Page 24 of Ruthless Dream

The movement is delicate. His words are not. “No, I’m going to own you.”

CHAPTER 6

Ciaran

“Do you even know how to drive?” Adeline asks, her body as far away from me as possible. She keeps her arm gripped on the door, like she’s trying to keep herself in place.

I use my indicator, changing lanes. “I know how to drive.”

“You only know how to drive on the opposite side of the road.”

One shoulder strap keeps falling down her arm, the material of her dress now worse for wear. Mascara bleeds down her cheeks, but there’s a stubborn, vain pride that has her lifting her chin despite it. Every few seconds it wobbles, though.

We’re in one of the Akatov fleet vehicles. Jack had a set of keys on him and an SUV always strategically placed nearby. I made Adeline help me move her former guard’s body into the trunk. She did absolutely nothing to truly help, but I wanted her to understand that when I ask her to do something, she’s going to do it. Even if it means moving dead bodies.

A shuddering breath leaves her chest, which I ignore.

I didn’t plan for this opportunity—of showing up like Adeline’s knight in shining armor—but I took it.

She’s lucky I was there because she didn’t notice shit most of the night. She was so wrapped up in her own personal orbit, she never noticed the man edging closer and closer. At first I thought he was a freak, a man out at a bar ready to take his shot.

My fingers squeeze the steering wheel.

I’ll never let the Bratva intimidate me again. Not now that I know Boris can’t hire a bodyguard correctly.

How the fuck did no one notice that the guy meant to protect Adeline was a rival?

Why the fuck did she keep knocking back every single drink he handed her?

She sucks in a big breath, trying to breathe clearly. Her voice trembles. “I’m calling my dad.”

I watched Jack throw her phone down a drain when they left the bar, so I hand her mine.

“Go on,” I tell her. “Explain to your father how you got blackout drunk and didn’t realize that your bodyguard was about to rape you.”

She sucks in another breath. “D-don’t fucking say it like that!”

I laugh, I can’t help it. She’s in deep shit and still acting like a brat.

“How should I categorize it?” I ask, glancing over at her. Her entire brow wrinkles in panic. She jerks toward the road, still worrying about my driving skills.

“My dad will take care of Wallen,” she snaps. “And you’ll⁠—”

“What? Get a reward?” I ask dryly, loosening my grip on the wheel and leaning back. This car costs more than the shitty flat I rent back in Dublin. “Tossed a bone like a good boy. For saving you.”

“You’re just like Jack,” she whispers.

I meet her eye. “No, princess, I’m really not. Because if I were, I’d take your cunt, break your neck, and then dump you down some drainpipe.”

The molten fire in her eyes makes me smile. She’s shaking but refuses to look away. That Akatov pride will be fun to break.

“Don’t call me princess.”

I stop at a red light. “Not to your liking? What should I call you instead? Love, sweetheart, slut?”

She flares at the final word. “None of the above! Drop me off right here.”

She fumbles with the door. It remains locked, and I drive off when the light turns green.