Page 43 of The Watcher's Bride

She doesn’t know it, but she saved me. Her vulnerability, her strength—they lit something in me that I thought was long dead. Men in my position aren’t allowed to have emotions. Emotions are seen as weak. Something for our enemies to exploit. Marriages are purely a business arrangement. Seeing how Nora has opened up parts of me I didn’t know existed, I can see the reason for this. If it wasn’t for my self-control, I would be a dead man.

I’m trying to avoid my uncle, he’s known me my entire life and I’m afraid he’ll read me like a book. It’s taking everything I have to keep up the façade of calm indifference. Acting like a man who is getting married purely to keep the peace. Not a man who is counting down the days until he can see the woman he’s become obsessed with.

I won’t wait forever. If Quinn delays the marriage or changes his mind, I’ll act. I’ll break into that fortress and get herout myself. But for now, I need to give this plan a chance to work. Nora has to be alive for any of this to matter.

The longer I wait, the more dangerous it becomes.

Quinn is a cruel man. If he suspects that Nora has been tainted in any way, he might decide she’s no longer useful. If he learns about me, about the nights we shared, he might decide to punish her for it. The thought turns my blood to ice.

So I wait. I plan. I prepare. And I watch.

I am not Max anymore. I am not her masked watcher.

I am Leonid Belyh, heir to the Belyh Bratva, son of an empire of blood.

And I will get her back.

Even if I have to destroy everything to do it.

Chapter 26

Nora

Seven long days later, the sound of the door being unlocked pulls me from my reverie and I jump up from the chair by the window where I spend most of my days vacantly staring out at the world beyond.

I don’t recognize the large, bull-faced man in the doorway, but I vaguely wonder if he might have been one of the men sent to kidnap me. There’s no way I could take him on or even get past him to make a run for it. Amusement sparkles in his eyes as if he’s aware of what I’m thinking. He then takes in my disheveled appearance.

In a small act of defiance, I’ve barely washed and have remained in the same dress since I arrived.

“Your father wishes to see you. Take a shower and get dressed,” the man instructs, looking at my appearance in disgust.

I narrow my eyes at him and snap, “I am dressed.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can force you to get ready or you can do it yourself. Trust me, I’m more than ready to strip you down and hold you under the shower,” he promises with a dark gleam in his eyes that tells me just how serious he is.

“Fine.” I head into the bathroom and slam the door behind me.

It doesn’t lock, so I just have to hope that as long as I’m doing as I’m told, Mr. Meathead won’t get any funny ideas and try to come in. I shower and wash my hair as quickly as I can, throwing the towel and the robe around my body for maximum coverage before returning to the bedroom.

The man sits in the chair by the window patiently waiting. There’s now a maid in the room too. She has the all-too-familiar haunted look in her eyes that tells me she’s not employed by my father under voluntary circumstances. She’s been trafficked, no doubt tricked into coming to live the American dream only to find herself in a nightmare working for a cruel employer she can’t escape. She avoids meeting my gaze, choosing instead to stare at the floor.

“She’s here to help you get dressed,” the man explains. “Vamos,” he barks at the maid, who flinches and immediately springs into action, gesturing for me to sit down in front of the mirror that someone has placed on the dressing table.

I don’t want to get this woman into trouble, so I comply. Her dark brown eyes meet mine gratefully in the mirror as she begins to gently tease out the tangles in my hair with a brush. Then she starts dyeing my hair. My stomach clenches as I wonder what color he’s chosen.

While we wait for the dye to process, she works on my fingers and toes, giving me a manicure and pedicure, painting them with the palest of pinks. After rinsing the dye out, she begins to dry my hair. I realize that my father has chosen a shade that’s practically identical to my natural color. I suppose that was inevitable. But he can’t magically grow it back.

My heart sinks as she lifts out hair extensions from their box. Clip ins, at least. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he mademe get the real deal soon. As she carefully clips them in securely against my scalp, the girl I used to be starts to emerge in the mirror. If my father hadn’t loved my hair so much, I’d have found it beautiful too, the unique, fiery shade of it. Now, though, it highlights the hollowness of my cheeks. She teases the newly added strands into a style that leaves most of my hair down, like a fairy princess with a crown of braids, dotting in sparkling clips.

With my hair complete, she gets to work applying makeup. It’s natural, almost as if I’m not wearing any at all, but she’s managed to bring some color to my pale skin, and though my cheeks are much too sharp, she’s softened the look by elongating my lashes and highlighting my full lips with a berry-colored lipstick.

The maid scuttles away to the wardrobe before reappearing with a new dress that wasn’t in there before.

A wedding dress.

Oh god. Is it happening already? I thought I’d have more time. That my father would at least want to gloat and torture me with stories of the future I have in store before I was forced to marry whichever monster he’s chosen. I haven’t seen him since I’ve been home, he’s like a dark specter haunting my nightmares.

I shake my head as she carefully lays the dress on the bed before producing the lace underwear and heeled pumps I’m to wear underneath it. I recognize this dress. The cruelty of his choice is like a fist to the stomach.

---