Page 38 of Crown of Hate

A thousand thoughts race through my mind in an instant. Is this how I die? In a dark bar wearing nothing but a nightgown? What about my plans for revenge? My future? Mama…

With trembling hands, I slowly raise them in surrender. My voice quivers as I speak, hoping, praying it’s who I think it is. “Mikhail, it’s me… Alya.”

The seconds that follow feel like an eternity. I wait, muscles tense, for either the sound of his voice or… something far worse.

“Alya.” My name rumbles from his chest in a deep, husky voice that electrifies my body. His chest is pressed against my back, and the smell of tequila, mixed with sandalwood and citrus reaches my nose. “What are you doing here?”

Relief floods my system, but it’s short-lived.

The gun doesn’t move.

I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. Does he realize he still has the gun pointed at my head? Or is this deliberate—a reminder of who he is?

“I waited up for you,” I manage to say, hating how small my voice sounds. “Are you okay?”

I can feel his breath on my neck, slightly uneven. He’s not okay. Not at all.

“I’m not okay.” The gun lowers at last, and I finally relax as I hear the soft click of the safety being engaged. “Go back upstairs. I want to be alone.”

The dismissal stings, but more than that, it worries me. I’ve never seen Mikhail like this—so raw, so close to the edge. If I leave him alone now, what will happen? Will he drink himself into oblivion?

I turn slowly. In the dim light, I can see the haunted look in his eyes, the rigid clench of his jaw. This can’t just be about tonight’s attack.

“But I can’t leave you alone like this.” Mustering some courage, I reach out and grab his hand. “Come upstairs with me. It’s past midnight, and you’ve had enough to drink.”

His eyes darken as he glances down at our joined hands. For a moment, I half-expect him to push me away. Instead, he prowls closer and cups my cheek. “I’m in a dangerous mood, Alya. I don’t want to take it out on you.”

There’s part of me—a sane, self-preserving part—that wants to heed his warning. To flee upstairs and lock the door. But there’s another part, a part I don’t fully understand, that wantsto stay. That wants to see what happens when Mikhail Zhirkov loses control.

“You can take it out on me,” I hear myself say before I can stop the words from tumbling out. I instantly regret it. Heat floods my cheeks as I realize how those words must sound. As a teenager, I devoured novels where the bad guy punished his love interest with all sorts of wild, kinky scenarios.

But this isn’t fiction, and I doubt Mikhail is into those kinds of things...

There’s a gleam of amusement in his eyes. “You have no idea what you’re asking for, wife.”

Wife.

That darn word makes every hair on my body rise on end. There’s something possessive and seductive about it. I don’t like being his wife, but I’m obsessed with the idea of being his in this way, and him being mine.

His eyes zero in on my mouth as I wet my lips. “What’s the worst you can do?” I challenge. “Kiss me? Spank me?”

“It’s a lot worse than that,” he whispers. “You can’t fucking imagine the things I want to do to you right now. Dark, ruthless things. You won’t walk for days after.”

I should be disgusted or even terrified. But the rawness in his voice sets something primal on fire inside me, a heat that threatens to consume me from within if I let it simmer there for too long.

This isn’t like those dirty novels. This is real, dangerous, and so much more thrilling.

“You’re all talk, Mikhail. Nothing more.” If he’s playing this game, I’ll match him move for move. But a small voice in the back of my mind warns me that this is no game. Not with this man.

“No, you aren’t ready for the worst of me. The darkness. The fire. Not yet…”

“Sure.”

I turn around to walk away, heart in my throat, wondering if I’ve finally pushed too far. But I barely make it two steps before his hand closes around my wrist. In one fluid motion, I’m pinned against the wall, my hands forcefully drawn above my head.

“… But you will be. I’ll prepare you,malyshka. I promise. We start tonight.”

My chest heaves. “Mikhail.”

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