Page 3 of Ruthless Vow
Mikhail probably warned them I’d put up a fight. He may have even told them to let me get in a few licks. He’s sadistic enough to want me to think I have a chance, then take it away completely. As my freedom starts slipping away, my hatred for him only grows stronger.
The sedan merges onto Neptune easily, blending into the traffic like any other local. No one out there would care that I’m being dragged back to a man I hate and being forced to marry him. No one would bat an eye if I begged for help.
That’s why I didn’t scream. It’s why I didn’t plead for mercy. I’m in this alone now, and my only savior is myself.
I sit upright as soon as the pain in my lungs recedes. I don’t slump or close my eyes. They won’t get any humility from me. Instead, I stare one of the attackers right in his face until he looks almost uncomfortable. Good. If I’m really going to have to marry Mikhail, I’m going to make sure these assholes never get a moment of peace because of me.
The one with the crooked jaw wipes blood from his mouth and glares at me. I recognize him from Volna. He’s a low-level security guard who probably took this job to increase his chances of a promotion. He’s a peon who thinks he’ll ever have the chance to be something more.
“You should have come quietly,” he says.
“You should have gone to college and made something of yourself,” I shoot back. “You really think Mikhail will reward you for this? You’ll be back doing the graveyard shift at Volna tomorrow and it will all have been for nothing.”
The man rolls his eyes at me and turns away, though I can see him curling his fist in anger. It wouldn’t do any good to get hit now. That isn’t my goal. I just need to see that I can get under their skin.
The rope cuts into my skin as I test it carefully. They tied it tight, but they’re no Boy Scouts. Whoever taught them how to tie a knot did a sloppy job at best. I can probably get out of it if I maneuver carefully enough. Not that it’ll matter. Mikhail is always going to find a way to come after me.
The city slides past the window in streaks of neon and shadows. Music from the various clubs fades behind us, and I feel my future slip away with every block.
“He didn’t say the bitch could hit so hard,” the man in the passenger seat says quietly to the driver.
“She’s no threat to us,” the driver replies. “She’ll break easily.”
I stare straight ahead and let them talk, plotting all the ways I’ll prove them wrong. I’ll never break, not as long as I live. Especially not because of Mikhail Grinkov.
He tried to be civil when we met. He brought flowers and my favorite chocolates and a tacky diamond bracelet. He pretended to try, at least.
My father hosted dinner in our Brighton house. The long table was set with imported crystal and the fancy silver that my grandmother brought over from Russia. Silver that she would have screamed at Papa for using for any occasion other than a wedding or a funeral. Then again, maybe it was my funeral.
I didn’t understand at the time why Papa had invited me to come to dinner. He never involved me in his business affairs. I also couldn’t understand why Mikhail was being so nice. He repulsed me, and his reputation more than preceded him.
The conversation revolved around shipping routes and dock access for the first hour. I tried not to look as bored as I felt. Some decorum was warranted.
Mikhail spoke softly. That’s what surprised me the most about him. I assumed he would be boisterous or commanding, especially given his reputation for intimidation. It didn’t take long to realize that he didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.
He forces men to lean forward when he talks. It’s a classic power move. He’s a snake that way. He’ll smile in your face, then stab you in the back.
I couldn’t believe Papa had even stooped so low to take a meeting with Mikhail. Our family is well off on our own and business is good. At least I thought it was. Then the topic shifted, so smoothly it had to be on purpose. Papa made a comment about strengthening legacy. Mikhail talked about the unity of our families. Then my father brought me into the conversation, like an afterthought.
“Dochka,” Papa started, already trying to butter me up with an affectionate pet name. “Mikhail and I have been discussing a few things for some time, and we’ve come to the conclusion that you two should get married.”
I nearly spit out my wine. I looked to my mother, but she was looking down at her hands, refusing to engage.
This wasn’t a meeting after all. It was an ambush. Papa thought that if he brought this up in front of Mikhail, there’s no way I could say no to him. He underestimated me.
“It would be good for our families to form an alliance,” my father explained. “We have assets that would help the Grinkovs and vice versa. Your marriage makes sense.”
“No,” I said, without another thought.
Then I got up from the table and stormed away toward my room. I wasn’t going to be a pawn in my father’s endless game. I certainly wasn’t going to agree to marry Mikhail Grinkov. I grabbed the flowers from the entryway and tossed them in the garbage.
It was only a minute later when Papa came bursting through the door, his face so red. it was almost purple.
“I seem to have misspoken,moya doch,” he said lowly. “Youaregoing to marry Mikhail. You are going to do your duty to this family and you aren’t going to embarrass me again.”
“Perhaps you misheard,otets,” I shot back angrily. “I said no. You can’t force me to marry thatgnil. I would rather you shoot me in the head right now.”
Another shadow appeared in my doorway, and I looked up to see Mikhail standing there, assessing me. He didn’t look angry, but he was definitely sizing me up.
