Page 26 of Gilded Shackles
I move before I can think about it. Red flashes in front of my eyes. I snatch Elle’s arm and jerk her behind me.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Jeffrey and the other guards are there. They shove me back. I don’t hesitate to swing. I’m a trained fighter. My punch lands square in Man One’s jaw. I swing again before the other guy drops. I hit the second man in the stomach. He grunts and drops.
“Stop!” Viktor grabs my shoulder before I can get Jeffrey.
“I owe them more than that,” I hiss.
Gayle sneers at me. “Take the trash out, Jeffrey. My whore daughter included.”
I shove off Viktor. Jeffrey stares me dead in the eye. Whatever he sees, he steps to the side and Gayle is exposed.
I owe Jeffrey a hit or a fucking blow to the head, but for now, my anger is directed at Gayle. I step close. My body pushing into her space. Her head tilts back and the coldest, deadest eyes look back at me.
“Touch my fucking bride, and I will kill you.”
I see the fear for just the briefest second. And then she sneers. “She’s your problem now.”
“And don’t you fucking forget it.”
I turn around to find Jeffrey looking at me with what almost loos like appreciation. I grab Elle’s hand and stalk to the door.
“Get her shit, Jeffrey.” I make sure to emphasize his name and his place.
“Wait!” Elle calls out. “I need to pack.”
“No, you don’t. You need nothing from this place. You’ll be my wife and I will provide everything you need.”I don't wanta wife. I want a quiet life and a home for just Pasha and me. But Uncle made it clear that it's either this or war, and the woman next to me said yes before I could even think up an alternative.
So. Here we are.
The gates to my estate swing open like the jaws of a beast that just swallowed my freedom.
Elle is in my passenger seat, bright as a struck match, knees bouncing. She keeps peeking at me, then at the passing trees, then at the pet carrier quivering on her lap.
She insisted she needs her cat. A feline grenade named, God help me, Sir Isaac Mewton.
Who names a cat that? Who looks at a tiny predator and says,yes, he's a genius.
She does.
The tires crunch over gravel as we pull up the drive, loud in the kind of quiet that listens back.
I hate that Elle looks delighted.
She leans toward the window, her breath fogging the glass. Eyes bright, mouth soft. Like I brought her to a resort instead of a fortress that bites strangers.
The house is a white jawbone against the night. Old trees. Deep lawns. A lake dark as a pupil swallowing light.
Her breath lifts, catches. "Oh."
That sound does something to me. Irritates. Scratches. Feels like fingers on the inside of my ribs.
She presses her forehead to the window. "You live here?"
I don't answer, because it's complicated. It's my uncle's, but he lets me use it to keep the danger at a distance. That's the arrangement. I collect debts and I enforce. In exchange, I get to raise my son away from the city.
"I thought you'd be... I don't know." She gestures at me, then at the compound. "Minimalist."
