Reckless Heir (Underworld Kings)

I didn’t hear the gunshot but I felt the blood, the hot spray of it along my neck and throat, no doubt covering my pristine white dress. I felt the vibration of Edoardo’s body hitting the floor between Nikolai and I, but still I couldn’t take my eyes off my husband‘s bright blue eyes.

He’d brought death with him, and now he was bringing me down to hell to rule beside him.

Chapter

Thirteen

Amara

I felt my hearing slowly return, my body jerked back to reality. I felt pin pricks move along my arms and legs as the rush of blood increased under my skin. It was painful. I welcomed it. I inhaled, the oxygen feeling cold, icy in my lungs as the world crashed back into me.

I remembered bits and pieces of the reception, tears in my memory of the gun, of the bullet cracking through Edoardo’s skull. I saw flashes of images and sounds, the very real sensation of that warm spray of blood covering my neck and chest, my arms and all over my dress.

And as I stood here in the hotel room where I’d spend my wedding night, where Nikolai would pluck my virginity and lock it away as his and his alone, I knew with the cold hard truth of reality that I would forever be changed.

I closed my eyes as I thought back to the last few minutes after Edoardo was killed. I remembered staring at Nikolai looking into my eyes, the dead body of Edoardo between us, blood sprayed lightly across Nikolai’s neck. He’d said nothing, didn’t move, just breathed slowly, deeply, as if he hadn’t just put a bullet in my guard’s head for touching my hair. And that's all he would have seen. He wouldn't have known the disgusting things Edoardo said, what he planned. He didn’t know what I’d seen happen with Francesca.

Nikolai had killed someone for me for simply being too close, for touching a lock of my hair.

I vaguely remembered Francesca screaming at the end of the hall. Her mouth had been wide, her face red, and tears streamed down her face as she stared down at Edoardo’s body.

I remembered Nikolai wrapping his hand around my waist and pulling me close to his side, leading me down the hall and out of the reception hall. And when my father blocked our way, his face red as he stared at his now dead soldier, I vaguely recalled Nikolai telling my father we were leaving because he wanted to be alone with “his pretty new wife”, and that Marco “needed to clean up the mess”.

My father cursed under his breath in Italian, and then snapped his fingers for his men to do damage control and make sure the hotel staff didn’t come around until they got Edoardo out of there and the blood cleaned up.

But by then I was already half-way down the hallway-way, the heavy weight of his palm on the small of my back giving me a strange sort of comfort and stability. And what I recalled with clarity was that Nikolai hadn’t been in a rush. He hadn’t cared that he left a corpse in the hallway of a very busy and prestigious hotel.

I blinked back into focus and took in my surroundings. How long had we been in the hotel room? I didn’t remember anything after leaving my father and his men, and didn't remember the elevator ride up or stepping inside the room.

Yet here I was.

“Come, Amara,” Nikolai said in a deep voice and I blinked several times, seeing him standing in the darkened hallway, the shadows concealing his visage so all I could make out was his huge body.

And then I was moving toward him, following him, my feet padding over the plush runner making my steps silent. I was swallowed by the shadows, my need and desires and all the emotions I felt waging war in me.

He was already waiting for me in the grand bedroom, standing a few feet from me, the hue of the city lights making his massive body almost glow, yet concealing the entire front of him so I couldn’t see his expression.

Nikolai walked up to me, and I felt my heart jerk in my chest when he stopped a foot from where I stood. The scent of him had the air slowly leaving my lungs as if he alone had the power to make me breathless.

And when he lifted a hand all I could think about was that first time he’d touched me at my father's home, the forbidden stroke of his fingers on my body that lit me up from the inside out. But he didn’t touch me, and instead reached over my shoulder and slowly closed the door, the soft click deafening in the grand hotel master suite because it meant finality.

And then he was gone, moving several feet back as if he knew being so close to me made it hard to function, to think… to even breathe.

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even move as I watched Nikolai stare at me.

It seemed like an eternity passed where we just stood there, the pressure in the room growing until almost felt unbearable, like all he wanted to do was make me as uncomfortable and unsteady as possible.

He reached down and unclasped the heavy-metal of his watch before walking silently over to the polished dresser and setting it on top. He turned and faced me once more and shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket, tossing it to the bed without looking to see if it landed where it was meant for. His vest was to follow. His fingers found his bowtie, undoing it in steady, unhurried motions. When he was just in his crisp white shirt he held still for long seconds.

Then he went for the top of his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, going all the way down until he let the material move off those broad, wide shoulders and fall to the ground.

Nikolai still said nothing, and I let my focus trail over his broad shoulders, along his muscular arms, and over his defined, powerfully masculine chest. He was so big, so strong that I couldn’t breathe, felt a lighted fire start in me that scared the hell out of me.

He had tattoos covering a lot of his skin, dark and angry designs, skulls and detailed knives and guns, Russian symbols and words that made him seem even more dangerous.

Nikolai hummed in what was obvious approval and I snapped my gaze back to his face. His eyes were hooded as he smirked.

“Does my pretty young wife like the way her husband looks?”