Page 47 of Shackled

“Nice work,” I tell her.

“You, too, mi querido jefe,” she replies, a small, grudging smile playing on her lips. “If we were on a plane, I’d fuck you senseless right now. That was so goddamn hot.”

The pilot chokes.

“Ignore that,” I snap. I tap him out of our conversation. He can talk to us if he needs to, but he won’t hear us.

Good. We need a minute.

I turn back to her, wrap my hand around the back of her neck, and yank her to me. Without a word, I kiss her, our mouths clashing together. The combination of cortisol and epinephrine surging through our bodies heightens our senses to a fever pitch. She moans, her tongue licking mine, and just like that, I’m hard as a fucking rock. I kiss her until our breathing syncs. She tastes like whiskey, adrenaline and blood, and I want more.

“How much longer?” I ask the pilot.

“One hour, fifty minutes.”

We lean back in our seats. “What did you tell the pilot?” I ask her as I hand her a roll of gauze and some saline solution from a first aid kit to clean herself up with. I want to know. Fuck she’s fearless.

Isabella grins. She’s so gorgeous it breaks my heart a little. “I said you know who I am, and you know what I’m capable of.”

I smile at her. Somehow in the melee, the two of us shed a little of our animosity. I suppose it can’t be helped as we were allies for a little while.

“Who are you? And what else are you capable of?”

Leaning over, she cups my chin in her small, warm hand. “I am Isabella Romanova. And I am capable of world domination.”

I can’t help it. I lean over and kiss her again.

We lean back, and finally, our breathing slows.

Our ascent is breathtaking as we soar above the clouds, and the houses below us quickly become so small they look like tiny little houses you might find on an aerial map, the clouds like thin wisps of vapor.

“Southeast,” Isabella says with a nod. I can hardly hear her but can read her lips. She’s right. We’re heading out to sea. After some time, there’s nothing but the blue depth of the ocean beneath us. Her brow furrows, and I watch the details as well. Even Mikhail doesn’t know where we’re going.

I tap the mic so the pilot can hear me. “Can you tell us where you’re going?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” he responds stoically. “I can’t tell you until we land. It’s too risky.”

“Fair enough.”

I watch the pilot closely. I know him, he’s been vetted… Still, I’ve never been married before. I didn’t have a wife to look out for. I look over to see Isabella’s head tipped to the side. She’s asleep.

I can’t risk falling asleep, not until we’ve landed, and we’re settled.

I stare at the sleeping form of my wife beside me, my chest swelling with the knowledge that she’s taken vows with me. It feels surreal. I’ve never known anyone more beautiful or dangerous than Isabella Morales.

And she’s mine.

Unlike our private planes, I have no Wi-Fi up here. I lean back in my seat and cross my ankles. It’s the most peaceful I’ve felt in recent memory.

I’m tense and alert when Isabella stirs and opens her eyes. She blinks in surprise but doesn’t talk as she quickly orients herself. I watch her stare down at her hand where I placed a thick gold band a few hours ago as if reminding herself it wasn’t a dream.

I stare at the ring as if imprinting it in my memory. She gives me a curious look but doesn’t make a move to take her hand away. I give her a squeeze and lay her hand on my knee, resting my hand over hers.

I don’t care if she’s a Morales. I don’t care that she’s a sworn enemy. I don’t care that I forced her to marry me, and our marriage is loveless. She’s my wife, and I promised her I would take care of what’s mine.

“Minutes now,” the pilot says.

As we begin our descent, an island comes into view—a lush, green paradise surrounded by crystal-clear water. It’s breathtaking and remote, the perfect hideaway.

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