Page 9 of Plus-Size Bratva Possession
I shrugged, knowing I'd been a bit underhanded. But what did she expect? This was war.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded after a moment of seething silence. “What do you hope to gain? You don't want me. You don't even know me.”
I turned to look at her, wondering how many times I had to explain this. “It's nothing personal, Elena. Your brother took my sister. Now I've taken his.”
“You haven't 'taken' anything,” she snapped. “I'm not a possession. And this isn't some medieval blood feud. This is the twenty-first century, for God's sake.”
“Tell that to your brother. He started this.”
“They fell in love, you thick-headed moron! It wasn't some plot againstyou.”
Her words dug under my skin, crawling there as though to be acknowledged for the truth they carried, despite my best efforts to remain detached.
“It’s too late now,” I said, stating the obvious situation we had on hand.
“You know what you are? A bitter, middle-aged man-baby who can't accept that his sister grew up and made her own choices.”
I nearly swerved the car at that one. “Man-baby?” I repeated incredulously.
“Did I stutter?” she shot back.
“No, you called—” I groaned and shook my head, bit my tongue. Was I seriously justifying her words? Entering into this argument?
No chance. She had a wild mouth on her, that one. There was nothing I could have said to make her understand.
I took a deep breath, fighting the urge to tell her exactly what I thought of her and her entire family. But no, I needed to stay calm. This was just the beginning, and if her words were already getting to me, I was in for a long night.
“You're just lucky I'm not the monster you think I am,” I said evenly. “Had I been anyone else, he would have done much worse than marry you.”
“Oh, my hero,” she drawled. “Should I swoon now? Maybe bat my eyelashes and thank you for not dumping my body in the Hudson?”
Despite myself, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. She had fire. I had to give her that. But I also knew that if I fired back, I’d be the one taking bullets, so I chose to stay mute.
We lapsed into silence when she realized I was no longer willing to entertain her rant. Every few minutes, I'd catch her glaring at me through the mirror, or fidgeting with the door, probably plotting her escape. She was wasting her energy. I had the child lock on.
Finally, I pulled into the private garage beneath my building in Tribeca. As I opened her door, she sat stubbornly in place, arms crossed over her chest.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” I told her. “You’d rather be carried up like a sack?”
“Fuck you.”
“Hard way it is.” I reached in and hauled her out by her arm and was about to plant my hands around her waist when she jerked back.
“You really are a stubborn bastard, aren't you?” she hissed, but she walked when I walked. I guessed the whole being carried up thing didn’t go down too well.
“Wise choice,” I said, punching in the code for the penthouse, making sure she couldn’t see.
As the elevator doors slid closed, she at least stopped her efforts to break free since there was nowhere for her to go. She was stuck with me in the small space, and I suddenly realized just how small it was. I could smell her perfume, the remnantsof the club we had both partied at just hours ago. It was... distracting.
“If you think I'm going to just accept this, you're even dumber than you look,” she said, her eyes flashing with defiance.
I leaned in closer, unable to help myself. “And how do I look, Elena?”
For a split second, surprise flickered across her face before she masked it with disgust. “Like a self-important jackass who thinks his arrogance makes up for his personality.”
I laughed, genuinely amused. “You don't know anything about my personality.”
“I know enough,” she retorted. “You're the kind of man who kidnaps women and forces them into marriage. That tells me everything I need to know.”
