Page 22 of Savage Reign

All my future plans of living in Berlin, dancing, and my freedom—it all evaporates in an instant.

“Are you going to glare at me the whole flight? Because it’s another half hour until we land in St. Petersburg. You might want to give that beautiful face of yours a break.”

Nikolai looks up briefly from his phone, where he’s been typing away since I was forced onto his private jet. He didn’t need a gun to my back to get me here, only the threat of harm to my friends.

He must have been watching me for long enough to know where I’d be tonight and that my friends are important to me. And he’s right—I won’t put them in danger. I believe him when he says he’ll hurt them. He’s demonstrated precisely what he’s capable of.

I can’t believe I once thought he was a decent person. My savior. I was so very wrong.

“I’ll glare at you if I want to,” I bite out, clutching the blanket tighter around my body.

I lean back, studying him.

He’s no longer wearing glasses. I guess they were for show. Without them, there’s nothing to soften his features. He looks savage. Harder than the man I met five years ago. Faint lines frame his eyes, and his near-black hair is grown out, just brushing his collar. His appearance might be more polished, but instead of dulling him, it only sharpens his edge.

“Suit yourself,” Nikolai rumbles, his voice calm. “Dirty looks don’t bother me, Sofiya. I’ve dealt with much worse in my life.”

I scoot forward in my seat, narrowing my gaze. Now that the initial shock is fading, I have so many questions. “How long were you watching me?”

He sets his phone down slowly and leans back in his seat, resting an ankle casually on the opposite knee. “Long enough.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snap. “Did you plan this all along? The bartender, the flirting… th-the sex.” A bitter taste rises in my throat. I’ll hate myself forever for falling into his trap so easily.

He takes me in, a slow, sexy grin curving his lips. It pisses me off how attractive he is. I try to ignore it, but it's like trying to block out the sun. Impossible. But hot doesn’t cancel out evil.

“My only agenda tonight was taking you. The sex…” He leans forward so I can’t miss a word he says. “Was a nice bonus. As was watching you dance for me at the club. I admit, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Blood rushes to my face, anger tightening my throat. “I thought you were the Zhukov brother with a shred of decency. But you’re not. You’re just as sick and twisted as Sergey was.”

His mouth flattens into a thin line, and the slightest flicker of something raw crosses his expression. It seems Sergey is a sensitive subject, something I file away for later.

He rests his elbows on his knees, eating up the space between us with his large frame. “You’re right. Sergey and I were not so different. Maybe the biggest difference between us is that I was willing to kill him before he killed me. That makes me worse than him, don’t you think?”

I don’t respond. Instead, I turn my attention out the window, where the first streaks of pale light creep across the horizon. Dawn is near. Has anyone noticed my absence yet? Probably not.

Before takeoff, Nikolai used my phone to text my friends, telling them I’d gone home with my hookup and not to worry. It’s out of character for me, but so was everything else I did tonight, so it may not throw up red flags.

A flight attendant glides into the cabin, wheeling a cart of food before stopping in front of us. “Breakfast,” she announces with a bright smile as if this scene is perfectly ordinary. Like I don’t have raccoon eyes, and I’m not curled into myself miserably.

“I’m not hungry,” I reply flatly, still looking out the window.

Nikolai straightens in his seat, a slow, deliberate movement that feels like a warning. “It wasn’t a question,” he says quietly.

I frown at him. “I said I’m not hungry.”

His voice is calm, but it carries an edge. “You’ll eat, Sofiya. Hungry or not. Or I’ll drag you into my lap and feed you myself. Is that what you want?”

The way he says it, low and full of intent, sends a shiver through me. My stomach tightens, and I know he’s not bluffing. I grab the tray the flight attendant hands me, glaring at him as I set it on the table.

“There,” I say, picking up a fork. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

I shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth, holding his stare as I chew. He doesn't touch his food, just sips at the orange juice she poured for us… and continues to watch me. “You’re my wife, Sofiya. That means you’re my responsibility. Whether you want it or not, I’m going to take care of you… in every way.”

His focus drifts to my lips, lingering long enough to make my pulse spike. What does he want from me? What will he expect? Will he make me submit, bend to his will? Will he keep me locked away or expect me to play the part of a doting wife? The way he looks at me, like he already owns me, makes my skin prickle with unease.

I don’t voice any of these questions out loud, too fearful of his response. “I don’t care what you say. Our marriage will never be real to me. I’ll never touch you again. You make me sick.”

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