Page 17 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
“But I never saw it like this.”
He doesn’t say anything at this. Instead, he takes an idle drink from his glass, eyes on me.
“Even successful families around here don’t all live like this,” I continue, feeling doubtful about the minimal details he shared with me before. “There has to be something more to it.”
For a second, his neutral mask slips just enough for me to catch that flicker of something hiding just beneath it. But I can’t tell if it’s guilt or amusement. Either way, I’m onto him, and he knows it.
“You don’t just own businesses, and you’re not only muscle…you’re part of the inner circle, aren’t you?”
He hesitates again, taking a small sip from his drink before setting it down and keeping his eyes on me. He takes a subtle step forward, apparently not ashamed in the slightest. “Yes.”
That one-word response nearly knocks the wind out of me, and it all starts to make sense.
Now, I can see it as clear as day. The luxury, the cool confidence, and the way everyone seems to defer to him. Even his brother seemed to follow his lead. And it’s not just him, it’s his whole family.
As the picture settles into place, more dread forms in the pit of my stomach.
I don’t like where this is going, and I don’t like how that gut feeling seems to be filling in the blanks for me.
That name sits at the forefront of my mind and sends a shiver down my spine.
It’s one I shouldn’t know, yet I’ve been cursed to remember.
My throat goes dry.
“What’s your last name, Mikhail?”
He doesn’t say anything for a long, drawn-out moment to a point that’s nearly painful. Then, he clears his throat and takes a few steps closer, almost suffocating me just from his proximity.
His expression is colder than before and almost grim.
Then, the name leaves his lips like venom.
“Lukov.”
My blood freezes over, and I can’t bring myself to move.
Lukov. The very family I never wanted anything to do with.
That name had been whispered about since I was vaguely conscious of what went on behind the scenes in Vegas, but they always felt more like an urban legend than anything else. Therewere rumors about them having significant control over the city and related gang activity, but it always seemed to remain exactly that. Rumors.
But now, I’m face-to-face with one of them.
I hooked up with a Lukov.Me, of all people.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper to myself, rubbing a hand over my eyes beneath my glasses.
I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous everything seems, but I can’t. Not with how dangerous this situation is, with my life hanging in the balance.
The air around us feels heavy, and I know he’s studying me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him just yet.
He doesn’t know I’ve been somewhat aware of his family due to what happened with my brother, and I don’t exactly feel like indulging that information just yet.
I knew I took a risk that night, but I had no idea just how big it was. How detrimental it would end up being.
My stomach turns at the rush of panic churning through me again.
“You’re going to kill me.”
