Page 17 of Dark Possession
My jaw tightens. Bratva. The word alone is enough to darken my mood. They don’t extend credit unless they’re confident they’ll get a return—with interest.
“So, you sorted it?”
Her chin lifts slightly, a quiet act of defiance. “I will. The money just hit my account.”
There’s a new edge to her voice now, something braver, something reckless. It irritates me. It interests me.
I lean back, considering. I could pay the debt myself—should, just to tie up any loose ends. But curiosity tugs at me.
“Which bratva?”
Silence. This time, she presses her lips together and refuses to answer.
Stupid girl.
My patience is thinning, but for now, I let it slide. She’ll talk. They all do eventually.
I breathe in deeply, forcing my irritation down, but it barely helps. My patience is wearing thin, unraveling thread by thread. Tonight was a failure—two missed opportunities. I don’t lose. I don’t waste time. And yet, here I am, empty-handed and simmering with frustration.
I shouldn’t care this much about her. Shouldn’t let her crawl under my skin like this. But the thought of letting her go knots my gut in a way I don’t understand. It’s unfamiliar, unwelcome. I don’t get attached. I don’t second-guess myself. And yet, here she is—standing in the center of my storm, making me question everything.
I need control back. Need to remind myself who’s in charge here.
By the time we reach the house, the weight of everything presses down on me, burning through the last of my restraint. The air feels charged, and my voice comes out low, dangerous.
“Your bedroom. Now.”
Alina stiffens. Just for a second.
Her eyes flash to mine, hesitation warring with defiance. “Lev—”
“Now.”
It’s not a request. It’s an order. And she knows it.
Her lips part like she wants to argue, to push back, but she isn’t stupid. She knows when to fight and when to back down. This time, she relents, though every step she takes is slow, reluctant, heavy with resistance.
Good. Let her resist. Let her fight against it. It won’t change a damn thing.
I watch as she climbs the stairs ahead of me, her hips moving fluidly beneath the red silk of that damned dress. My fingers have been itching to tear it off of her all evening.
Inside her room, she whirls on me, fire burning in her gaze. “You can’t just—”
I cut her off, stepping closer, my voice rough with something I don’t fully understand. “You’ll do as you’re told.”
She sways back slightly, but she doesn’t cower. That fire, that goddamn fire—it’s still there, flickering in her eyes, daring me to put it out.
And I should. I should smother it. Break her down until she’s nothing but quiet obedience. But instead, I stand there, watching her, feeling the pull of something dark and unshakable.
She’s under my skin. And I hate it.
But not enough to let her go.
Her breath catches—a sharp inhale, almost a gasp—as I reach for her hair and loosen the knot, letting it fall down her back. My fingers trail across her shoulders, knocking the red strap of her dress down. I’m completely invading her space, but I don’t stop. The heat off her body pulses, but her gaze is filled with ice. I reach around and touch the zipper of her dress, pushing it down. The dress falls a little further off her shoulder, but something in her snaps.
Her hands push at my chest, palms flat, trying to create distance that I refuse to give. “Don’t,” she bites out, her voice taut with anger, with fear.
I catch her wrists, tightening my grip just enough to still her without hurting her. “You don’t give orders,” I murmur, my voice low, even. Dangerous. “Not to me.”
