Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Misha takes a step toward me, and my hand flies up between us. “No, Misha,” I plead, anguish straining my voice.
His expression grows tender until I’m looking at the man who gave me my first kiss.
A sob bursts from me, and my heart shrivels in my chest. “If you had your way, I’d be dead already. You made that very clear to me. Now you’re looking at me like you actually care?” I shake my head hard. “I’m done with this war I never signed up for.”
With two huge steps, he closes the distance between us, and his palms frame my face, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes lock on mine with the intensity of a million suns.
My face crumbles under the pressure of everything that’s happened, but before a sob can escape, Misha growls, “This is why.”
His mouth slams against mine in a soul-wrenching kiss.
My mind screams at me to fight him, but my heart sours into oblivion.
I bring my hands up and try to push him away, but it only has him locking an arm around me, caging my body to his.
“Misha,” I whimper against his mouth.
He lifts me from my feet, and I’m carried to his bed, where we fall, his weight pushing me into the mattress.
I manage to turn my face away from him and scream, “Stop! God, please stop.”
He presses his face against my hair, and we lie still as we both catch our breath.
It feels like minutes tick by in which I stare at the window, unable to process everything that’s happened.
“I lied,” he finally whispers.
I press my lips together and swallow hard on the tears jumping to my eyes.
“I still fucking feel it,” Misha admits.
I suck in a breath of air. “What?”
“This ever-fucking-present spark.” He lets out a chuckle as he lifts his head, and I feel his eyes burning on my face. “It’s so much more than a spark. It’s a fucking inferno of emotions.”
Slowly I turn my face until our eyes lock. “Then why did you treat me like shit?”
He shakes his head. “Because you’re the enemy.”
My chin quivers as I whisper, “I don’t want to be your enemy.”
Staring into his intense blue irises, I see the feelings he’s kept hidden from me fill them until the look is so tender it breaks my heart.
“Can’t you leave the bratva?” I ask, a seedling of hope daring to unfurl deep in my soul.
Misha shakes his head. “It’s like me asking you to leave your family.”
Stupidly, I say, “We can run away.”
A dark chuckle escapes him. “You don’t just run away from the bratva and mafia.”
The seedling starts to whither.
“Then what do we do?”
He shakes his head. “I have no fucking idea.”
“That’s it?” My eyebrows draw together with heartache. “We just go back to being enemies?”
“We never stopped.”
He starts to push himself off me, and in pure desperation, I frame his jaw with my hands and press my mouth to his.
Misha lets out a threatening growl, then his full weight hits me again. This time when he deepens the kiss, I don’t stop him.
I kiss the man with everything I’m feeling. The frustration. The heartache. The exhaustion. The despair. And as his tongue strokes mine, love and hope burst into full bloom in my chest.
We lose control, our hands grabbing and stroking while our mouths devour each other. It’s so freaking intense I’m dizzy from the kiss.
Misha’s hand covers my breast, and his touch is almost biting.
“Iisus Khristos!” He breaks the kiss and glares at me with a mixture of need and anger. “Trakhni moyu zhizn'.”
When he says, ‘fuck my life,’ I can hear the torment in his voice – his struggle between his loyalty to the bratva and his desire for me.
I place a palm against his jaw and sacrificing my pride, I plead, “Choose me.” Please. “Choose us.”
For the first time since I’ve known Misha, there’s pain on his face as he closes his eyes. He rolls off me, and falling onto his back, he lets out a groan that I feel deep in my bones.
He’s choosing the bratva.
Nodding, it takes all my strength to keep the tears back as I climb off his bed.
“Please unlock the door,” I whisper.
I fist my hands at my sides, and as Misha gets up and unlocks the door, I lift my chin and cling to the remnants of my pride as I walk out of his bedroom.
Exhausted to my very core, I leave his suite, only to see it’s in the same hallway as mine. I suck in a shuddering breath of air, and pulling the keycard from my pocket, I walk to my room and swipe it through the lock.
That’s it. Whether my parents like it or not, I’m done with St. Monarch’s.
Just as I turn to shut the door, Misha slams a hand against the wood, and stepping inside, his other hand grips the back of my neck.