Throne of Power (Throne Duet #1) by Rina Kent

We don’t go past the others, so I don’t catch a glimpse of the guards or Vlad. The sounds of the gunshots have disappeared, though, so that should mean the attack has ended.

If it weren’t for the brute next to me, I would be escorting Sergei and Ana safely back to the house.

I catch myself watching his face again and his smile. It appears genuine, happy even, but it’s all a part of the façade he puts on so well. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually smiled from his heart.

His lips move, but not his eyes, as if they’re not part of the same face.

“I know I’m attractive and you can’t help staring, but rein it in until we’re not in public, Princess.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take another sip from the bottle, letting the burning liquid slide down my throat.

“I love it when you play innocent. It weirdly suits you.”

“Shut up.” I down a larger gulp this time, wincing at the aftertaste.

“Liquid courage.” He winks. “Nice.”

“Who said it’s liquid courage? Maybe I want to finish the bottle so I can shove it up your ass.”

“Kinky again. I didn’t know you thought of me sexually so much, but take it easy on the drinking—I know you’re a lightweight.”

“Were. Past tense. I’m no longer a lightweight.”

He raises a brow, briefly shifting his focus from the road to me. “Really now?”

“I can finish the bottle.” I swallow the largest gulp I’ve ever had, trying not to wince at the burn and the strong aftertaste.

“If you say so.”

I jut my chin out at him, continuing my mission. While he drives through Brooklyn’s streets, I consider the bottle of Jack Daniels my current war and drink one sip after another.

Kyle watches me peculiarly every now and then before focusing back on the road.

By the time the car stops, I’ve finished. I dangle the empty bottle in front of his face. “It is dooone,” I slur, then giggle at the end.

I slap a hand over my mouth to kill the sound.

Well, damn. I’m drunk.

I’m the type who more or less loses their inhibitions when drunk. That’s why I don’t allow myself to reach this stage. One time, I went to Kirill’s club and gotten so drunk that I couldn’t even go home. It was one of those nights it got too much and I needed something to make me forget. What I didn’t count on was what I witnessed in Kirill’s club that night.

One of the only times, drinking was worth it. This situation is entirely different, though.

My head is swimming in the clouds, and my skin is too hot, like someone threw me straight into summer.

Kyle shakes his head. “Told you you’re a lightweight.”

“Am not, you asshole.” I shake the empty bottle in his face again. “I finished it all, thank you very much.”

Kyle climbs out, and I squint at the unfamiliar place he brought me to. Tall trees surround us from everywhere. There’s a cottage-like house on my right, and water glints in the distance.

Wait…is that a lake?

My door opens, and Kyle undoes my seatbelt.

“What is this place?” I throw my finger in the air. “It’s not home.”

“We’ll spend the night here. It’s safer,” he says ever so casually.

“Noooo. I wanna go home and make sure Sergei and Ana are fiiiine.”

“They are.”

“Hooow do you know?” My slur rises in pitch.

He sighs as he retrieves his phone and shows me a text conversation between him and Igor. Kyle taps the last line to bring my attention to it.

Igor: The Pakhan and Anastasia are now safely in the main house.

“Happy now?”

“No. I still want to go home. Taaake me.”

“We will go in the morning.” He gently pulls me out by the arm, and I shudder.

It’s the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.

Once outside, I pull my arm free of his. “I can waaalk on my own.” The moment I take the first step, I stumble and fall back against a hard chest. I giggle and murmur, “Oops.”

“You were saying?” He raises an eyebrow, his gaze meeting mine even though my back is to his chest. I don’t know if it’s the liquor or the dusk’s sun, but his eyes appear shinier, as if he’s genuinely concerned or something.

I turn around, still clutching the empty bottle, and place my chin on his chest to stare up at him closely. His scent envelops me in a cocoon and it feels so peaceful and…right?

No. It’s wrong. The alcohol is messing with my head.

“I hate you,” I murmur.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t know how much I reaaaaally hate you.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I hate your face.”

“You’re in the minority on that, Princess.”

“I hate your accent.”

“Still in the minority.”

“I hate your cheeky attitude when you don’t mean it.”

He strokes a strand of hair behind my ear, and my eyes flutter closed. “So you love it when I mean it?”

“Screw you, Kyle,” I say without opening my eyes.

“Let’s get you inside and we’ll work on that.” He carries me again, and this time, I don’t protest as my arms wrap around his neck. I lay my head on his chest, and I begin to fall asleep. I faintly register a lock opening, but his steps are as silent and agile as usual. I don’t even feel the distance.