Page 52 of Inked Adonis

I don’t need to guess what that means. In a matter of seconds, he’ll be dry-humping his favorite kidnapper. But before I can high-tail it out of the living room, Rufus jumps up on my chest, knocks me backward onto the sofa, and pins me down with his meaty paws as he barks at the front door.

“Rufus!” I wheeze, fighting a losing battle with what might as well be an overprotective horse.

He only hops off of me once Samuil appears in the entryway. In seconds, Rufus is getting ear scratches like the simpering sellout he is.

“Ever heard of playing hard to get, Rufus?” I mutter under my breath.

Samuil slides one hand into the pocket of his navy blue trousers that probably came from some fancy Italian designer whose name I couldn’t pronounce. I become painfully aware that I’mstill in my pajamas—the cute ones with little clouds on them that make me look about twelve years old.

“How was your day?” he rumbles.

“Oh, I had a blast. All the locked doors, ominous security guards, and complete lack of freedom—I should’ve gotten kidnapped sooner. What a life!”

Samuil’s mouth twitches like he’s suppressing a smile. Which makes me want to find a hockey stick and turn what I told Hope into a reality.

Rufus jumps up for more attention, but one snap of Samuil’s fingers has him sitting like he’s auditioning for Best in Show.

“You don’t even have to give him verbal cues now?” I try to keep my jaw hinged, but the hours Rufus and I spent fruitlessly practicing his obedience training feel like a sham now. The adorable little bastard just doesn’t respect me.

Samuil ignores my question, his attention drawn to the hallway where voices approach. Four men built like brick houses appear, carrying a crate between them that could house a small elephant—or, if I had to guess, one very spoiled dog.

I yank my feet onto the couch, not willing to risk my toes under that monstrosity. “What is that supposed to be?”

The tremor in my voice is because I’m not convinced it’s not meant for me. Turns out, this captivity could get a whole lot worse, very fast.

“It’s for Rufus,” Samuil says, those dark eyes gleaming. “Unless you’d rather...?”

“Nope. Looks like perfect Rufus dimensions.”

Smirking, Samuil whistles and coaxes Rufus in the direction of the crate, letting him sniff every solitary inch of the thing, inside and out. Then his tail starts thumping against the door.

“I think he likes it,” I observe.

“He should. It’s the best crate money can buy.”

The wood gleams, rich and glossy. Wherever the edges are joined, I can’t see them. It looks seamless. “Pretty as it is, a cage is still a cage.”

“Rufus doesn’t seem to mind.” Case in point: the traitor is so deep in his new prison that only his wildly wagging tail is visible.

I cross my arms, channeling every ounce of righteous anger I can muster. “Rufus isn’t a status symbol. He’s not some fancy accessory to be ping-ponged back and forth between two rich, spoiled brats who want to make some sort of statement to the world.”

Samuil’s mouth tightens into a violent slash. Every hair on my arms stands on end. “If you’re comparing me to Katerina, I suggest you don’t.”

“Then don’t act like her and I won’t.”

“I have nothing in common with that fucking woman.”

Well, well. Looks like I’ve found a nerve and stabbed it with a rusty fork.

“It’s no wonder your marriage crashed and burned if you have nothing in common,” I say, leaning back with false casualness. “So why even marry her in the first place?”

He goes back to pretending to examine the crate. Somehow, I feel like he’s still watching me. “It’s a long story.”

Translation: Fuck off, little girl.

Unfortunately for Samuil, that only makes me want to dig deeper, find the wound, and pour salt in it.

“Have you informed your ex-wife that you have her dog?” I ask sweetly. “Because I’m telling you right now, I’m not going down for dog-napping.”

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