Page 2 of Stripped By the Sinner

It’s time forSoblazneniyeto open. I can’t think about her anymore, about where she’s going after this—at least not today.

But soon I’ll know.

ISABEL

Slippinginto the driver’s seat, I push the button and start the engine of my Audi. Looking to the side, my gaze finding Ruslan’s condo, I wince. I don’t even know how it got this far. I don’t know how I got myself into this position.

Gripping the steering wheel, I let out a heavy sigh before I shift the car into drive. Looking straight ahead, I tell myself for the millionth time that I’mneverdoing this again.Never again. I am going to stay away. I’m going to be good. This is not only for his safety but for my life as well.

It’s a lie. I also know that I’ll be right back here sooner rather than later. I cannot stay away from him, from his touch, from his kiss—from the way that he makes me feel.

Clearing my throat, I ease out onto the street, and I head home.

Home.

What a joke.

More like a mausoleum.

I hate it there, I always have. I was forced to marry Azar Shokri in an attempt to bring the Russians and the Persians together into an alliance. I don’t know why the oldPakhan, Vova Krupin, demanded it.

My father was not special, he didn’t even hold much of a rank, but I was forced to marry a man that I wanted nothing to do with. In a situation that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with, not at that age… not at any age.

Pulling my car into the circle driveway, I park behind the first wife’s car. I’m the third wife. I’m nobody special—nothing special. I am just the youngest, but I am nothing and have nothing. Not in this family and not in life. I am a little toy doll. Ignored by the women completely, ignored by Azar until he wants to play with me.

The car was given to me as my fifth-anniversary gift, which also happened to be my twenty-first birthday. It’s just a status symbol. Azar likes the world to know that he keeps all three of his wives in the lap of luxury. Fancy cars, clothes, bags, shoes, and jewels. All of which I could give two shits about.

Child bride is something that I would never refer to myself as, but that’s exactly what I was. Azar married me on my sixteenth birthday.

Married.

A marriage that is in ceremony only.

Nothing is legal between us. I’m not legally his anything. Just because he believes in polygamy doesn’t mean that it’s legal in the United States, especially in California. Doesn’t mean that I agree with it either.

But contractually, between the Bratva and the Persian Mafia. I am his wife. No matter how much I hate him or the life that I live with him and his other two wives. No matter how many times I’ve dreamed about running away. No matter how many times I sneak away to be with Ruslan, I belong to Azar.

Slipping out of the car, I tilt my head down as I walk into the house. Stepping into the foyer, I make a mental note of what I need to do in the next couple of hours. I need to take a shower, then I need to help the others with dinner before Azar comes home. Though the other two wives don’t really allow me to do much other than chop up vegetables.

“Isabel,” a deep voice calls out as soon as I close the front door.

Lifting my head immediately, I turn in the direction of the voice and blink. It’s Rostam, the head of the Persian Mafia, sitting in the reception room all by himself. He is the new man in charge, his father was taken out by the newPakhanof the Bratva, and he has taken over his entire organization.

Change can be bad, but in this case, I think that it has been good. Rostam is much more stable than his father ever was, more in control as well. And I don’t know the newPakhan, but I can’t imagine anyone being much worse than Vova.

I like Rostam, he’s fair and kind. I’ve never seen or heard him make any rash decisions. Although he’s much like his father in the sense that he’s on the search for his four wives. Having four wives is very important to the men.

He gives me a smile and I find for the millionth time that I wish he were my husband. Maybe if I were married to him, it wouldn’t be so bad to be with him, to be in this life. My husband, he’s completely intolerable. He’s cruel, he’s uncaring, unkind, and he’s horrible in bed. He’s selfish in every sense of the word. Every day is its own sense of fresh hell.

“Rostam,” I say softly.

He lifts his hand and motions for me to go into the room with him. I really need a shower, need to wash the scent of Ruslan off of my body before Azar comes home, but at the same time, I can’t deny Rostam if he wishes to speak to me.

Walking over to the chair across from him. I sink down on the cushion as I give him a smile. “How can I help you? Do you need something to eat, drink, anything?” I ask in an attempt to be a good hostess, knowing the other wives would hit me for being rude to anyone.

He shakes his head slowly from side to side. “I need something else, not food or drink.”

My stomach dips as he stares at me. He is looking at me as if he knows something, but I have no clue what he knows, so I just stare at him and hope that it’s nothing that is going to be too hard for me to comply with.

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