CLAIMED BY THE VIPER

CHAPTER 2:The Counter Offer

She's even more gorgeous when she's terrified.

It's been seven minutes, and I haven't taken my eyes off her.

Seven minutes of her just being frozen by my desk. USB drive still in. Proof of her crime glowing blue in the dark.

Seven minutes of watching how many times she looks at the elevator. That's twelve.

The number of times she makes sure I'm still asleep. Going to eight.

The number of times she bites her lower lip. Three, only when she's truly nervous.

I file every detail away.

Because the most interesting thing I've ever probed is Maya Konstantin.

And I've been researching her for six months.

From his vantage point in Paris, Marcus Dubois watches her meticulous efforts. She was the embodiment of all his desires. Sophisticated. Cultured. The reader? Excited by his dull art collection.

She bled him of two million, and he never even guessed.

Watching her seduce Richard Chen in Tokyo. Different persona entirely. Submissive. Eager to please. The perfect trophy girlfriend.

Three million at that time.

Singapore. London. Prague.

Four men. Twelve million stolen.

And she disappeared in smoke after each one.

Perfect predator.

Exactly what I need

Exactly what I want.

My clock twitches beneath the sheets. Inappropriate timing.

My body has no respect for the clock.

It just knows: Mine.

I have known it since I first saw her work. Watched her transform. Become whoever her mark needed.

But I'm not a mark to crack.

I'm the lock she can't pick.

And now I'll show her why.

Her shoulders are tense. She sensed something.

Time to move.

"Looking for something?"

She spins. Eyes wide. Prey eyes.

But she doesn't run.

Smart girl.

She understands that the penthouse is a cage. Biometric locks. Windows sealed. Emergency exits leading to a dead end.

I designed it this way.

To capture things I want to hold onto.

And I want to keep her.

She is naked but for moonlight and lies. My shirt was discarded somewhere. All that bare skin.

Our past is written on her body, evidence of what we did three hours ago. Fingerprints on hips. Bite marks on the shoulder.

Pride surges through me.

Mine. Already.

"Sit down," I told her.

She doesn't move. Processing. Calculating.

"Maya," I put command into my voice. Not loud. Don't need loud. "Sit."

Her jaw tightens. She doesn't enjoy being told what to do.

Noted. Will use later.

"Or run," I offered. Reasonable. "See how far you get."

Five seconds later, she does the math.

Then sits.

Good girl.

I stand. Leisurely make my way to the bar. Let her watch. Let her wait.

Let the silence pile until it's a thirst against the skin.

Control is timing.

Fear is anticipation.

I learned that young.

"Your name is really Maya Konstantin," I told her. Back to her. Casual. "Daughter of Viktor Konstantin. Bratva royalty. Running cons since sixteen. Seventeen marks. Forty-three million stolen."

I turn. Walk to her. Hand her scotch.

She takes it. Hands steady.

Impressive.

"I can make you a bounty," I said, never missing a beat. "Collect the bounty. Watch you die in federal prison."

"But you won't," she says. Voice even.

"No."

"Why not?"

I sit on the edge of my desk. Study her.

She's wearing my shirt now. Must've pocketed it while I was making drinks. It hits mid-thigh. Her legs are bare.

Perfect legs.

I can still recall exactly how they felt wrapped around me.

Focus.

" Cause I've got a better use for you.

"Which is?"

"I need a wife."

Her eyebrows lift. First crack in the mask. "Excuse me?"

"Not a real wife. A weapon. A genius able to control anyone. Ruthless enough to cut what needs to be cut. Pretty enough to make men foolish.

I sip scotch. Let her process.

"And what do I get?"

"Immunity. New identity. Viktor never finds you. "And more money than you could ever steal in a dozen lifetimes."

"For how long?"

"Two years. Maybe three."

"And after?"

"After you walk away. Free. Rich. Alive."

She's silent. Looking for the trap.

Smart. There is a trap.

The trap is me.

And she's not going to walk away.

But it doesn't need to be for her to know that yet.

"And if I refuse?"

I set down my glass. Stand. Walk to her chair.

Lean down. Hands on armrests. Caging her.

This close, I can smell my cologne on her skin. See the pulse in her throat.

Count the gold flecks in her brown eyes.

"Then I'll deliver you to Viktor." He has a bounty. Two million. You stole from him too. He wants to make an example."

Fear flickers across her face.

There.

Real. Raw.

Beautiful.

"Or," I added quietly, "the FBI. They'd love to meet you. I'm sure federal prison is a very welcoming place."

I observe her throat as she swallows.

"So," I murmured. "What's it going to be? Prison? Viktor? Or me?"

She stares at me. Hatred and calculation.

Then something shifts.

Sharpens.

"I get fifty percent of anything we take."

I laughed. Can't help it.

The audacity.

The f*****g balls.

"You want to negotiate?"

"I always negotiate."

God, she's perfect.

"Forty percent."

"Fifty."

"Forty-five. Final offer."

She extends her hand.

Small. Delicate.

I could break every bone.

"Deal."

I take her hand. Shake.

Her skin is warm. Soft.

All at cross-purposes with the steel in her backbone.

I don't let go.

"One more thing."

"What?"

I pull her to standing. Eliminate space.

Until I can feel her breath.

"We consummate the deal. Right now."

"We already f****d tonight,"

"That was you trying to steal from me. This is us signing a contract."

'You want me to f**k you as a business deal.'

"I need you to know who you belong to now.

"Nobody owns,"

I kiss her.

Hard. Claiming.

She fights.

Half a second.

Then opens.

Kisses back just as hard.

Her hands clenched in my hair. Nails scraping scalp.

She would taste like scotch and surrender.

I walk her backward. Lift her onto the desk.

The laptop crashes.

Neither of us cares.

My hands slid up her thighs. Under my shirt she's wearing.

Find bare skin.

Hot. Smooth. Mine.

She gasps into my mouth.

I pull back. Look at her.

Hair wild. Lips swollen. Eyes dark.

"Say it," I commanded.

"Say what?"

My hand moves higher. Finds her wet.

Her body never lies, even when her mouth does.

"Say you're mine."

"I'm not,"

"I wrap two fingers inside her. Watch her eyes go unfocused.

Watch her bite her lip.

"Say it."

She's trembling. Hips moving. Chasing friction.

"I'm yours," she whispered.

"Again."

"I'm yours."

"Good girl."

I took her to the desk.

Fast. Rough.

This isn't gentleness.

This is conquest.

I push the shirt up. Need to see all of her.

Claim every inch.

She arches. Head falling back. Throat exposed.

I mark it. Teeth and tongue.

"Everyone will know," I growled. "Every man you see will know there is already an owner."

"Possessive," she gasped.

"You have no idea."

But then something unexpected happens.

She looks at me.

Really looks.

And I see it.

Vulnerability. Real vulnerability.

No performance.

My pace slows.

Can't help it.

"You are so f*****g beautiful when you submit," I hear myself said.

"I'm not surrendering."

"Liar."

But she is.

And to watch it happen, to watch her walls crumble, is better than any victory.

I've won deals. Fought enemies. Built empires.

Nothing compares to this.

To her.

Choosing me.

She comes first. Clenching around me. Biting her lip until it drew blood.

I follow. Watching her face. Memorizing every expression.

And then I do something I've never done.

I don't let go.

Just hold her. Forehead to forehead. Breathing hard.

"I've been looking forward to this for three months," I radio.

"For what? s*x?"

"For you to be mine. Really mine."

"That's not,"

"It is. You just don't know it yet."

I lift her. Carry her to bed.

She doesn't protest. Just curls against me.

Like she belongs there.

Like we didn't just close the most dangerous deal either of us has ever made.

I laid her down. Slide in beside her.

Tug her against my chest.

She fits perfectly.

Of course she does.

I designed this.

Planned it.

Orchestrated every step.

But this feeling,

This I didn't plan.

This tightness in my chest. This need to keep her safe. This irrational possessiveness.

This is dangerous.

My uncle described it as a sign of weakness.

He'd be right.

But I don't care.

"When's the wedding?" she asked. Voice rough.

"Three weeks."

"Fast."

"I don't waste time."

She's quiet for a moment.

Then: "But what if I fall in love with you?"

The question surprises me.

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"Because you're too much of a smartass to associate s*x with emotion."

"And what if you fall in love with me?"

I caught her hand. Press it over my heart.

Let her feel how it pounds.

"I don't fall in love. I fall into obsessions. There's a difference."

"Which is?"

"Love wants good things for you. Obsession wants you. Period. Regardless of what's best."

"And which one am I?"

"What do you think?"

She didn't answer.

Just closes her eyes.

Within minutes, her breathing evens out.

Asleep. Trusting. Vulnerable.

Mistake.

I could kill her right now.

Should, probably.

Make all my problems disappear.

But I won't.

Because I meant what I said.

Obsession.

And obsession does not kill what it desires.

It keeps it. Owns it. Protects it.

Wipes out everything else to keep it secure.

I watch her sleep.

Count her breaths.

Seven seconds in, four seconds out.

Same rhythm as mine.

My phone buzzes. Text from Don Dante.

Uncle: We need to talk. About your new acquisition.

He knows.

Of course, he knows.

Me: Tomorrow.

Uncle: She's Bratva.

My blood chills.

Me: How do you know?

Uncle: I know everything. The question is, do you know what you are doing?

Me: Yes.

Uncle: Oh, so you're either a genius or suicidal. Time will tell which.

I set the phone down.

Look at Maya. Sleeping peacefully.

No idea of the storm coming.

Bratva.

Viktor Konstantin's niece.

Enemy blood.

This changes things.

Not my obsession. That's permanent now.

But the game.

If she is Bratva, it could be more than money that brings her in.

She might be here for blood.

My blood.

The relevant question is this: Does she know what she is?

Or a weapon that doesn't realize it's been directed?

I run a finger down her spine.

She shivers from sleep. Unconscious response.

"Who are you, really?" I whispered.

She didn't answer.

But I'll find out.

I always do.

And then I'll decide.

Keep her.

Or destroy her.

Either way, she's mine now.

Three more weeks and she's legally mine."

Then the real game begins.

Because Maya Konstantin believes she's entering a partnership.

She's actually entering a cage.

And by the time she knows, it'll be too late to pull her up and out again."

I'll make sure of it.

I close my eyes.

Pull her closer.

And for the first time in years, I sleep through the night without nightmares.

Because the shittiest thing in my life is right here.

In my arms.

Where I can protect her?

From everyone.

Including herself.