Page 46 of Cruel Russian King
Artyom.
Fury replaced the fear knotting my stomach. I slipped out of the store and rounded the corner, in the direction I had just come from.
The logical thing would've been to head to Artyom's house. But the pain he was causing me, my family, and his, fueled a fire I couldn’t ignore. Artyom wanted an obedient wife, a woman at his beck and call. I would never be that.
I gave him the middle finger…in my head, at least. If he wanted to take me home, he’d have to catch me first. I was Bratva-born, and no man, not even one as cruel as Artyom, was going to break me.
It didn’t take long before he was back on my trail. My pulse jumped at every footstep behind me, and I darted into the densest crowds, letting bodies shield me, letting voices and chaos mask my movements. Back alleys became my allies, hats and coats my weapons as I tossed them carelessly just before slipping out of a store.
Every time I caught a glimpse of him, his shadow among the people, my heart raced with both fear and thrill. Adrenaline painted every nerve in fire, and I couldn’t help but grin every time I slipped through his grasp.
Thunder rumbled like distant cannons, lightning slicing the sky in jagged knives, as the drizzle began to descend.
I pivoted sharply, slipping through the doors of a nearby mall, the sliding glass swallowing me into a new arena. The scent of polished floors, the hum of air conditioning, and the oblivious crowd became my new playground. If he wanted me, he would have to find me here. And I wasn’t about to make it easy.
I continued our dangerous little game of cat and mouse, slipping into a clothing boutique as soon as I saw him approaching. I peeked through the crowd, catching sight of himentering. A chill ran down my spine. This wasn’t the first time he had tracked me into a store.
A sales clerk wheeled a rack of clothes toward the front, and I ducked behind it, pressing myself into it. My escape almost worked, until someone stepped in my path, blocking my way.
I straightened and met Artyom’s furious gaze, anger radiating off of him in waves. I spun on my heels, heart hammering, and sprinted toward the back of the store, hoping desperately that there was a back exit
A hand gripped onto my arm just as I passed the changing rooms, before I could reach it, and my stomach dropped.
Artyom shoved me into the changing room at the end and locked the door behind him, before turning to face me.
His eyes burned with fury, his jaw twitching as he slammed his palms against the wall on either side of my head, our bodies almost touching. My gaze lifted to his, stubborn and defiant, but goosebumps rippled along my skin as his heat surrounded me, my heart pounding erratically because of how close he was.
“Why do you keep running from me, Printsessa? Do you know how that makes me look in front of my men?” Though his voice was low and controlled, anger was stitched into every word.
“Why wouldn’t I run from you?” I spat back, though my voice trembled. “I’m nothing but a pawn in your twisted game.” I added. “I don't care how it looks to your men, since you don't care about what you're doing to our families.”
His hands snapped to my waist, his grip tight, jolts of electricity shooting through me until my knees nearly buckled.
“Is that what you think?” He leaned closer, his mouth brushing my ear.
“That’s what I know. You haven't made it a secret. You said you don't have the luxury of caring for anyone…” I tried to sound harsh but my voice wavered as his thumbs began to caress my sides.
His mask slipped for a fraction of a second.
“It doesn’t matter where you run.” His eyes darkened possessively. “I will always find you because you belong to me.”
“I don’t belong to you. I’ll never belong to you.”
“You are my wife!” he growled, and in one swift motion, ripped open my dress, sending the buttons scattering across the floor.
My eyes widened, my breath caught in my throat. Before I could react, he grabbed my wrists and slammed them above my head with one hand, pinning me against the wall. My black-laced bra and panties left me exposed, and instinctively I crossed my legs, trying to shield myself.
Artyom’s gaze dragged over me before meeting mine.
“Do I need to tie you to our bedpost and whip you into submission?” he snarled. “Do you want me to treat you like a prisoner?”
My lips parted to snap back at him, but instead, a low, needy moan slipped out. My nipples hardened, pulse hammering, and my pussy throbbed.
God. He just threatened to whip me, and yet every nerve in my body lit on fire for him.
“Your nipples are aching for me, printsessa,” he rasped, his eyes glued to my chest. “And you still think you don’t belong to me?”
“I-it’s…cold in here,” I managed to say, my voice cracking. The excuse was pathetic, even to me.
