The Mad Wolf.
12
The Romanovs don’t have a foothold in Carver City. I don’t know if they ever tried to, but to the best of my knowledge, when they sent over their people from Russia to put down roots in the States, they stuck to the main port cities. Our power structure is older and more insular than a lot of other cities in the country. That remains true to this day.
But that doesn’t explain what he’s doing here. With me.
I open my mouth to demand answers, but he slaps my clit before I can speak. His voice is harsh in my ear. “Do it, Ruby. Come for me right fucking now.”
Even as my mind rails at his arrogance, at his determination to make me fold, my body is primed and ready to submit. It’s everything I can do to clamp my jaw shut and keep his name trapped on the right side of my teeth. I can’t stop myself from coming, though. My body is too eager for the pleasure he gives.
He curses against my ear. “Stubborn to the bitter end.”
Wolf—Luke—Casimir pulls out of me. I don’t have a chance to figure out what I’m supposed to do next, because he throws me over his shoulder and starts carrying me to the bed. “Time to talk.”
That snaps me out of it. “You son of a bitch.” I beat my fists against his lower back. “You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me.” For two fucking years. He must have known exactly who I was in that bar that night he hit on me, when we took shots together and ended up fucking in the parking lot. He took me home that night, and within a week, we were official.
A lie.
Casimir pauses in front of the huge trunk of toys, but I don’t have a chance to twist to see what he’s doing before he’s on the move again. He drops me onto the bed. I bounce, and then he’s on top of me, straddling my stomach.
I almost—almost—get distracted by his massive cock right in my face. He’s still hard and coated in my orgasm. I’ve seen his cock like this before, but it’s not the same. It will never be the same again.
He slams a cuff around one wrist and, in one smooth move, clips it into a bar connected to the rings hanging on either side of the headboard. I gasp, but it’s too late. He already has my second wrist bound and clipped in. “You motherfucker.”
He ignores me and moves down my body to give my ankles the same treatment. I try to twist and kick him, but he easily avoids the blow. Within seconds, I’m bound spread-eagle on the bed.
Helpless.
No one even knows where I am, thanks to my lies. I didn’t book the plane ticket with my credit card, so there’s no record of it. I turned in my phone when I arrived at the estate, and I watched the Concierge turn it off, so I can’t rely on location tracking.
I’m fucked.
Casimir climbs off the bed and pulls on his pants. Then he turns back to me. “Now. Speak. Get it off your chest so we can move on.”
His audacity leaves me temporarily speechless. He’s talking as if this has a foregone conclusion, as if this is a little bump on the path to our future. Delusional. I rattle the cuffs against their rings. “Untie me.”
“No.”
I open my mouth to use my safe word but hesitate. Do I believe he’ll ignore it? Or that he’ll actually let me go if I use it? I don’t know which is worse, and that speaks volumes to how fucked my head is right now. But, damn it, I want answers. “How long did you stalk me before we ‘met’ for the first time two years ago?”
He lifts a single dark brow. “A few months. You made it easy. You put every thought in your head on social media.”
My breath whooshes out. The question was a hunch; to have it verified feels . . . complicated. But he’s answering my questions, so I don’t linger on the emotions clogging my chest. “Why me?”
“You know the answer to that.” He moves around the room, making the same circuit I did when I first got here, examining the toys and tools, poking his head into the bathroom.
Yeah, I guess I do. He picked me because I’m heir to the Belmonte territory—not because he took one look at me and was overwhelmed by wanting. It shouldn’t matter. He’s Casimir fucking Romanov. He’s a fucking stalker, a murderer, an enemy; the answer to why me shouldn’t make my chest tight and hot.
Carver City has had peace for a long time, and the territory leaders are—mostly—still in their prime and not easy pickings. But us heirs are coming of age, and most of us are taking on more responsibility, training for the roles we’ll one day fill.
It’d be smart for an enemy to plant the seeds of dissent now. To target us. Whether to tee us up to be perfect victims later . . . or to merge with us in a more traditional format. Marriage.
I swallow hard. “How many Romanovs are in Carver City right now?”
He gives me a wolf’s grin. “Smart girl.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Michelle hasn’t said anything about suspicious people in her life, but she’s definitely been acting strangely. I was dating a damn Romanov for two fucking years and I had no idea. She might have someone close to her. She might be in danger. And Zayne . . . and the others. Fuck. “Who?”
He just stares at me, expression stony.
A slow-dawning horror takes up residence in my chest. “Tatiana. She’s one of you.”
“My . . . sister.”
The horror inside me grows claws and teeth. His sister. I had his sister’s mouth and fingers all over my pussy. I sent him a picture of it. Oh gods . . . “What the fuck, Casimir?”
“I told you to leave her alone. You didn’t listen.”
I stare at him, trying to see the man I fell in love with. The features are the same—his handsome face, sensuous lips, pale eyes—but Luke never wore a cold expression like Casimir does now. They don’t even move the same. “What was your endgame? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you never planned to tell me the truth.”
He shrugs. “Once we were married, I would have mentioned something.”
“Mentioned something,” I repeat numbly. “You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me from the beginning.”
He gives me a long look. “Keep throwing stones, baby. You were so quick to tell me who your parents were to Carver City—who your aunt was. Oh wait, you weren’t. You never did.”
Because I thought he was outside the life. I thought he was something just for me. I hadn’t planned on us getting so serious, moving in together, the whole nine yards. It just kind of happened, and it never felt like a good time to explain that my parents were overprotective because we’re in organized crime. I tucked that conversation away in the same place I’ve tucked my thoughts and feelings about being heir. “That’s different.”
“Sure.” He doesn’t say it like he agrees. “Then let’s do one easier. I might have lied about who I was . . . but so did you.”
“No, I didn’t. You knew my name from the start.”
“Come on, Red.” He picks up a flogger, and my whole body goes tight. But he doesn’t approach the bed with it. He just runs it lightly over his palm, almost contemplatively. “We wouldn’t be here if you were the good girl you pretended to be for years. You’d still be sleeping next to Luke, the nice guy who’s perfectly safe.”
“Perfectly boring,” I snap.