Midnight Oath (Tasarov Bratva 1)

“Isn’t it, though?” I grit out. “You told Isabella we live here now.”

“Because you do,” he says. “Until our marriage is over, this is your house, too.”

“Our marriage hasn’t even started in the first place!”

“I don’t need a piece of paper and a judge to make anything official. I gave you my word. You gave me yours. That’s more than enough for me.”

I roll my eyes. “So noble, especially coming from a man who kidnapped a child—”

Adrik grabs my arms and slams them over my head, pinning my wrists together. My body arches out of necessity, and his chest presses against mine.

My nipples are painfully peaked—probably from the adrenaline. Certainly not because I can see the muscles in his forearms contracting. And definitely not because seeing the way Isabella smiled up at him made my heart ache for all the things I’ve never been able to give her: a father figure, a male role model.

No, it’s a purely chemical response. Pheromones doing their nasty business. And as soon as I get away from him, it will dissipate.

“Stop grabbing me, you—”

“You don’t fucking get it,” he says, leaning in so close there isn’t a single place we aren’t touching. I’ve never been this close to anyone with my clothes still on before. “You tried to catch me out. To beat me. But there is no beating me. There is no winning. How stubborn are you that you haven’t yet learned that lesson?”

“You have to get Isabella a dog now, so I’d count that as a win.”

“And then our marriage is over, and I take it away from her,” he says evenly. “What happens then?”

I open my mouth to respond, but there’s no response.

The answer is, Nothing. Nothing happens then. I can’t do a thing about that, and he knows it.

“Imagine all the pretty things I can give the two of you. All the luxuries and gifts you never had before. A whole life of beauty and ease..” His free hand dances down my cheek, his finger running along the curve of my neck. “And then… I take it all away. One by one by one.”

“Why would you—”

“Because there’s nothing I can’t do,” he says. “And any time you delude yourself into thinking you’re winning, I’ll be here to bring you back down to Earth. To reality. I own you, Emery Montague. Etch that into your stubborn little brain.”

His touch burns. I wouldn't be surprised later to look and see he's branded me, marked me as his.

But with my arms pinned above my head and Adrik pressing in on every conceivable inch of me, I know he doesn't need a physical brand. My body is rising to meet him, angling for more of him. It's aware of what my mind won't accept.

That I’m already his in every way that matters.

"That will never happen," I snap. "I'll never give in. I'll fight you every step of the way."

"Ask my last fiancée how that worked out for her," he hisses.

I freeze.

Last fiancée? Huh?

"What happened?" I ask, not even sure if I want to know. My blood is ice in my veins, my skin pricked up in foreboding goosebumps.

He leans forward until his lips brush against mine. All it would take is the slightest movement and we'd be kissing.

"Well, you could ask her yourself," he says, whispering the words into my mouth. "But you’d have to dig her up first.”

Then, all at once, his body and warmth are gone. I stumble forward, trying to find the ground beneath my feet again.

Adrik is already marching down the hallway. He doesn't look back.