Page 2 of Tempted to Rebel

Clenching my fists as the guard steps closer, I scan him for weaknesses the same instant he scans me for mine. An AK is casually slung across his back like he doesn’t intend to use it, but his body is thicker than the others’, built from years of training and fighting. If he wants to hurt me, he won’t need to use a gun—he has an arsenal at his fingertips.

I can’t see his face behind the mask, but his eyes—deep pools of ebony ink—suddenly spark with interest. “You’re trouble,” he rumbles, the hint of a smile in his voice, “aren’t you,krosotka?”

Memories from the Baranova wedding flash before my eyes the moment Rage comes into view. Confidence rolls off of him in waves every time his muscles shift beneath his clothes, each movement smoother than silk. A shiver rolls down my spine as he looks me up and down—and I do the same to him, taking in the all-black ensemble and wondering how I never noticed it before.

He walks like a man who would crush the world in his fist if it meant he could drink from eternity.

The moment Ruin carries me across the threshold into the brothers’ domain, Rage finally smiles, and my heart stumbles over itself. Foolishly, a part of me clings to the man I thought hewas, the one who promised to take care of me, but I know that version is a well-crafted lie.

A man who is capable of love wouldn’t break my heart so easily.

As he steps closer, my breath catches on the snap of fear crowding my chest. The last time I saw Rage, I attacked him, wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing, like he’s done so many times to me, only I dialed it up a notch when I knocked the bastard out, handcuffed him to his car, and left him there to freeze in the middle of winter.

Time slows to a crawl, hovering in the razor-thin precipice between reality and fantasy. As Rage moves, flashes of memory blur with the present. An image of a masked guard from the Baranova wedding flickers in my mind, replacing the man silently stalking toward me with the one burned into my mind—the wordkrosotkafalling from both of their lips in that same, hushed reverence I’ve come to expect.

Rage isn’t justany oneof the armed guards from the Baranova wedding—he’stheman—the one who approached me and called me beautiful.

The only one who couldn’t take his eyes off of me.

At the time, I was struck by his presence. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, painting the Santuary floor in a kaleidoscope of color that he stepped right through, breaking the mirage so that he could get to me. With the mask covering his face, no one could recognize him for who he was, but now, I could close my eyes and blindly pick him from a lineup.

I know this man. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I’ve tasted the warmth of his body and all the allure it promises.

But it’s merely a pretty picture. A trap intended to capture pretty prey like me.

As Rage stops in front of us, I catch a gleam of gold behind his massive frame. At first, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. The room has changed since I was last in it, with all of the furniture replaced by this toweringthing,all bright metal and harsh lines. A low, padded bench is nestled inside the bars, with a pallet of blankets folded on the floor beside it.

A cage, I realize with a start.

One large enough to fit a human… or two on top of each other.

I fight against Ruin’s hold on my body, struggling to free myself. I’ve heard war stories from bratva members who have been captured overseas, and every single one of them warned against being put in a cage. Because when the door locks, you’re at your captor’s mercy until you escape… or you die by their hands.

Ruin holds me tighter, crushing me against his chest. “Be still,krosotka.You are home.” He might as well saybad dog, for all his tone implies.I’m misbehaving.He handles my struggle easily, wrapping a fist around the rope at my back and pulling. It arches my spine and pulls at both my thighs and shoulders, making them scream in protest. I clench my teeth around the gag in my mouth and shut my eyes tight, praying he’ll stop.

Instead, someone grabs my jaw and pries it open, looping their finger through the gag and tearing it from between my teeth. A scream burns in the back of my throat, but I fight it with all my strength. I won’t give either of them the satisfaction of hearing it.

“Look at me,” Rage commands, dropping the gag in favor of cupping my face. When I don’t comply, he snarls and lifts me from Ruin’s grasp, taking possession of my body. The tug on my limbs ceases, and I swallow a whimper as sharp relief washes over me.

A tear slips free, sliding down my cheek until it falls.

“You did this,” Rage snarls, carrying me in his arms. “This isyourfault.” A sudden clang of metal on metal makes me jump, and Rage clamps down harder to keep me still, bruising my skin in his hands. “Things could have been much simpler if you’d just—” he cuts himself off with a hiss, bending at the waist to set me down. Plush blankets greet my ass, and he makes quick work of undoing the knots binding my feet and arms. As the rope falls away, he fishes a key from his pocket and removes the handcuffs next. I don’t bother moving my arms once they’re free, so he does it for me, bringing them to the front and setting them in my lap. He then rubs the red welts on my wrists with his thumbs, a pinched scowl on his face.

“Don’t take pity on her now,” a familiar voice calls out. Rebel appears from a doorway at the side of the living room, stepping into the dim light with catlike ease. He looks like he always does—casually grunge, with dark jeans slung low over his hips and a soft maroon t-shirt that exposes a sliver of his midriff, the usual mischievous smirk curving across his lips. But his eyes, usually sparking with amusement, remain cold and distant. “She runs away from every good thing she gets. Isn’t that right, baby?” He crosses to the side of the cage and raps his knuckles against the bars. “In the end, you’re a runner, not a fighter.” His voice quiets to a whisper meant only for me. “Sure had me fooled.”

I meet Rebel’s eyes and silently plead with him. He’s always been the sweeter, softer brother—I can’t lose him now that every inch of the horizon is shadowed with misery.

If I’m surrounded by three genuine monsters, I don’t think I’ll survive.

“Keep the cuffs on,” Rebel warns, wrapping his fists around two of the bars, his silver rings clinking against the metal, “or she might slip her cage, brother.”

“She won’t.” Rage grips my chin and turns my face back toward him. “She’s going to be a good little pet, isn’t she?”

He can’t be serious. Eyes wide, I search his face for the joke, for the hint of a smile, but there’s no crack in the facade, nothing for me to latch onto.

When he pulls out a collar from his pocket, I realize just how serious he is. He loops the black leather around my throat and latches it at the back, setting a dangling, golden heart pendant against my throat. I can’t see what it says, but the metal is cold against my skin, contrasting the warmth of the soft leather. Rage slips his hand into my hair and tugs the tie free, spilling long tresses down my back. He combs loose strands away from my face, admiring hispet.

For that one brief moment, he transforms back into the man who promised me a future worth living, the tenderness in his gaze giving him away. My heart aches as it clings to this version of him, wanting nothing more than to rewind time and freeze it at that exact moment.

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