CLAIMED BY THE RUSSIAN TYRANT

11

“What do you mean?”Alexei drawled darkly.

“You heard me kegan. I don’t need the guns. Just the girl. Give her to me and i’ll forget about your little mishap with my goods.” Emilio’s voice was only infuriating Alexei further.

“That’s not a very fair trade Emilio. The girl’s worth more than the guns. So, how about you shut that foul trap of yours and wait until I get to Siberia to settle this?”

Emilio’s booming laughter sounded from the other end. “How much is she worth? I’ll pay double.”

Alexei froze, the phone hot against his ear. The direction Emilio was heading was a dangerous one.

“And look on the bright side.” Emilio continued wickedly. “She’ll be more comfortable with a gentleman like myself. Not some wild brute such as yourself—“

“The answer is no, Emilio.” Alexei snapped. His voice dropping low. “I’m not selling the girl to you.”

“Selling the girl?”

The voice was small, shocked, and far too close. Alexei swiveled in his chair to find Anastasia standing by the door, her eyes wide with a terror that surpassed anything he’d seen in her yet.

“Is that my new toy speaking?” Emilio’s voice crackled through the phone, loud enough for her to hear. Alexei winced and killed the call instantly.

“I said shower and go downstairs for dinner. Not to my study.”

Alexei’s command was sharp, but his voice failed to break the mask of horror on her face.

He noticed then that her hands were hooked under the hem of the fitted hoodie she was wearing, her knuckles white.

She took a step forward. stopped. “Your guards let me in,” she said, voice low. “So this is why you haven’t forced yourself on me. Because you have… plans.”

“Anastasia—”

“That’s why I don’t have my freedom,” she cut him off. “Because I’m your property. And if my father doesn’t pay you back, I get sold to the highest bidder?”

Alexei sighed. Even if he told her the truth, she wouldn’t believe him.

“I don’t have the time for this little girl. Leave my study.”

But she wasn’t leaving.

She raised her chin stubbornly and walked closer until she was standing before him.

She shuddered, trying to square her trembling shoulders. She looked so small and vulnerable that he felt a twinge of conscience.

“Anastasia—” he bit out. Her raised her head higher, and Alexei froze in surprise and admiration for the amazing sight he beheld.

Standing there like a wild tiger, her hair tumbling all about her like red flames and her huge green eyes alive with hatred and unshed tears, she slowly raised her hand . . . a hand which was holding a knief she’d obviously managed to snatch from the dining table this morning.

And in that moment, as she held the knife high, ready to strike, Alexei Morozov thought she was the most magnificent creature he’d ever seen.

He’d hurt her and humiliated her but he hadn’t broken that iron wheeled spirit of hers. Suddenly Alexei wasn’t certain he wanted her broken.

Softly and without emphasis, he held out his hand.

“Give me the knife Anastasia.” She raised it higher—aimed, Alexei realized, straight at his chest.

“I’ll not hurt you again,” he continued, his voice steady as the door creaked open. Ambrose walked in, followed by Xander, who moved stealthily behind her, his expression murderous as he prepared to defend his boss.

“Nor,” Alexei added, his voice hardening into a command aimed directly at Xander, “will my very angry guard, who is at this moment standing behind you, be allowed to slit your throat if you try.”

In her anger, Anastasia had forgotten about his bloody guards. The memory of Xander killing that innocent boy, erupted inside her like a volcano.

“You’re not a murderer like me remember?,” Alexei said, extending his hand to her, confident now that she would give it to him.

She did.

The knife slashed through the air with the speed of light, aimed straight at his chest.

Only his swift reflexes enabled him to deflect it with his arm, then twist the blade free of her death grip, and even with that, as he flew over the desk and threw his arm around her, imprisoning her against his body, red blood was already pouring from the gash she’d managed to carve along his cheek near his ear.

“You bloodthirsty little b***h!” he sneered. All his former admiration for her courage instantly demolished as he felt the blood begin to pour from his face.

“If you were a man,” he hissed into her ear, trembling with the effort not to snap her neck, “I’d kill you for this!”

“Should i kill her boss?” Xander asked, giving Anastasia a foul look.

“Don’t be a fool!” Alexei snapped. “Would you have word spread throughout Russia that I killed Maximo’s child? Or worse, that she overpowered me?”

“She’ll never stop boss. Look at her.” Xander argued. “What’s to stop her from coming at you when you eventually set her free?”

“Set me free?” Anastasia gasped, roused from her trance as she stared at the blood she’d drawn. “You intend to set me free?”

“Eventually, if I don’t kill you first,” Alexei snapped, shoving her away from him with a force that sent her sprawling amidst the rug in his study.

Alexei snatched the vodka on his desk, keeping a wary eye on her, and took a long swallow, then he glanced at Ambose who untill this moment hadn’t said a word.

“Get me a needle. I haven’t forgiven you for going behind my back.”

Anastasia sat where she was, bewildered by his words and actions. Now that her senses were returning, she couldn’t believe he hadn’t murdered her on the spot for trying to kill him.

By the time Ambrose returned with a smaller needle, Anastasia was feeling almost charitable toward the man she’d tried to kill but minutes before.

She could not and would not forgive him for what he’d done to her, or for killing an innocent boy to prove a point, but she counted matters fairly even between them, now that she’d wounded both his body and his pride as he’d wounded hers.

As she sat there watching him drink, she decided that the wisest and best course, would be to try her best not to provoke him into changing his mind about returning her to her father.

“I’ll have to shave your beard boss,” Ambrose said, “or else, I won’t be able to see the wound in order to stitch it cleanly.”

“There’s no other way to go about this?”

“No boss.” Ambrose answered.

There was a long tense silence.

“Shave it off then,” Alexei muttered, “I doubt you know what you’re doing with that needle either way.”

“It's a pity she chooses to cut your face.” Xander growled darkly.

And Anastasia had the feeling she’d ceased to exist for the moment.

Ambrose set out a sharp knife and a cup of water for shaving. His body blocked Alexei from Anastasia’s view as he went about his task, and as the minutes slowly ticked by, she found herself leaning slightly to one side, then the other, intensely curious.

What kind of face was concealed beneath that forest of black hair?

He probably has a flabby chin, she decided, leaning so far to the right she nearly lost her balance.

Alexei had not forgotten she was there, nor did he trust her.

Watching her from the corner of his eye, he caught her peering at him and mockingly told the butler, “Move aside, Ambrose, so she can see my face before she falls like an overturned bottle trying to see around you.”

Anastasia, who had leaned far to the right trying to see, jerked back, her cheeks burning as she realized she’d been caught.

She tried to look away, but not before she caught a glimpse of the man beneath the beast who surprisingly looked so much younger than she’d thought.

He didn't have a flabby chin either. It was strong, chiseled, and perfectly defined.

Her pulse spiked against her will.

She had been wrong about everything.

Alexei Morozov was without doubt the most beautiful man she had ever seen.