Chapter 6 - Elena
Despite being quiet on the way to his place, that spell ends the moment we get out of the car.
In my family, I’ve always been the calm one and the mediator.
I always try to smooth things over before anyone raises their voice or, on the rare occasion, my brothers get physical.
They like to joke that I was born gentle and that I have a way of softening the sharp aspects of their lives.
It’s one of the reasons Roman is always doting on me, making sure that nothing changes that part of me.
But tonight, while Wyatt leads me through another parking garage—the one beneath his condo tower—hand firmly on my elbow while he makes sure I keep moving forward, that softness I harbor feels farther away than usual.
The adrenaline and panic that were hiding beneath my vague curiosity about him have reached the surface again, and a very Lukov-based refusal to be controlled follows right after.
As much as I’ve gone along with his impromptu rescue mission, it hits me all at once.
I don’t know him. Regardless of his claims, I don’t know what he wants with me, or what he’ll be willing to do when he gets me alone again, trapped in his home and out of the public eye.
After the way he handled those men on the road, and how he forced me into something I never asked for, I can’t risk doubting his intentions.
Digging my heels into the pavement, Wyatt grunts as my resistance throws off his stride. He grips me tighter automatically, fingers biting into my arm.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you I don’t want to be here,” I mutter, twisting my arm to try and break free.
“Elena,” he warns, voice low.
Not caring, I glare up at him and continue pulling back. “You don’t get to drag me around like this.”
Wyatt’s jaw clenches tighter. “You fought me getting into the car, and now you’re fighting me getting out. I’m starting to see a pattern.”
Keeping my chin lifted, I don’t back down. “I don’t like being ordered around. Especially not by someone whose knee-jerk reaction is to marry a person the moment things go south.”
“Neither do I,” he utters, leaning closer before putting his opposite hand on my shoulder. “Yet, here we are. Move.”
The elevator doors slide open with a soft sound that seems far too polite and polished for the struggle happening between us. With deliberate force, he steers me inside, stepping close enough that I can feel the heat from him against my back.
He’s way too close.
With my free hand, I push against his chest, but he doesn’t budge in the slightest, and something about that pisses me off.
Instead, Wyatt lets go of my elbow and grabs my waist while his fingers span too much of my middle, locking me in place against the elevator wall. His irritated gaze pins me on the spot just as intensely.
“Stop fighting me,” he says quietly, full of warning and control stretched too tight.
He’s much bigger than me, and apparently, far stronger. For those reasons alone, I shouldn’t push my luck, but I’ve never been one to just accept things. Especially not when it involves my autonomy.
So I hold his gaze, refusing to be intimidated. “Or what?”
Wyatt leans in, crowding me with that light scowl. “Or I lose my patience. I don’t recommend it.”
As much as I want to push back against it, everything hidden within those words scares me more. Everything he’s surely capable of and willing to do if push comes to shove.
Still, it sends a bright, unwanted spark through my system. It catches me off guard, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
I hate it. I hate him.
With the doors closed, the elevator begins its ascent, the hum of it vibrating through my bones. While I’m forced to stand with my back against the wall, feeling the scorching heat of his palm against my waist, my eyes catch our reflection in the mirror opposite us.
I see his massive frame boxing me in, my hands gripping the ends of his jacket in an attempt to gain some sort of control, expression defiant and flushed despite myself.
We look both dangerous and ridiculous, and I wrench my focus away before I can let it get to me.
“For someone who claims not to be a monster, you’re doing an exceptional job at acting like one,” I utter.
Wyatt’s grip tightens just a fraction, enough to put pressure on me to behave. “You’re testing too much right now.”
“Good.”
Despite the irritation stitched into his features, Wyatt exhales through his nose. “You’re angry, I get it. But this isn’t helping either of us.”
“Oh, you get it, do you?” I retort, tone bitter. “Regardless of how you want to slice it, you abducted me, too, and you forged a marriage between us based on nothing but your savior complex.”
His gaze darkens. “I didn’t kidnap you.”
“You hauled me to the car like someone would when they’re kidnapping another person.”
“Yeah, out of a warehouse where you were tied to a chair, prepped and primed to be sold off to the highest bidder. What’s your point?” Wyatt asks, testing me with the way he stares at me.
“That doesn’t make it okay!”
An almost uncomfortable beat of silence fills the scant space between us, then his jaw clenches.
“No,” Wyatt murmurs, agreeing. “It doesn’t.”
The admission immediately throws me off-center, making me look at him more thoroughly.
I see the faint shadows under his eyes, along with the tension etched into his features.
He’s aggravated and frustrated, obviously, but it doesn’t look entirely focused on me.
Instead, those emotions seem to be targeted at himself.
I can’t find the words to say, and instead, the elevator doors slide open, exposing the dimly lit hallway beyond.
The carpet muffles the sound of our steps as he guides me forward again, and despite being too startled to react at first, I remind myself to resist. The moment I do, he sighs.
Then, without any warning, Wyatt shifts his grip and hauls me against his side, locking an arm around my waist. My feet barely touch the floor.
“Put me down!”
“Walk,” he says, not leaving any room for argument. “Or I won’t hesitate to carry you.”
Squirming, fury blazes through me, but he’s an unmovable wall of determined muscle. Every step presses me closer, and I brush against his chest while my hip fits against his in a way that makes my breath hitch despite myself. A light flush creeps into my cheeks.
I hate this. I despise how my body reacts before my brain can catch up, and how the heat emanating from him makes it even harder to think. This isn’t how I’m used to being handled.
Most men who gravitate around my family are careful and polished. They’re controlled, well aware that any wrong move can result in undesirable consequences. They hover at arm’s length and smile while biding their time until they get what they want.
But Wyatt doesn’t ask. He takes control and makes things happen.
Something about that realization sends a thrill through me, sharp enough to scare me more than I thought possible.
I force myself to be still, even if it pains me to.
“Fine,” I bite back, tugging my arm away in an attempt to both move on my own and regain some of my dignity. “I’ll walk.”
Wyatt loosens his hold, but doesn’t remove it completely, while his hand stays firm at my lower back, steering me down the hall. Every step feels charged and comes with a sense of anticipation that makes my stomach turn.
From our point of contact, I can feel how aggravated he is. How close he is to snapping.
Worse, I can feel the part of him that knows he did this to himself, and the weight of his mistake is pressing down on him just as heavily as the risks we face.
In a way, it almost makes me feel sorry for him. Almost.
Eventually, we reach a door at the end of the hall, and Wyatt pulls out a keycard from his pocket. He swipes it, then the lock clicks, and he pushes the door open.
Without looking back, he guides me inside the condo, hardly giving me the chance to take my surroundings in before he’s sweeping me deeper into the place.
In a blink, I’m being pushed into a bedroom that’s both big, well-furnished, and immaculate.
The king-sized bed is made with charcoal-colored sheets, the windows are covered in blackout curtains, the rug looks almost brand new, and nothing seems out of place.
Still, the decorations are far and few in between, giving it a lack of softness.
Wyatt nudges me inside, but before he can close the door, I spin on him. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping you here.”
“You’re locking me in?” I question, brows pinching together.
His expression doesn’t change. “Just for the night.”
That riles up my anger even more. “Like hell you are.”
“Elena,” he murmurs, voice low enough to make me shiver. “I don’t want you wandering around a place you don’t know.”
I hardened my gaze at that. “I’m not a child.”
“No…you’re a liability.”
Just barely, I flinch at that, not liking what that implies. Of course, he notices, and something unreadable flickers in his gaze. Wyatt takes a quiet breath.
“Until things settle, this is the safest place for you.”
“Safest for you,” I return, arms crossing again. “So you can monitor me.”
“Yes.”
As much as I don’t want his lies, his honesty still gets under my skin, making my chest feel tight as I stare at him. “Consent must be a foreign thing for you.”
“Not at all,” he says without hesitation, gaze not leaving mine. “Not where it counts. But sometimes, we don’t have the luxury of taking our time.”
My eyes narrow in question as I look him over, catching the underlying innuendo. I scoff. “What, marrying me was time sensitive?”
“Yes. And necessary.”
“Save it,” I mumble, growing tired of listening to his weak attempts at justifying just how insane everything has become.
Despite not being aggressive, Wyatt’s presence overwhelms me as he steps closer, brimming with heat, strength, and intent that still doesn’t make much sense to me. The tension still ripples beneath his skin.
“You’re angry, and you should be…”
“Yet, you keep touching me.”
He glances down at my forearm, where his hand rests, as if done subconsciously. For a split second, he almost seems annoyed by the fact that I even brought it up. Then, he steps back, giving me a moment of relief.
“Rest,” he murmurs, voice low enough for me to almost miss the surprisingly gentle words. He turns toward the door and reaches for the handle. “There are spare clothes in the closet.”
As he opens it, a rush of panic hits me, and I see and feel my window of opportunity closing rapidly.
His proximity distracted me enough to momentarily forget where I am, and the fact that I’m being stored away in the spare room belonging to a man I’m legally supposed to call my husband. One I’ve only known for a few hours at most.
It almost makes me dizzy to even consider it.
“Wait,” I blurt out as the pressure of it all hits me at once.
Wyatt pauses, but he doesn’t turn. His hand rests on the doorframe while he listens.
“You can’t just leave me here. Not after everything—”
“It’s been a long night, Elena. You need rest and distance.”
“From what?”
“Me,” he mumbles, almost like it’s some kind of reassurance.
Instead of making me feel better, it twists a knot into my chest, stirring up a strange kind of sympathy I don’t understand yet. Regardless of everything he has done, he’s oddly self-aware, and I’m not prepared to unpack it.
Something closer to restraint settles in his expression. “Goodnight.”
Without another word, he steps out and closes the door. The lock clicks, and the sound echoes in the sudden silence that feels far too oppressive for my liking.
I stand there for a long moment, staring at the door while every thought churns in my mind, trying to process what this means. To process everything that has happened to me.
When reality sets in, proving that the door isn’t going to open again for some time, I sink onto the edge of the bed with only my pulse in my ears to keep me company.
I should hate him…I do. I hate him for assuming control of me, along with his arrogance and self-righteous need to decide everything for me.
Yet, I can still feel the ghost of his touch. I can feel the thrill that moved through me from how he maneuvered me like it was nothing.
It shouldn’t feel exciting at all, but even I’m not immune to someone like him.
Pressing my palms to my face, I force out a breath and try to get a grip.
Wyatt’s dangerous. Hell, all of this is dangerous. But regardless of how trapped I should feel, another part of me is more awake than it ever has been.
That terrifies me most of all.