Page 22 of Captive Prize

There was no way.

No.

This wasn’t about saving the littleprintsessa.

This was about protecting my family.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

She went after one of us.

That made her an enemy of all of us.

It didn’t matter that I couldn’t stop thinking about the way her voice cut through a room, or the defiant tilt of her chin when she looked me in the eye.

Didn’t matter that something happened inside me the moment she touched me with the knife, something sharp and electric and completely unwelcome.

She was a threat.

A distraction.

A fucking problem.

And that was what I did for my family. Solved problems.

I took a breath. Let the cold air center me.

Then I stepped inside.

CHAPTER 8

ZOYA

Something was wrong.

I had been sitting at my desk for the last several hours staring at financial documents, bank statements, and transfer requests, trying to focus.

Instead, my mind preferred to drift, thinking about him.

Roman.

There was something about him, something that made it impossible to concentrate. That had never happened to me.

Roman was tall, strong, and had the darkest, most intense eyes I had ever seen.

And I liked the way he looked at me.

Normally, I hated when men looked at me.

Men like my disgusting husband, or the ones my father did business with, or the knuckle-draggers Mateo brought in after every underground fight. Deep down, they were all the same.

Women were things—to be used, abused, owned.

Whether they consented never mattered.

My brothers laughed about consent once. One of them said, "Why would I ask the washer what it wants before I put my load into it?"

The foul double entendre had their friends howling with laughter. I just felt sick.

---