After seven years, that first glimpse of Mallory was better and worse than I had imagined, and I had spent many a night imagining it.
I’d thought about finding her in the cold warehouse in Brighton Beach, where Viktor had taught Niko and me how to extract information from a mole. I pictured Mallory to distract me from the screams piercing the air while my brother worked his magic. I dreamed of her to avert the knowledge that it was my turn next. I’d thought of Mallory the first time I’d taken a life. The first time the gun in my hand sent another person slumping into a bloody heap.
I thought of Molly for every single one of those firsts. She had been my first everything, and she would also be my last. I had renewed those vows every time blood sank into my hands, staining my soul irreparably.
She had barely changed, yet she was different. The past hadn’t only marked me, but her too. Good. In that case, maybe she’d look more fondly on the monster I’d become.
Her coat was cheap, and her boots were worn down. She looked tired and thin like she’d been pushed to a point. I already knew why. Singlehandedly supporting her mother. A pointless, sad existence that was never meant to be, if only she’d waited for me.
For some reason, the thinness of her cheap coat increased my annoyance. Fresh fury welled in my veins as I watched her struggle. Despite the gray, chilly morning, she ignored the approaching bus in favor of walking. She was still as stubborn as fuck.
This was the life she had chosen over me.
My girl had forgotten how she was supposed to be treated. She’d forgotten who she was. That was okay because I was going to remind her. She would live like a queen by my side, so long as she didn’t fight the collar I would leash her with.
I followed behind her, but not too close. Mallory had always been wise and wary, and I couldn’t imagine anything in her life had comforted her enough to lose that instinct. She’d been good at sniffing out a predator on the wind, though she had a blind spot when it came to me. She had been fooled about the darkness living inside me.
I wondered how long it would be before she realized I wasn’t the same Kirill she had loved.
She was stubborn and strong-minded, full of ego and pride. I’d break her down piece by piece, but not her body—not where it would show. Her body belonged to me. She might be walking around with it, but it was mine. I’d remold her into my possession, so she would never dream of being parted from me. She would need me as much as I needed her, and we would be free from the chains of society’s teachings of acceptable love. Since becoming a Chernov, I understood that the rules didn’t apply to everyone, and very few applied to me.
I was a king in my world; a king took who and what he wanted. I’d been born wanting my Molly, and I’d die that way. I wanted her with every breath, and that would never change.
I watched her as she walked, staying in the shadows. I could have followed her easily with my eyes closed. The pull of her led me.
She walked with her shoulders bunched, defensive and cold. It should have been pathetic, but it wasn’t. After all this time, my Mallory was strong. The monster inside me was satisfied by that realization. Breaking her to my will would be much sweeter when she fought back. Maybe her fire could warm the ice that had formed around my heart.
I kept to the shadows easily. When you’d lived in them for so long, staying there was easier than stepping into the light. Mallory wove her way through the streets confidently. I longed to get closer. Her long white-blonde hair was stuffed into the back of her jacket. I wished I could get close enough to touch those long, tumbling curls and pull them free. I wanted to wrap the strands around my fist and bend her head to mine. I wanted to see the shock in her eyes when she recognized me. I liked the thought of her surprise and shock when she realized I was no longer the man she’d known. No, I didn’t like it—it made me hard as a rock. I strode the streets behind her, carefully keeping my wolf’s scent from the little rabbit scurrying home in front of me.
Not yet, Molly. Not yet.
But soon.
I waiteduntil she’d been inside her fifth-floor walk-up for an hour. According to Max, her piece of shit father wasn’t around, though he technically lived with her. I wasn’t worried about Henry. The sooner I saw him, the sooner I could end him. But I wasn’t ready for Mallory to know I’d found her yet.
Her door had a ridiculous excuse for a lock, which I picked in three seconds flat. That would need to be replaced. I couldn’t have someone else coming in here and hurting her when I’d just found her. Hurting Mallory was a privilege I’d earned. Only me.
Besides, I thought darkly as I entered her small, pitiful apartment, Mallory was my possession, and nobody fucked with my things.
I moved toward her room like a man possessed. I could smell her in here. Somehow, despite the years that had passed, the scent of her skin had remained in my head, perfect and untouched.I picked the lock on her bedroom door and pushed it open soundlessly. There she was, her small body curled up under a thin comforter. She had a bedsheet across the window instead of a blind. The weak morning sun shone through, lighting the room enough to pick my way across and stand over her. The sight of her poverty made me angry. I’d decorate her cage with the finest things money could buy. She would want for nothing except her freedom.
I knew Molly couldn’t wake. She’d always been a heavy sleeper, but I hadn’t wanted to take any chances. The slow-acting sleeping tablet in the bottles of water I’d had Rafael Navarro give her at the end of her shift would ensure she didn’t wake.
Rafael was the second son of the powerful Mexican Cartel lord, Luis Navarro. His elder brother, Gabriel, was not someone you crossed lightly, and I had no intention of doing so. A bratva boss—or in my case, a bratva heir—didn’t walk into a rival family stronghold for any purpose other than starting a war. Instead, I’d had my second, Max, discreetly talk to Rafael about Mallory, telling him I’d be taking her off his hands soon. There was nothing the promise of a future favor and a guarantee of discretion couldn’t achieve among like-minded individuals. My Mallory was only days away from finding every door in her life closing on her, a rapidly narrowing tunnel that only led in one direction—my door and the cage I’d prepared for her.
My mind lingered over the nickname I’d given the woman lying innocent and vulnerable below me.Molly.
I leaned down. I couldn’t stop myself. Touching her arm lightly, I waited to see if she woke. When she didn’t, I let my hand slide to her cheek. She was wrapped up like a homeless person, and the temperature in her room couldn’t be much higher than the streets. I touched the apple of her cheek and let my hand linger around her jaw, imagining what it would be like to close my fist around her neck and wake her. That way, there would be no waiting or toying with my food. I’d wake her and take her in the same breath. She’d be locked in her new home by the time the sun was up, mine to devour at will.
But no, I had waited too long to rush. Breaking Mallory’s rebellious spirit wouldn’t be easy if she were anything like she used to be. I looked around her hovel. Then again, maybe the world had already broken her. Time would tell. No matter what, Mallory Madison’s days of freedom were numbered.
Her skin was so soft and warm that it made my isolation and frigid life all the more painful. The ice had formed from the inside when my father had made me a true Chernov, and nothing could thaw it.
I slid my finger toward her mouth, lightly moving across her sweet lips. A dark thrill went through me as I pushed my thumb inside the hot cavern, and her tongue instinctively moved across the end like she was sweetly sucking it. I liked how it felt to have some part of myself inside her.
As I went to pull my hand away, she mumbled something in her sleep and turned her face right into my palm. Her hot breath scorched me, and her soft lips brushed against my flesh as she whispered a word. It would have been too quiet to hear if not for the early morning silence.
“Kirill.”