Page 3 of Taken By Him

Because my sister will never survive being married to a man as cold as him.

Chapter Two

Kasia

It’s four in the morning when I arrive home. My feet throb from the insanely tight shoes I stuffed them into for the night. I’m going to have blisters for days. My eyelids are heavy, and all I want is my bed. I haven’t stayed out this late in too long of a time. I may sleep the rest of the weekend away.

My father’s driver pulls up to the front steps of the house, parking behind a black SUV. I don’t recognize the car, but I’m too tired to really care.

A girl from school threw a graduation bash in the city at a dance club. It wasn’t my scene. I don’t go out often, rarely actually. Making friends isn’t worth the hassle anymore. But her father knows mine, so it was more of a demand that I go instead of a suggestion for some fun.

Four years of college, and I’m still being bossed around by daddy. It’s pathetic.

I carry my shoes with me up the steps to the house. The porch light’s on and two of my father’s men are standing at the door, waiting.

“Evening boys,” I wink at them as I pass them into the house. They don’t smile. To show me any kindness would probably earn them a beatdown.

I can’t blame them.

“Kasia.” Mr. Marcowski steps out of my father’s office further down the hallway. He doesn’t move toward me, but rather beckons me toward him. “Your father would like you in his office.”

“What’s going on?” I ask. I just want to go to bed.

“Your father wants you,” he repeats himself.

I’ve been out all night, doing what my father told me to do. How much trouble could I have caused him while doing exactly what he wanted from me?

“Is someone here?” I ask, noting two more men standing outside my father’s office. They aren’t his men. These two are younger, more severe looking. No, they’re obviously not in their own territory.

My heart is already beating too fast in my chest. I steel my features. It’s not much, but it’s all I have. I take a cleansing breath and wipe my palms on my hips before walking into the office.

Whatever his problem is, I’ll deal with like I always do. And then I’ll move on.

Once inside the brightly lit study, I stop. Marcowski enters behind me and closes the door. The loud thud of it shakes my insides.

My father sits behind his massive desk, drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair. He hates waiting, and apparently, I’m late for a meeting I didn’t know about.

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