Page 15 of Unhinged

I’ve got her.Here, with me, so close I can touch the sweet scent of her skin and feel her living pulse under my fingers.

Mine.

She didn’t see me coming. I thought she’d be better than that. I understand though. She was terrified. I got under her skin—just like I wanted to.

It’s about fucking time.

She fucked over my family.

She ran from my cousin, put us in a state of turmoil, and set us up to be betrayed. And yes, my brother made use of that time. He fucked us over even worse.

But she deserves to be punished.

Waltzing around, traversing the planet like she didn’t screw over the biggest Bratva group this side of the Atlantic.

She’s a woman who prides herself on always being a step ahead. Always knowing when the noose is tightening.

But lately, she’s been slipping.

Big mistake,solnyshka.

She barely has time to inhale before her back hits the brick wall, the impact sharp. I pin her there, my forearm braced against her collarbone, my body caging hers in. I have to hold myself back because of how easily I could hurt her.

It’s not time yet.

Her gasp is soft, startled—but it doesn’t last.

No.

My girl’s a fighter.

I feel the moment the shock wears off, when instinct takes over, and she lashes out. Long red fingernails rake across my forearm, sharp enough to draw blood.

A knee jerks up, aiming between my legs, but I twist just in time, deflecting. My dick’s instantly hard when I imagine her pinned under me, fighting, clawing, biting.

Christ.

Her teeth flash, incisors sharp and bared at me.

She swings at my face next.

Beautiful.

Just what I like.

She’s like a captured little bird, fluttering her wings. I’d be disappointed if she didn’t fight back.

I catch her wrist midair and twist. Not enough to break, just enough to remind her she’s not getting away.

I don’t want to break her bones.

No.

It won’t bethattype of punishment. Not for my girl.

She’s breathing hard, her chest heaving against mine, and I feel it—the feral spark between us.

She’s terrified. Furious. But goddamn, she likes a fight. Just like me. I wonder if she’ll fight when I take her bare, when I empty myself inside her and fill her, when I give her no choice but to carry my child.

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