Page 61 of Corruption

Any thoughts of not doing anything stupid fly out the window. Because this is the moment I knew would come. The moment I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself. The moment I decide I care more about Kiya than I do about the brotherhood, its rules, and especially mypakhan. The moment I decide that Kiya is mine and the only one I’ll share her with is Nadia, consequences be damned, and it’s about time I cemented that.

I storm over to intervene.

24

Kiya

“T

here you are.”

I sigh as I turn around to face Vaughn, unsurprised to see him behind me. I’d felt his eyes on me since I walked into the main part of the gala to get my drink, knowing it was only a matter of time before he came to bother me.

“What do you want?” I ask

“Now don’t be like that. We’re supposed to be engaged.” He reaches out a hand to touch my cheek.

I step out his reach and say, “Well, that happens when someone tries to rape you after their first conversation.”

“You’re still upset about that?”

I glare at him.

“Now, don’t make a scene in public, sweetheart.”

People like him hate when their victims make a scene in public. It gives their victims power because they know if their tormentor reacts, it will ruin the perfectly respectable image they’ve manufactured for the public. I used to do it with my mother. Ask her in front of people something that was perfectly reasonable for her to allow if she were a reasonable person who wasn’t trying to control my entire life. Something that if she said no to would only make her look like the awful person she really was.

I picked and chose when I used that tactic. Because the problem was that I had to go home with her, and her grudging agreement didn’t mean she couldn’t just wait until we got home to punish me. So I never asked for anything she could take. I never asked her for anything that she would remember later or think was worth punishing me for.

I’m not going home with Vaughn tonight. But unless Isaak pulls through, I’m marrying him in March. I don’t know him well enough to know whether he’ll remember if I piss him off tonight. I’ll already have hell to pay for defending myself our first encounter together.

Rather than making a scene or asking him what he’ll do exactly if I do make a scene, I ask again, “What do you want?”

“A dance with my future wife,” he says.

I have no reason to say no, and I don’t want to unnecessarily piss him off. So I put my drink down and let him lead me to the dance area.

He pulls me to him. Wraps his arms around my waist. I wrap my arms around his neck. Then we sway to the music playing in the background. I try not to look directly at his face at first, choosing to stare mostly off to the side and over his shoulder, but he doesn’t have it for long.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart,” I snap, even as I do as he says and look up at him.

He pulls my body closer to him and says, “That’s certainly true. You’ve been anything but sweet to me.”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“And what would I have to do to earn it?”

“Not try to—”

“So we both made a bad first impression on each other.” I begin to protest that webothdid nothing. The bad impression was all him. But before I can, he continues, “You’re going to have to learn to tolerate me eventually. You can’t escape me.”

“My mother thought the same thing.”

“Your mother?”

“She thought I could never escape her, and I did.”

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