the killer from the alley: emotionless, deadly, capable of anything. The man who watched another bleed out without a flicker of remorse.
Terror slams back into me full force, washing away the unwanted attraction like a bucket of ice water.
“Then I’ll carry you unconscious to a judge who doesn’t care if you’re awake for the ceremony.”
The way he says it makes my blood turn to ice. “You can’t do that.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want, baby. The sooner you understand that, the better.”
I have no choice. I’ve never had a choice.
* * *
We walk into the courthouse, Nikolai’s hand on the small of my back.
And even through my uniform shirt, I can feel the heat of his palm, the strength of his fingers.
He’s so much taller than me I barely reach his shoulder.
Eyes follow him, drawn by his dark good looks and obvious wealth.
People step aside without thinking, some primitive instinct warning them that this is not someone to be messed with.
“Nikolai Maksimov,” he tells the clerk at the marriage license window.
She’s a tired-looking woman in her fifties, who straightens when her eyes raise to him.
“ID and birth certificates,” she says with a smile.
See? Even she thinks he’s hot. You’re not crazy.
Yes, you are. You’re thirsting for someone who’s threatening to kill you!
He slides documents across the counter. Where the hell did this man get my birth certificate?!
“Miss?” The clerk looks at me expectantly. “I need your ID, too.”
I fumble for my wallet with shaking hands. My driver’s license looks pathetic next to his expensive everything. Standing next to him, I feel like Cinderella in her rags next to Prince Charming.
My eyes widen, trying to communicate my distress to the clerk. I’m being forced into this. He’s a killer. Please help me.
Nikolai’s hand tightens on my back in a clear warning.
* * *
Judge Husley is a small woman with kind eyes who clearly has no idea what she’s being roped into. She smiles at us as we enter her chambers, and I want to scream at her to look closer. To see the terror in my eyes, the way my body shakes.
“Thank you for squeezing us in, Your Honor,” Nikolai says smoothly.
Judge Husley beams at us.
God, I’m so fucked.
His hand finds mine, and even knowing what he’s capable of, my pulse quickens at the contact.
“Shall we?” the judge asks.
This is it. My last chance to run, to scream, to do something. Anything!
But I just nod, paralyzed by terror and something altogether different I don’t want to name.
I barely hear the ceremony. Something about love and honor and cherishing each other until death do us part. Which, knowing Nikolai, will be sooner rather than later.
“Do you, Nikolai, take Zara to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” His voice is strong, certain, and when I glance up at him, he’s looking down at me with an intensity that steals my breath. For a moment, he looks like he means it. And I feel like I almost want him to. What the hell is wrong with me?
“And do you, Zara, take Nikolai to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
The words stick in my throat. This is my last moment of freedom, my last chance to be just Zara Thompson instead of Mrs. Cold-blooded-monster.
“Zara?” the judge prompts gently.
Nikolai’s fingers tighten around mine, and I feel the threat in his touch.
“I do,” I breathe out, sealing my fate.
“By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” She turns a serious look my way.
“You’ll be okay.” Oh My God, she knows! But before I can process that.
Process how fucked I am, how there’s nowhere to hide, no one to trust. Nikolai turns to me, and the look in his eyes makes my insides melt.
It’s filled with possessiveness and hunger.
His dark eyes feel like a burn as they travel over my face, like he’s committing every second of this moment to memory.
His big hands cup my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. And I can see every detail of his face. The thick, dark lashes, the impossibly perfect bone structure, his full, tempting lips. He’s fucking beautiful.
“Hello, wife,” he rumbles.
Then his mouth is on mine. And my brain short-circuits.
Because this kiss isn’t what I expected.
It’s not rough or punishing, not the brutal claiming of a man who threatened to end me.
It’s slow. Deliberate. His lips moving against mine like he’s fucking savoring me.
Tasting me. Learning the shape of my mouth like we’ve got all the time in the world.
His taste makes my head spin. His cologne fills my lungs. And his stubble scrapes against my skin, rough and delicious. One of his big hands cups the back of my head, tilting me exactly where he wants me.
And God help me, I kiss him back. My lips part under his, and a sound leaves me that I will deny to my grave.
His tongue sweeps against mine, slow and filthy, and my hands fist his suit jacket, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.
My nipples are aching, my thighs pressing together, slick pooling between my legs for a man who wrapped his hand around my throat and told me to marry him or die.
What is wrong with you, Zara?