Page 33 of Beautiful Cruelty

"Marry you?" She shakes her head, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. "That's—" Another burst of laughter. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

But when she meets my steady gaze, the laughter dies in her throat. Her expression shifts from amusement to dawning horror.

"Oh God, you're serious." Her voice drops to barely a whisper.

"Completely."

"No." She takes a step back, nearly stumbling. "Absolutely not. I just caught my fiancé cheating on me. The last thing I need is another man trying to?—"

"I'm nothing like Nathan," I cut in.

The color drains from her face. Her amber-flecked eyes widen as she stares at me.

"How did you know his name? I never mentioned it to you before." She swallows, breathing hard. "What were youreallydoing in my apartment?"

The morning breeze caresses my hand, and peppers it with light gentle rain. The wetness reminds me of the blood that stained them earlier.

Nathan's blood.

I curse at myself for mentioning that asshole's name. "That's a complicated question, Ms. McKinney."

"Then uncomplicate it." Her voice trembles but holds firm.

"I can't," I say, but even to my own ears the words ring hollow. "The less you know, the better. I'm trying to protect you."

"Protect me?" Her laugh holds no humor this time. "The only person I need protection from right now isyou. You broke into my apartment, kidnapped me, and now you're telling me that you're going to marry me?" She shakes her head. "Abso-fucking-lutely not! I willnevermarry you. You can't force me."

Before I can respond, she spins and tries to run toward the tree line. But with her hands bound behind her back, she loses her balance on the uneven ground. I surge forward, catching her before she hits the wet gravel.

Time seems to stop as I hold her against my chest. Her rapid heartbeat pounds through the thin fabric of her clothes. That intoxicating blend of citrus and lavender fills my senses, making my head spin. Her soft curves press against me in all the right places, stirring something primal deep inside.

"Lacey—"

"Let me go!" She struggles harder. The raw fear in her voice cuts deeper than any knife.

There’s nothing to be gained lying to her. So, I opt to tell her the truth. Just not the full truth.

"Nathan was working for a man named Kirsan Kuular," I tell her. "For the last three years, he's been moving money through fashion companies to fund Kirsan's operations."

She stills in my arms. "What kind of operations?"

"Human trafficking." The words taste bitter as I say them. I loosen my grip but don't let go completely. "Operations that I've been trying to dismantle."

"Dismantle? How?"

"Through Svoboda," I answer.

I let her go and take a step back, giving her just enough space to make sure she won't bolt again.

"Your company? I don't understand."

"Fashion provide the perfect cover for traffickers. Models traveling across borders for shows raises few questions." My jaw clenches. "Kirsan takes advantage of this and uses modeling contracts to lure young women from Eastern Europe and Asia. He promises them fame and fortune, and then sells them to wealthy clients instead. We use that same cover to move the victims to safety."

"Svoboda," she whispers.

"Yes." I nod. “The word means 'freedom' in Russian. It's what I named my company because that's exactly what we do—we free people." I run a hand through my hair. "One half of the business produces high-end fashion. The other half helps victims of human trafficking escape and build new lives."

"And what happens after you help them escape?"

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