Page 7 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
“We’re ready,” the round, weak-looking man near the desk says.
“Finally,” Emmanuil snaps, dragging me towards the desk. He pushes me forward over it and shoves a pen into my hand.
“Sign,” he snarls.
“What—what is this?” I stammer, trying to read the papers in front of me.
“Sign,” he yells.
My eyes dart over the words. Crisp and clear.
Marriage? He can’t be serious? Panic rises, flooding my body.
“I won’t,” I scream back at him, pushing hard away from the desk.
He grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back to stare into my eyes.
His face is inches from mine when he delivers the warning.
“Your brother’s life depends on you signing this document, Anya. Do it or he dies.” The words are only a whisper, but filled with darkness so deep it’s like he’s slipped a dagger between my ribs and pierced my heart.
I believe him.
He pushes me back towards the desk, and with trembling hands, I pick up the pen and sign.
He does the same.
“Is that it? Are we done, Sanchez?” Emmanuil asks.
“Do you want to say your vows?” Sanchez replies.
“Get it done quickly. I want to leave.”
Sanchez rushes through some half-assed vows in which I promise to be Emmanuil’s loyal and loving wife. What a load of shit this is. This is ridiculous. I say everything exactly as I’m asked to, and Emmanuil promises the same to me.
My husband.
There was a time in my life when this was all I dreamed of—with him. But not like this. It was supposed to be beautiful and magical.
This is a nightmare.
With business at the lawyer’s office concluded, Emmanuil drags me from the building, a firm grip on my arm. We head out to the car with those three assholes who kidnapped me, following close behind.
They get into their own car parked behind us.
Even in the backseat of the car, Emmanuil does not let go of me.
He hasn’t said a word to me after vowing to be my husband.
I turn my face away from him to stare out of the heavily tinted windows at the night lights of San Diego as we head back to his mansion.
The same mansion I know well.
Sitting with my body pressed against the side of his, I can sense the anger and the hatred pulsing from him in waves of heat that soak into me.
I’m relieved when we arrive at the mansion and I can move away from him. But as soon as we are out of the car, he takes my arm again and drags me up towards the front door.
It’s dark, but I can smell the ocean and hear the waves lapping against the shore. In daylight, the mansion has the most exquisite views. I’ve missed those views. I’ve missed this place.
