Page 162 of Inevitable Endings
Then, he wraps it around my throat.
Heavy. Bulky. Cold leather pressing against my bare skin. It smells like oil and command. His fingers work deftly, threading the straps, adjusting them until the weight is even. Balanced. Unforgiving.
Then—click.
The sound echoes through the cell like a shot.
My breath stalls in my lungs.
He lets go of my hair, my red strands slipping through his fingers like blood through water. My head doesn’t fall.
It can’t fall.
I try.
A twitch of movement, a reflex. My neck doesn’t obey. My jaw tightens as I strain against the unfamiliar weight. The leather digs into the tender skin under my chin, holding my gaze up, holding it steady.
He returns to his chair and sits down.
And now, I see him.
I’m forced to.
Every angle of his face. The scar between his eyes. The cold, measured look in his eyes. My neck won’t turn. My head won’tdrop. I’m tethered to the image of him like he’s the Devil and I’ve been chained to worship.
I fight it. I try to shift, just an inch, but the moment I do, the leather around my wrists bites in, unforgiving and absolute. I whimper in frustration.
Aslanov leans back slightly, spreading his knees, his arms resting over the chair’s sides.
“That’s more like it,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, tears brimming from the strange overwhelm of it all. “What’s… on my neck?” I ask.
His smile is slow and terrible.
“It’s a posture collar,” he replies. “To help you remember how to behave.”
He lets the silence breathe between us before adding, “When you learn to follow my rules, I’ll remove it.”
My lips part, but no sound comes.
‘‘Are you sure you have missed me?’’
The collar tightens subtly when I swallow again. It’s not cruel. It doesn’t hurt unless I resist.
So I don’t.
‘‘Yes.’’
‘‘Silly girl,’’ he murmurs. ‘‘Don’t you know by now not to provoke the Devil of Russia?’’
The gentle mask slips entirely.
He stands again, slowly, fluidly, like a man becoming his old self for the first time in a long while. And I see it now, see him. Yes, he learned how to be gentle, but there are his roots.
The blood-soaked heir to a violent empire.
He steps forward until he’s towering over me. My pulse races so fast it’s almost painful.
