Chapter 17
Katerina
“Take your hands off of me,” I demand as I roll my eyes.
I’d rather fall on my ass than have him catch me.
This man, my husband, is infuriating. He swore he’d let me live my life separately. I have the letter that proves it. And in the limo earlier he even repeated it.
But in the past few hours, all he’s been is extremely annoying. It took everything I had to keep my composure at the reception, and it was only possible because Viktor was there. I won’t risk his wrath just to bite back at my husband.
Dominic is not at all the man I thought he was. He’s maddening. I don’t know how long I can last before I do something I regret, well more than hitting him. Actually, I don’t regret hitting him, even if he hits me back harder.
But he hasn’t yet. I wonder if he’s just waiting until we’re in the privacy of his home before he punishes me. But I won’t let him beat me into submission.
“I just stopped you from falling!” He scoffs as though he was doing me a favor by gripping my waist.
I roll my eyes because, technically, he might have been.
I push him off of me and step out of the car, taking in the castle he lives in.
I wasn’t paying attention when we entered the gate, but now I am. It’s breathtaking in a gothic sort of way. It feels just like Dominic, dark and brooding, but still expensive. I just stand there and stare.
“Welcome home, Katerina Montclair.” I can feel his smugness in his voice.
I cringe at the name. I hated being a Sokolov simply because of Viktor, but I never expected to replace it with a name so far from my roots. And I certainly never expected to call home a place with no ties to Russia. It’s an odd feeling.
As we walk up the steps, an older man opens the front door. He’s tall and bald and so stoic. I can’t get a reading on him.
“Welcome home, Mr. and Mrs. Montclair,” he says sternly.
He holds the door open for us, and Dominic walks through first. I scoff at the lack of chivalry. Even if someone else is holding the door open for us, a man should always let his lady through first. Looks like someone wasn’t taught basic manners.
“Thank you,” I tell the man as I enter.
He nods slightly and closes the door behind me.
“Would you like me to show Mrs. Montclair to her chambers?” the butler asks.
“Yes, please do. And call me Katerina.” I can’t stand hearing any last name associated with my name. Maybe I’ll become like Madonna and just not have a last name.
Instead of showing me to my chambers, the man stares at Dominic, waiting for his instructions.
Assholes. Of course he’s not going to listen to me. How silly of me to forget only men are worthy of giving orders.
“No, Harold. She’ll be staying with me,” Dominic says after a moment of contemplation. His smile at his decision enrages me.
“Yes, sir,” Harold says with a nod.
“No! You said I’d have my own side of the house! That I’d get my own privacy and my own life!” I don’t care that I sound like a whiny, petulant child.
He’s taking away the freedom he promised me. He gave me hope, only to squash it. It’s not fair.
“I changed my mind,” he says it as though his decision is concrete. That there’s no changing it.
“No, no, no. That’s not how this goes. You said I’d get–” I start, but I must piss him off.
“I don’t care what I said. I’m now saying that I changed my mind.” He runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the ends. “So, follow me. It’s late. Let’s get to bed.”
“I’m not following you anywhere. Harold will show me to my room. And I sure as fuck am not going to your bed!” I start to raise my voice, unable to contain my rage any longer.
“Harold, you’re excused for the night.” Dominic waves his hand, and my last shred of hope leaves with him. “You’re coming with me to our bed. My wife will be by my side on our wedding night. Now you can either come on your own two feet, or I can take you. It’s up to you.”
I’m furious now. I see an ugly black and gold vase within arm’s reach and pick it up.
“Fuck you, mudak!” I throw the vase at his head in rage.
His eyes flare as he watches it crash to the ground. It breaks into thousands of tiny pieces. He didn’t even have to move because my aim was terrible.
“Bad girl,” he muses.
Within a blink of an eye, he has me thrown over his shoulder and is marching down the hallway. I can’t keep track of where we’re going.
I punch his back and kick his stomach but eventually stop because his muscular body is so hard it’s hurting my fists and toes.
He finally opens a door, and we enter a room with a giant bed. The room is dark and mysterious. The main color is black, with accents of gold throughout it. It’s manly but not gaudy.
He throws me onto the bed, and I bounce. Then he prowls onto it until he’s hovering over me, trapping me.
The fury in his eyes would make a lesser girl shrink back, but I’ve faced angrier monsters. I can handle Dominic Montclair.
“Is this how our marriage is going to go, husband?” I hiss out ‘husband’ in disdain. “Are you going to boss me around, and when I don’t listen, you’ll manhandle me and overpower me by brute force? Not very nice of you. Imagine what Evelyn would say.”
I cackle afterwards. There’s a catharsis in my mania. In being able to fight back. It’s a high I’ve wanted to chase my whole life, and now that I finally have, no pain will take it from me.
“You’re the most maddening woman ever. But I’ll break you in, and I’m going to start with this tempting body. I’ll tame the Bratva Princess.” His grin is unmistakable, but I just scoff. If he thinks a beating is going to break me, he’s delusional. And fuck him for using that name.
“Hit me all you want. I’ll never back down.” I cackle, but it fades at his furious expression. If I thought he was angry before…
“I’m never going to hit you. I’d never bring you any pain.” His expression holds so much promise. I can feel the levity in it. He looks appalled by the suggestion.
But I roll my eyes. I know men. When they don’t get their way, they force it with their fists.
He shakes me enough to grab my attention.
“I will never hurt you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t break your resolve with my cock.” He lowers himself onto me, and I can feel his hardness press on my leg through our layers.
I gasp instinctively. He’s fucking huge. That monster isn’t going anywhere near me.
“You sick fucker, getting turned on by our fighting!” It comes out breathy, and that pisses me off.
“I see the flush on your cheeks. I see your eyes dilating, and your breath catching in your throat. You want me just as much as I want you,” he demands.
And sure enough, he’s right. I’m fucking turned on by our anger. I can’t help it if my husband is hot when he’s pissed.
“You’re delusional! Why would I ever let you touch me?” I throw back at him.
My breath is coming in pants, and he presses more of his weight onto me. He’s grinning, but I can see my effect on him. He’s red, and his pupils are blown out too.
“It’s our wedding night. We have to consummate our marriage,” he says cockily. What a dumbass.
“This isn’t the eighteen hundreds. I’m not ‘consummating our marriage.’” I’m appalled he even suggested it. Mostly.
“Its’s our wedding night,” he repeats dumbfoundedly.
I bring my wrist up and cup his cheek. He leans into it. The stupid mudak thinks I’m giving in.
“You don’t have any right to my body,” I say sweetly, then I pat his cheek condescendingly. Once, then twice.
“I’m your husband. I own your body,” he says darkly. He pulls my hand from his face and traps it on the bed in his own.
“You don’t own anything.” I struggle against his hold as I refute his medieval claim. I’m so sick of men thinking I belong to them. It’s ridiculous.
“I own this virgin cunt. And I’m going to take it.” He pauses for a moment, then leans in. “No. You’re going to give it to me. You’re going to be begging for me to take you.”
He grins, and I roll my eyes, knowing how much the disrespect pisses of the big bad Syndicate Boss.
“I’ll never beg a man for anything.” I swear, and it’s the truth. I will never give a man that pleasure. “And I’m not a virgin.” I lie with a big grin on my face. And it’s so worth it.
He exhales sharply as his eyes darken. His grip on my wrist tightens.
“That’s not what I heard,” he muses.
“You think I’m telling daddy when I fuck someone.
” I’m riling him up on purpose. After hours of pissing me off, it’s fun to dish it back to him.
“A girl has to keep her escapades to herself, no matter how delicious the man is. And boy were they delectable. Sexy, hard, big men. All begging for me. Their dicks–”
“ENOUGH!” he roars. It’s the first time he’s raised his voice, but instead of scaring me, I’m thrilled. It means I’m winning. “I won’t hear about any other man with you.”
He’s panting. His eyes are wild. They’re so dark, I can’t make out pupil from iris. He’s furious. And it makes me giddy.
“Oh, right. That’s our agreement. We keep our private lives separate, as long as we don’t flaunt it in front of each other.
” I mock him with his rules. Even though I want my freedom, the private lives thing isn’t important.
There will never be a man I’d risk my freedom for.
And now the appeal of him focusing on other women isn’t as good anymore.
In fact, the thought of him bringing other women to our home and having them in our bed pisses me off.
I’m the one who brought it up to get to him, but now it’s angering me. Great, I’m pissing myself off.
“Excuse me?” He doesn’t look as though he wants to be excused.
“In the letter. You made it clear that we can live our separate lives in private,” I remind him.
“What exactly are you saying?” His calm voice can’t hide his body’s reaction. He’s tense, a spring wound up, ready to uncoil.
“We can fuck whoever we want.” At this point, the idea is pissing me off as much as him. But I’m not letting that stop me from winning this argument. From letting it enrage him.
“Let me make one thing clear, doll. If another man so much as looks at you, I’ll gift you his eyes. The same goes for every part of him that touches you.” A soft smile grows on his face, but his wild, black eyes reveal his craze. He’s insanity incarnate.
“Excuse me?” I repeat his words from earlier, disbelief clouding my understanding. There’s no way this man in this tuxedo is capable of such a thing.
Then I remember how barbaric the Syndicate is, and realize, yes, he probably is.
“You are my wife. I will not have any other man near you.” It’s a promise and a threat wrapped in one.
“In name only. I’ll do as I damn well please on my own time,” I fight back. It’s addictive. The fight, the adrenaline, the power. I can’t get enough.
“Then their blood is on your hands. Every man you so much as look at will pay the price. In fact, I’ll make you watch as I dismember them.” He looks content with that and sits back.
I just stare at him, mouth agape. Because he’s not threatening to hurt me. No, he’s threatening to hurt men that want me. And I think it’s because he wants me. I can feel the promise in his words. And for some reason, it thrills me.
I must take too long to respond because he winks at me and walks to what must be the adjoining bathroom.
“You’re a sick fuck!” I throw at him, but he just chuckles.
“Doll, you haven’t seen anything yet.”