Page 35 of Desperate People

Not because they just terrorized the daughter of one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the world.

No, not that.

They fucked up because they didn’t know this one simple truth.

See, Marat Volkov, and all her uncles and cousins might be badasses in their own right. But I’m no fucking slouch, either.

And Lucy Volkov?

The way I feel about her?

This uncontrollable need to protect, to cherish, to worship the ground she walks on?

She’s mine.

Damn straight.

That woman belongs to me.

And I’ll burn this whole fucking piece of shit world down before I let anyone touch what’s mine.

Chapter Five-Lucy

The car is quiet.

Too quiet.

My hands flex on the purse I carried with me.

Balor drives like he does everything—controlled, intense, with a lethal edge humming just beneath the surface.

He hasn't said much since we left my apartment.

Not after I let him strong-arm me into going with him to his place.

Not after I locked the door and slid into the passenger seat like some kind of obedient hostage.

None of that is true.

I’m being emotional.

I’m upset, angsty, and it is all warranted.

But he did nothing out of character.

Besides, I’m the one who called him.

I called and he came.

Like some beautiful avenging angel.

My fingers are still curled tight around the straps of my purse, my palms clammy.

I hate how shaky I feel. How exposed.

I’ve done photo shoots in lingerie.

Walked runways with my head held high while fashion critics picked me apart in real time.

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