Page 17 of Dark Promise

“Good girl,” he says, his tone dripping with mockery.

My fists clench at my sides. “I’m not your dog, you arrogant bastard.”

“No,” he murmurs, leaning back in his seat, his blue eyes glinting with dark amusement. “You’re not. But youaremine, whether you like it or not.”

His words slice though me, bold and unforgiving, and my pulse stutters. “I’m not yours.”

“Not yet.”

His casual confidence ignites something keen and unwanted inside of me.

“Stop beating your chest. I’m not some prize to be dragged around by the hair, you Neanderthal. I belong to no one but myself.”

“Careful, Sabina. You might find you like being dragged by your hair…under the right circumstances,” he says, then leans closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Is that what you tell yourself? That you belong only to you? Let’s see how long that illusion lasts.”

I glare at him, my entire body vibrating with rage. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll fall in line with whatever it is you have planned. I’m not some obedient little puppet.”

“Obedient?” His eyes flash, a spark of something that makes my stomach flip. “No, I don’t want you obedient. I want you exactly like this…proud, angry, fighting me every step of the way. That makes it more satisfying when I win.”

“Win what?” I snap.

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he sits back, his gaze raking over me, unhurried and infuriatingly assured.

“Everything,” he finally says, his voice soft but laced with steel.

I grit my teeth and turn to look out the window, refusing to engage further. In the dark glass, my reflection stares back at me—a woman trapped in a cage, and worse, trapped with him. I hate him. I hate the way his presence fills the car, suffocating yet magnetic. I hate the way my pulse betrays me every time his voice dips low, or his gaze lingers a little too long. But most of all, I hate the way a tiny, treacherous part of me doesn’t want him to stop.

A moment later, he pulls out his phone and makes a call.

“I have her,” he says, his tone clipped. “No, I took care of them.” He pauses, listening. “Yes, I’ll keep you updated.”

He ends the call and slides the phone into his pocket, right alongside mine.

“Where are you taking me?” I finally ask, my voice clipped.

“To safety,” he replies, his tone maddeningly calm.

“Safety,” I repeat, my voice thick with sarcasm. “With you. Right. That sounds perfectly credible coming from the man who kidnapped me.”

“You weren’t safe back there,” he says, his voice hardening. “And you’re not safe now unless you’re with me.”

“And why the hell should I believe you?” I demand, my anger boiling over. “The men who tried to take me were Ivanov hires!”

Nikolai tilts his head, studying me like I’m an intriguing puzzle. “You need to trust me.”

My laugh is sharp, bitter. “Trust you? You killed my father.”

Nikolai’s jaw tightens, a flicker of something dark and dangerous crossing his face. “Myfatherkilled your father,” he corrects, his voice low, measured. “Don’t confuse me with him.”

“You expect that to make a difference?” I snap, my voice rising with anger. “You carry his name, his power, his legacy. And now, you think I should trust you?”

“It was also my uncle’s name. Vlasta Ivanov. And it ishislegacy I intend to continue.” His gaze bores into mine, intense and relentless.

I remember Vlasta. He and my father weren’t exactly friends, but they were allies. My father respected Vlasta, liked him, was sad when he died. And I remember my father saying that Nikolai loved Vlasta like a father.

After a minute, Nikolai continues. “I don’t want your trust because of my name. I want it because I’ve earned it.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “And how exactly do you think you’ve earned it? By kidnapping me? By forcing me into this car?”

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