09

Christian Malcolm 

The door slammed open. Two of my men dragged a woman in, blindfolded, wrists bound.

Then I saw the curve of her jaw, the way her body trembled, and recognition hit me like a punch to the gut.

Victoria.

“Are you out of your goddamn minds?” I barked. “Does she look like a threat to you? Untie her. Now.”

The guards froze, exchanging nervous glances. One of them stammered, “Boss, we thought—”

“You thought?” I snapped, taking two lethal steps forward until they recoiled. “She’s not some street rat you toss around like garbage. She’s under my protection. Drop her.”

They lowered her onto the edge of my bed, rough hands letting her go as if she burned them.

One of them dropped an envelope on my table. “Boss, we got the snoop” 

I dismissed them with a sharp glare. 

I picked up the envelope. I had heard reports of someone asking too many questions, and poking their heads where it didn’t belong. 

I knew the drill, I had done it so many times. 

Find the fool who thought they could put their noses where it didn’t belong and attempt to pull back the skin of my mafia empire and finish them off. 

I pulled out a picture. I expected some random journalist or detective. Instead, the photo staring back at me stopped my breath.

Victoria?

Of course, you’d use your own hands to dig your own grave. I looked at the other papers, she had gathered some evidence enough to make other join her in the snoop 

As if prosecuting my men and sending them to prison wasn’t even enough, she had to come after me

I raised the gun out of habit, muscle memory more than thought and pointed it to her still sleeping figure 

This is what I do, I eliminate threats no matter who they are. 

I clicked the gun off from safety. 

My hand trembled, as I aimed at her forehead. Why was I shaking? 

A bullet in her skull would silence the snooping, end the threat, cut her out. Keep my men safe. 

But it would also erase the only proof that I wasn’t broken, the only living thing that had gotten me hard with just a kiss after years of rage and humiliation.

I wanted to shoot. God, I wanted to squeeze the trigger, watch her blood paint the floor, remind myself I was still in control.

I finally put the gun down. I couldn’t do it. 

Carefully, I crouched in front of her. My hands—hands that had broken men, pulled triggers, snapped bones moved gently as I worked at the knot around her wrists. The rope left angry red lines across her delicate skin, and guilt hit me like a knife to the ribs.

The blindfold came off, and her lashes fluttered against the light. The moment I saw her face, the world stopped spinning.

God, I hadn’t been able to erase her face from my mind since that kiss. 

For years I was a corpse. Doctors tried, women stripped for me, and nothing. 

I drank until my veins burned, swallowed different pills and aphrodisiacs until I thought my heart would stop, and still I felt nothing. 

Being the heir of a dynasty and not even be able to fuck? To watch your enemies laugh because you can’t give your family an heir? 

And then she kissed me. One fucking kiss and my body lit up like fire. For the first time in years I experienced what it felt like to have blood rushing to my dick, to be so hard. 

I had no idea how to react. I wanted to grab her and fucking take her right there but I couldn’t. I had to leave before I did something stupid 

She made me feel alive. I wanted more. I still want more.

But of course she had to be a damn thorn in my flesh as always. What was I going to do with her? 

I ran my fingers through her hair, remembering how she ran her through mine when she kissed me. 

God, I couldn’t kill her and I couldn’t let her go 

I was going to keep her here to minimize her snooping around at least until after she gives birth to my heir. While I stalled, I’d use her to understand what in her miraculously cured my erectile dysfunction. 

The minute I was done with her, I’d put an end to all of this once and for all

For now, she was mine. My prisoner.