I’m an absolute wreck of emotions.
Fortunately, the champagne helps me pass out. Otherwise, I’d be tossing and turning all night. I can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed that wasn’t my own. I’m up early the next morning, and I sneak into the bathroom to shower before he sees me with messy hair and no makeup. It’s only when I get out, freshly cleaned, that I realize I don’t have my armor.
No foundation to cover the scar. Nothing to darken my eyes. Nothing to make me look soft, pretty, and non-threatening.
My heart flutters in my chest.
I can’t do this. I really can’t do it.
He wants to get me pregnant.
No, he has to get me pregnant.
Otherwise, our marriage is for nothing, and this alliance falls apart.
I slip into the hallway. My heart is racing, almost in my throat. How could Dad do this to me? How could he have thrown me into this situation without any explanation or preparation and expected it to work out?
There’s too much pressure.
The entire world is hanging on my shoulders.
“Pisik.” Tigran’s voice. I didn’t even notice him approach. I’m hunched over outside my bedroom door, freaking out so much I can barely breathe. “It’s okay, I’m here now.” His voice is soothing and low. Big, strong arms wrap around my body, and he pulls me into his lap.
My ears are ringing, and my vision is mostly white. Dimly, I’m aware that I’m having another panic attack.
“It’s okay, kitten, it’s okay,” he says soothingly, over and over, gently stroking my cheek along my scar.
Calm returns slowly. My heart rate is still elevated, and I’m sweating like crazy, but Tigran’s face comes into focus. His handsome mouth. His dark eyes.
“Fancy meeting you here again,” I mumble, my tongue feeling ten sizes too big.
He smiles. I like that smile. It makes him look a lot less terrifying. “I’ll always be around if you need me now. Did you get lost on your way from the shower?”
“Just thinking about all this.” I gesture to the sky and shiver. “It’s too much.”
“One step at a time. Focus on that.” He helps me sit up, but his hands remain on my shoulders. He stares into my face, squeezing gently. “This morning, it’s packing and saying goodbye. After that, it’s the drive down to Baltimore. One step at a time.”
“Yeah, sure, that’s super easy. I can do that.” I take a deep breath through my nose.
He smells good. Warm and spicy. I lick my lips, my stomach doing flips, my mouth trembling.
How does he make me feel this way? Both terrifying and overwhelmed, but also weirdly comforted?
“Does this happen a lot? The panic attacks?”
I shake my head. “Hasn’t happened in years. But I guess my life has been pretty stable for a while now.”
“I knew a girl—” He hesitates, his eyes glancing over my shoulder as if he’s looking for someone. “She had panic attacks too.”
“Do you still see her?”
He shakes his head. “She’s gone now.” He pulls away suddenly, and his smile disappears. That stormy, terrifying glare descends instead. “Time for us to get moving. Damian’s waiting downstairs.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll get my things.”
“Don’t get lost this time.”
He’s not smiling, but was that a joke?
Doesn’t matter. He walks away, and I’m left to drag myself into my room, shove my stuff back into my old duffel bag, and find a way to put one foot in front of the other.
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Evan snarls as he paces across my room. “I’m serious, Dash. I’m going to murder him.”
“Stop it,” I say, picking through my t-shirt drawer. “How the hell do I have so many of these?” I mutter, tossing one into the leave pile. “I don’t even go outside.”
“He sprung a goddamn wedding on you. He did it on your birthday!”
“I have a feeling that was on purpose.” The look on Evan’s face makes me think that was a mistake. “It was a good trick; you have to admit it. If it hadn’t been my birthday, I doubt I would’ve agreed to go anywhere.”
“Fucking bastard,” he snarls and kicks a few pairs of shoes I’d decided to leave behind.
“Don’t take it out on my heels, please. It isn’t their fault.”
“How are you so calm right now? I’d be going ballistic in your place.”
I stop sorting my clothes and look at him. Evan’s always been the emotional one, mostly because he’s allowed to be. It’s safe for a man like him to have big feelings.
He can stomp and storm all he wants. My brother’s six-foot-four and muscular enough to hold his own against nearly anyone. Who’s going to tell him to shut his mouth?
But me? I’m five-foot-nothing. Dad always says I got my mother’s height. If I barked and growled like him, someone would slap me down and make sure I stayed down.
They did it once already, and I don’t need to go through it a second time.
“I’m losing my mind,” I tell him gently. “Last night was the first time I slept outside of the house in twelve years.”
He stops pacing and slumps a bit. “I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Not only did I have to leave my little bubble, but I had to share a room with a stranger. With a random man I’ve never met before. Some guy I’m allegedly married to.” I laugh lightly because it’s crazy. I don’t even have a ring. But I saw the paperwork, and I know this is real.
“I’ll kill him too if he touches you,” Evan says, his expression going hard again.
That’s sweet, but I really doubt it. Evan’s big and strong, but Tigran is terrifying.
That’s like an angry pit bull going up against a raging lion.
They’re both strong, but one’s a born killer, and the other’s just a dog.
“He was fine. We slept in different rooms.”
That deflates him slightly. “Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that, right?”
I almost laugh in his face. This whole thing is something I don’t want.
But I guess he doesn’t know about the baby clause.
“Thanks, big brother, but I’ll be okay. Tigran doesn’t seem that bad.”
Evan’s mouth twitches, and he looks toward the door. Then he comes closer to me, his voice lowering. “How much do you know about your new husband?”
“Nothing,” I admit honestly.
“I did some digging last night after the wedding. Tigran Sarkissian is really bad news. I’m not telling you this to scare you—”
“Great, thanks, you’re doing a fantastic job,” I say, trying not to sound shrill as panic rises. “How bad are we talking here?” I remember Dad’s fear the night before, and the dots start to connect.
“From what I understand, he’s the Brotherhood’s top enforcer. The guy’s absolutely brutal, Dasha. They say he’s killed at least a dozen of his own family members. Uncles, cousins, anyone who wouldn’t accept his brother’s control. They’re terrified of him down there.”
I wrap my arms around my knees and hug them to my chest. Earlier this morning, I was in his lap. He stroked my scar and spoke to me in that low, soothing baritone of his, and it actually worked. He brought me back from the brink of a serious panic attack.
It’s hard to connect those gentle hands with the man Evan’s talking about.
But I know he’s right. I saw it in Dad’s eyes. That raw fear. It’s even in the way Tigran carries himself, like he knows the world is terrified of him.
And he thinks it should be.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I ask finally, forcing myself to stay calm and centered. I’m not going to have my second panic attack of the day before noon. I can at least save one for after dinner, as a little treat.
“Nothing. I don’t know. I’m just pissed and trying to warn you. I don’t want this for you.”
“I don’t want it for me, either, but this marriage is important.”
“You’re buying that shit too?”
I shake my head. “No, not to me, but to everyone else. They’re not going to let me get out of it even if I beg. It’s too late. I’m trapped.”
The cage bars. The space heater turned to maximum. Sweat rolling down my skin. The knife blade rattling inches from my face.
Trapped all over again.
Evan grunts and sits down beside me. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and tugs me close. I let him give me an awkward, sideways hug. We’ve never been really physically affectionate, even if we are close. That’s just not his style.
I must really be screwed.
“We’ll find a way,” he says, but he can’t really believe that. I sure as heck don’t. I’m a mentally broken hermit, not a moron. “And if we can’t, maybe I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” I ask gently, fighting tears. “Move to Baltimore so we can hang out once a week? Come kill my monster husband? Save me from the Armenians? Come on, Evan. We both know that’s not happening. Can’t we just enjoy this little time?”
He stiffens. His jaw works. I know it’s not easy for him, giving up like this. But I’ve learned over the years that it’s better to be soft and pliant.
You don’t break if you can bend and twist.
“Yeah, all right, Dash.” He pushes off the bed and gets up. “This place is a dump, you know that?”
“I’m packing.” I throw an old shirt at him. He catches it, makes a face, and tosses it aside. “Are you going to help, or are you going to keep whining?”
“Probably both,” he grumbles. “Well, why don’t you tell me about the hotel? What was it like going back out into the world?”
I smile to myself. Evan’s a good brother. He doesn’t want to do this, and he sure as heck doesn’t care about the hotel, but he’s trying.
That’s more than Dad’s done. I’ve barely seen him.
We talk about normal things while I fill a couple of suitcases. I’m bringing everything I need for the next few weeks, and Evan promises to send some more stuff through the mail when I need it.
For a while, I can almost forget that my monster husband is waiting for me downstairs with his equally dangerous driver.
But the real world intrudes eventually.
I’m folding the last of my sweaters when Dad appears in the door to my suite. He clears his throat, looking extremely awkward. Evan sits on my couch, glaring at him, arms crossed.
“Tigran says you two need to leave soon,” Dad says hesitantly. “Something about traveling while it’s still light out?” He looks at Evan, who just glares back and says nothing. “I know you’re both upset with me—”
“Upset is an understatement,” Evan snarls, his hands rolled into white-knuckled fists. “You sold your goddamn daughter.”
“She was the only option,” Dad says, looking at me. I frown back at him, emotions welling up in my gut. “Valentin made it clear that there was no other choice. I didn’t want this.”
I believe him. For twelve years, Dad has indulged me. He’s kept me safe, away from the Bratva, secluded from the men who frequently come to visit him, all because it makes me more comfortable.
The family talks. I know what they say. I’ve heard the house staff mumbling to each other.
Dasha’s crazy. Dasha’s a spinster. Dasha’s a freak.
It hasn’t been easy for him, having a weirdo for a daughter, but he blames himself for what happened to me when I was just thirteen years old.
“I don’t blame you,” I say gently.
Evan stares at me in outrage, and he’s right to feel that way.
I feel that way too.
But I can’t do anything about it, and I’ve learned a dozen different times that it’s better to hang my head and get on with it than to spit and scream and rage.
“Dashenka, my good little girl, I know this is hard, but the Armenians have made assurances. You will be safe and respected. You will be treated very, very well, I can promise you that.”
“Yes, Papa.” I hate myself for saying that. Don’t I want to stab him in the throat right now?
Maybe maim his stinking face the way I got sliced up.
Now, now, Dasha, that’s not how a good girl thinks.
“Would’ve been nice to warn her before selling her off,” Evan says sharply. “You owed her that much.”
“I don’t owe anyone anything,” Dad snaps back, glaring at his son. “And you should be careful. You’re not the one getting married.”
“Yeah, just your shut-in daughter.” Evan shoves himself to his feet. He stares hard at Dad for a beat before turning to me, his face softening. “You’ve always got a home here, you know that, right?”
Tears choke me. Is this really happening? Am I seriously going to say goodbye to my brother, to my father, to the only home I’ve known for twelve long years? It feels like I’m cutting off a limb.
“I know that.” I think about the deal Tigran offered, and suddenly it doesn’t seem so crazy. Would he really buy me a house? One with big walls and a security system? I could come back here and see my brother whenever I wanted.
Maybe even my dad too. One day, anyway.
“Good luck.” Evan hugs me tightly. “Text me if that bastard does anything,” he whispers before letting go.
I watch him leave with a terrible sinking feeling in my chest.
“Finish packing, Dashenka,” Dad says, glancing down at his feet. “It really had to be this way.”
I turn my back on him. “I know, Papa.” I say it nice and sweetly. Like the good, obedient Dashenka I’m supposed to be.
While inwardly seething that my life is over, and it’s his fault.
