“As most of you know,” Papa went on, “Ophelia and Max Marino will be married on my princess’s nineteenth birthday.”
I blushed as he spoke, not wanting a word of what he was saying to be true. I winced at his words as he went on and hoped Max hadn’t noticed.
“I want today to be about growing up,” Papa said. “And since my daughter has now become a woman… I wanted to announce I will now allow her to date her fiancé,” papa finished proudly, giving me an expectant look.
The only thing I could return was a blank stare. Did he think I’d jump up and down with joy? The only man he’d ever let me date was Max, and this only solidified the knowledge that he wasn’t even an inch closer to changing his decision about marrying me off. And he still didn’t care that he’d chosen the wrong brother… that I longed for the other twin, the one that ignited a deep fire within me. The one I could never have.
“Well, kids?” Papa asked with a grin that felt a little too forced for my liking. “Are you going to make me proud or what?”
Max and I stared uncomfortably at each other as the guests started to chant for us to kiss. I’d never been more embarrassed in my life. I wanted so badly to talk back to Papa, but I knew full well that wouldn’t end well. He’d just get really upset at me and punch me in front of everyone. And I couldn’t let anyone see that. I was too proud, too old to be Papa’s punching bag.
I thought to all the years I’d spent with the Marino siblings. Our beautiful childhoods forever entwined together, somehow making us blind to what our parents really did, what kind of situations they dealt with. I didn’t want to know how many men’s blood Papa had on his hands. I preferred not to think about Ryker and Max doing the same jobs. I preferred to block it all out and pretend I was much stupider than I may have seemed.
“Kiss,” Papa boomed in his commanding voice, and in seconds, we’d thrust ourselves at one another.
Neither of us was particularly fond of finding out what would happen if we denied Papa.
Max’s lips on mine were warm and tasted of caramel. I gasped in shock when our mouths touched, and he let out the smallest of sighs against my lips, kissing me like he’d been holding back for years.
My eyes had closed on instinct, but now they flew open, trying to make sense of things as he kissed me with more passion than I ever knew he possessed.
His hand grabbed my hair, and the guests cheered, my eyes inadvertently passing through the crowd, searching and searching while Max kissed me like I belonged to him.
And then I found him, standing to the side and looking so enraged I thought he was going to hit somebody.
Ryker was properly dressed now, but his expression displayed such intense hatred I shrank back. He was looking not at me, but at his brother. I felt his energy from where he was standing, but I closed my eyes instead, because I didn’t want the kiss to end.
Max seemed to sense it, and while Papa laughed merrily, he pushed his tongue into my mouth. I let out another gasp as he kissed me, everything in me belonging to him at that very moment.
We broke apart, and I looked at the ground, embarrassed and blushing as Papa clapped Max on the back.
I ran off to the side of the garden as the guests dispersed, and felt those lingering looks on me disappear. I hid behind the thick trunk of the old oak tree and shook with fear and excitement.
A firm young hand wrapped around my forearm and I gasped, turning around into Ryker’s arms. He held on firmly, nearly lifting me off my feet.
“We’re going to talk,” he barked. “Right the fuck now, you little slut.”
Chapter Three
Ophelia
He forced me up into treehouse while tears of shame burned my eyes. How dare he call me that… that vicious word.
I sat down opposite of him in the tiny treehouse. He appeared enormous in it, ridiculous, like a giant in a village for dwarves. But I couldn’t help noticing the way he looked, the tight, broad expanse of his shoulders, the smirk on his face and the passion in his eyes as he stared at me.
“What the hell do you want?” I asked angrily.
“I want,” he hissed, his fist coming toward me, clenched.
I flinched, but he never hit me, just stared at me with those passionate, rage-filled eyes.
“I want an explanation,” he growled.
“A-about what?” Damn me for stuttering. Damn him.
“About kissing my fucking brother, suka,” he said.
Hearing it in Russian hurt even more, because it meant he’d learned it especially for me. Ryker and Max’s families were Italian.
“I couldn’t do anything,” I whispered as he drew closer, his face intimidating. “Papa told me to do it. Why the hell do you care, anyway?”
“I care,” he growled. “Because this is mine. You are mine. Do you understand, slut?”
“I’m not a slut,” I whispered, inches away from his lips, but my stomach fluttered at the thought of being called his.
“You’re my slut,” he whispered in my ear. “My property. Never let him kiss you again. He will never have what’s mine, will he?”
I moaned with my mouth closed and he grunted against my neck, sniffing my neck like an animal. He’d never, ever spoken to me like this before.
“Tell me, Ophelia,” he demanded, and I swallowed thickly, realizing with more shame than I’d ever felt that I was wet between my legs.
“He won’t,” I whispered, and he sucked the skin of my neck between his two rows of perfect teeth.
He bit down and I cried out.
“As long as you remember,” he growled into my skin. “You’re mine. You’re not to be touched by anyone else. And since my fucking brother stole your first kiss, I’m going to take another one of yours.”
“No,” I gasped, but he didn’t give a shit, reaching for my dress, growling orders at me.
In a split second, my no turned into a yes. He pulled me against him and stole my second kiss.
“Open your mouth,” he barked at me. “Open. Now.”
I did, and he took it, his fingers holding my throat as lightly as the touch of a feather. But the way he kissed me was anything but gentle.
He stole things. He was a thief. My second kiss, and my third one. My fourth and my fifth one.
“Ryker,” I moaned against his mouth. “Ryker, please….”
“Please?” he whispered into my ear. “What do you want, little slut?”
“More,” I demanded, spreading my legs for him.
That’s when I heard the first shots being fired.
Bang, bang, bang.
There were moments of silence while we stared wide-eyed at one another.
And then the screaming began. The blood-curdling, gut-wrenching screaming.
I was about to scream myself when I felt Ryker’s palm close over my mouth. He held me firmly in place and pressed his hand so tightly over my mouth I could barely breathe.
Outside, chaos erupted.
Ryker held me still through the sounds that sounded like endless pain and terror. Gunshots. More and more and more. Screaming. Crying. Cursing in Russian. It seemed to take hours—hours upon hours of not being able to move a muscle. Every time I tried to make a move, Ryker stopped me. He kept me safe in his arms as inexplainable tears streamed down my face. What was going on? What was this? Please, oh my God, make it stop.
It didn’t end. Wouldn’t end. Just kept on fucking going until the tears stopped coming, drying on my cheeks as Ryker held me closer, not to hurt me, but because he needed me. We clung together, my body trembling with awful fear and the desperate attempt to stay quiet. His grip firm and smooth, he whispered in my ear, nearly soundlessly, that I would be okay, that he would protect me.
We heard voices all around us, and then, suddenly, there was a face at the door leading into the treehouse.