Page 44 of His Hell Girl

"I'm not marrying you, Vlad," I say, my voice softer. "Not now, not ever." I grab his hand and throw it aside, pushing my shoulder into his to evade him.

He's quick as he snakes one arm behind my waist, pulling me flush against him.

"I won't say this twice, hell girl," he rasps against me, and I feel the coiled energy in his body, the way his fingers play over the small of my back as if he might break me in two at any moment.

"You will smile." He raises his hand to my face, one finger dragging the corner of my mouth up, "and you will look happy like the bride you are today. You do that, and no one has to die," he pauses, his face closer until his mouth is but a breath away from mine, "for now."

I can't believe the gall of him. He's looking at me as if he's already won this game. As if he knows I'll obey him. Hell, I see the twitch in his cheek, a dimple threatening to form as he tries his hardest not to proclaim victory just yet.

A smile curves on my own lips as I play along for the briefest moment. Opening my mouth, I capture his finger and I bite.

Hard.

Well, as hard as I can.

And he's not even reacting.

"Sisi, Sisi," he chides, "my dear Sisi, I can see the wheels turning in your head, trying to find an exit. Trust me, there'snone. Now, I didn't want to do this," he sighs dramatically, "but it seems I must."

I frown, his theatrics already tiring me out.

"You either marry me now, or I'll be forced to do something more… drastic. Like, say, detonate a bomb at your house. Why, your brother and his family as well as your sister must already be back there…"

My eyes widen just as his lips pull up into a smile.

"You wouldn't…"

"Oh, but I would," he replies, that faux charm dripping off his words.

And just like that, he's back to the Vlad I know. The unfeeling, I take what I want Vlad, that seems to have gotten it into his head thathewill marry me.

And I know he will make true on his threat.

"So be it," I reply, schooling my own features into a mask of indifference.

Because he might threaten my family, and he might think this is just a game. But I don't plan on giving in to him—ever again.I might sign my name on that marriage certificate, but that's all he's getting from me.

I don't even wait for his reply as I extricate myself from his hold, going to the officiant and doing exactly what Vlad instructed—smile, say yes, and sign the damned paper.

"I wish you all the best, Mr. and Mrs. Kuznetsov," the man says as he leaves, distress written all over his features.

And then we're alone.

There's maybeone foot of distance between the two of us. We're both staring at the other, our breaths coming in short spurts.

He looks on the verge of an attack, and I have to force myself not to flee, the memory of his last episode still fresh in my mind—and on my body.

My gaze moves over him in what I'd call my first thorough perusal, since seeing him again. He's wearing a suit as always. Navy with white stripes, the molded material does nothing to distract from his thick thighs or his powerful arms. No, on the contrary, it only serves to emphasize his muscled limbs further, and for a moment I have to wonder if he hasn't indeed bulked up even more.

His neck is strained, veins protruding as he tries to regulate his breathing, his eyes set on me—unmoving.

He's seen his prey and he's ready to pounce. And just like that my feet are ready to carry me away from him too.

The tension is thick, the awareness even worse as I feel my body respond to his proximity. You'd think that after almost being ravished to death I'd have no desire to try my luck a second time, but as we seem to find a rhythm in our breaths, emulating one another, I find that my body doesn't like to listen.

It's already primed for more—for violence, for blood and destruction.

And I hate it.

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