Page 11 of SINS & Riley
What?
My spine snaps straight.
Not just no. Hell no.
I will not see a doctor with Zver’s ruthless gaze drilling into me.
I refuse to give this psychopath the sick pleasure of watching me react when I find out if I’m pregnant.
Pregnant with another man’s baby.
The doctor shifts his winter-sky gaze to me—to my diamond-studded collar, to my helpless, I’m-so-fucking-sorry expression.
Zver nods to Dominic.
On cue, Dominic presses the barrel of his gun discreetly into the doctor’s ribs. “Tell your nurse to leave,” Zver orders.
He opens the door. The doctor nods and calls out. “Feel free to take off, Kinsley.”
A tense pause.
No one speaks. From down the hall, we hear a quick shuffle. Then, “See you Monday, Doc.”
The doctor doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. Not even the slightest sign of fear.
Instead, he rises to his feet. Not quite as tall as Zver, but he meets Dominic’s lethal stare head-on, unyielding and defiant.
“If this woman needs medical attention, I’ll examine her. No need to hold a gun to my head.”
“You’ll forgive me if I disagree.” Zver laughs, the sound hollow and dangerous. “She is my most valuable possession.”
His possession?
And… valuable?
The doctor raises his hands in surrender. “No problem. But if you want an accurate assessment, we’ll need space. Privacy. I can’t do my job with you hovering like the grim reaper.”
Whatever patience Zver has shatters. In two strides, he devours the distance between him and the doctor and grabs him by the throat. “Look at her.”
The doctor obeys, eyes darting helplessly toward me.
“This woman is priceless. Protected. And mine.” Each word carves the air, straight to the center of my chest. “Touch her the wrong way, and you’ll pay with your fucking hands.”
I’ve seen this look before. Even when I wasn’t his, Zver had no qualms about killing two men who definitely touched me the wrong way.
But this guy isn’t some street thug.
He’s a doctor. White coat, sterile rooms, floors polished to a clinical shine.
Fuck. This is spiraling out of control.
Zver’s silence stretches, simmering behind that dark, unreadable mask.
I already have Dante’s blood smeared across my conscience. I can’t bear another man’s death.
I slide a cautious palm against Zver’s chest. “Please.”
His eyes snap to mine, two pools of merciless black ink. And for one raw, startling second, something cracks. A whisper of tenderness bleeds through, faint and fleeting as moonlight spilling across a forest floor.
