Chapter 8Caroline“Caroline.” I’m in my bed, covered in blankets, and Andros has broken into my room. I’ve fastened bolts and locks but no matter what I do, he finds a way to me. This time, I will fight him. He will not take advantage of me. Not now. Not ever again. Under my pillow I’ve hidden a knife. If I can only take it out, when he pulls back the covers, I will plunge it between his ribcage and twist it until he bleeds out to his death. I reach for the knife, but I can’t find it. My fingers search fruitlessly for the cold metal blade but find nothing.
“Caroline.” The voice is more insistent now, and I’m being shaken. I don’t wake yet, because I’m still in a panic, trying to find the knife.
“Caroline.”
I blink awake, staring into Tomas’ dark brown, concerned eyes.
“We’ve just landed,” he says. “We’re here.”
My head feels as if it’s been stuffed with cotton, the taste of the drink he plied me with now sour in my mouth. I forgot that a plane ride to Boston would take fewer than three hours. I stretch, ignoring the way my heart still pounds in my chest. I don’t remember what I dreamt about, but it’s left a sad weight on my chest that only worsens when I remember where I am and where we’re going.
I’m married to a fierce beast of a man who expects obedience and submission from me. I know no one in his brotherhood and don’t even know anything about Boston. I’m tired, my body still on West Coast time and not yet used to the three-hour time difference. Everything is new to me, but considering where I’ve come from, that isn’t a bad thing.
I have so many questions for him, but it’s time to exit the plane. He takes me by the hand and leads me down the small ladder that leads to the runway. It’s a little chilly and rainy, and I shiver. A full dozen men stand at attention as if we’re royalty and they’re prepared to do his bidding.
Hell, maybe we are. I don’t know anything about this group at all. I know that Tomas is pakhan, and with that bears the weight of responsibility and prestige. Does he command the respect of fellow leaders? The way his men look to him is a far cry from the way my brother’s men did. They look to Tomas with respect and deference, their eyes on me curious but detached. I saw what he did to the man in Atlanta. They likely know to keep their distance from me.
Good. I prefer it that way.
Tomas is shaking hands, and they’re clapping him on the back, congratulating him in Russian.
“Sir, we’ve prepared a banquet tonight,” one of the men says. “To celebrate your marriage.”
“Excellent,” Tomas says. “Thank you.”
The man goes on to list the political officials who will be in attendance, as well as the prominent local businessmen. I cringe inwardly but don’t respond. I hate the idea of being paraded around in front of a crowd of beautiful, wealthy, and influential people. Hate it.
But when I remember the litany of duties I have as his wife, I sigh. I have no choice. Not this time.
And even if I did… would I choose another road? Tomas is fiercely protective. Though the beating he gave the man in Atlanta terrified me, the very memory making my stomach clench in fear, I like knowing he will not let anyone harm me. It feels nice to be cherished by someone, even if the only reason he treasures me is because he’s proprietary. Because I belong to him.
He doesn’t care about you.
I can’t help but admonish myself. Though I’ve been mistreated, that doesn’t mean that I can fall for him. That I can let my silly hopes and weak desires influence my behavior around him at all.
A car waits for us, and I wearily step to the door when one of his men opens it for me. “Welcome to Boston,” he says with a smile.
“Thank you.”
The windows here are also tinted, but this interior is larger than the last car we were in. Tomas joins me and we leave the airport.
“How many men do you command?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Somewhere in the neighborhood of four dozen total, though some live in areas outside our immediate vicinity.”
Four dozen? He has nearly fifty men under his authority?
Wow. My brother had ten, and some obeyed in surly reluctance.
“Are you obedient to anyone?” I ask. I’m only superficially aware of the laws of Bratva hierarchy.
He smiles. “Only to the laws of the brotherhood.”
The laws of the brotherhood. Like, say, consummate your marriage to your new wife?
Our drive takes about half an hour through traffic. The entire time, Tomas frowns at his phone, his fingers flying over the small screen. I assume he’s doing work of some sort. Finally, we pull off the highway, and park in a huge parking lot filled with powerful, shiny trucks, SUVs and more lucrative sports cars. This brotherhood has money. Tomas leads us out.