Page 37 of Shackled

I lean back, studying her. “People in my world – our world – they don’t stay innocent.”

“No,” she says sadly. “You have to either die or become a monster yourself.”

Exactly.

“Yeah.”

We fall silent again, both of us lost in our thoughts.

“Marriage isn’t just a strategy.” I polish off my drink. “It’s a way to protect you.”

Her eyes flash. “I don’t need a man to protect me. I can take care of myself.”

Jesus. Here we go again. “But maybe you don’t have to. God, woman, we’re in this together now.”

She clenches her fists and turns away.

I push myself to my feet. Over the proverbial pillow talk. We’re getting married whether she likes it or not. I finish my drink and look over my shoulder.

“Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we’re heading to my family home.”

I swear as I leave. I hear her glass shatter into shards behind me.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Isabella

I sit in this… prison. A well-decorated, very comfortable prison, yes, but it’s still a fucking prison.

The room in his family’s home is extravagant… from what I’ve seen, anyway. It’s impeccably clean, too. My mama would approve, though she never understood the American love of neutrals and whites. But even though this room is gorgeous, I still feel as if I’m caged.

I practically am.

He made sure to remind me of that before he left to go help with preparations or whatever, our earlier conversation forgotten.

All day, I’ve heard people coming and going outside my door. Lev’s men scurry about, making arrangements. He’s leaving nothing to chance, ensuring there’s no possible way for me to escape. I’ve tried the windows, the locks, even the ventilation ducts. He’s covered every possible escape. I met with his family, we discussed the wedding, then he brought me to this room.

I guess the whole freedom thing doesn’t apply here. The truth is, though, I could escape even this room if I put my mind to it, but breaking out of here doesn’t hold the appeal it once did.

I stare out the window when the door swings open, and Lev steps in. He’s calm, composed, every bit the cold and ruthless strategist I’ve come to despise. When his eyes meet mine, the fire in them stokes flames of my own.

He’s cunning, wicked and fearless… and I want him.

I so fucking want this man all to myself.

Yes. Yes, we’re going to do just fine. I mean, we’ll have our growing pains.

“It’s all set,” he says. “We’re almost ready.”

I’m glad he doesn’t ask, Are you? Because that would be a ‘hell no’. I try to remember the glimmer of whatever I saw in him earlier. I try to remember my promise to myself to make this work.

I clench my fists, fighting the urge to lash out. “You’re making a mistake,” I spit. “I’ll never be yours willingly.”

He steps closer, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came. “You don’t have a choice,” he replies. “The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for both of us.”

I manufacture a glare at him… playing along, my mind racing.

I’ll let him think he’s won.

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