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

“That’s it.” He clicks on a button and the vibration stops.

I slide to the floor, catching my breath and trying to stop the disappointed sensation that’s settling at the pit of my stomach.

A shadow falls over me before his voice fills the air. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

I pull myself up to my feet, raise my hand and slap him across the face. The sound echoes in the silence surrounding us and my palm stings. “Don’t you ever put me in a weak position in front of the men downstairs. I’m not only your wife, I’m V Corp’s executive manager and an asset to the brotherhood. I didn’t get this far for you to drag me down.”

His jaw clenches, and instead of the anger I expected, a manic smirk tugs on his lips. “I’ll play with you however I please.”

“You will not break me, do you hear me?”

“You shouldn’t tempt a predator with prey, Princess. That will only provoke my need to hunt.”

“I’ll get you back for this. You have my fucking word.” I push past him to the bathroom to clean up.

“Don’t remove the toy,” he calls after me. “I’ll know if you do.”

I flip him off over my shoulder without looking at him.

A low chuckle follows me as I get inside and lock the door. Fuck Kyle’s warnings about not doing just that.

I stare at my face in the mirror, and like this morning, I barely recognize the woman who greets me back. My cheeks are red, lips puffy, and my usually impeccable hair looks like a mess. The worst part? My insides are still tingling, demanding more of the torture I just endured at Kyle’s hands.

In no time, he’s turning me into a masochist who can’t get enough of him and his ministrations.

What the hell is he doing to me?

Frustrated at myself, I yank a towel off the rack, wet it, and wipe between my thighs. I remove my ruined panties and throw them in the trash since they’re not usable anymore. It takes me some time to make myself presentable again.

Kyle thought he could subdue me with this, but obviously he doesn’t know the Rai he left behind while he disappeared to God knows where.

I exit the bathroom just as he opens the room’s door. I catch a whiff of his last sentence: “…on my way. It’s all going according to plan.”

Or so he thinks.

Kyle won’t feel the disaster until he’s caught in the middle. As I promised, he’ll pay for the whole shit show he inflicted upon me today.





17





Kyle





I find Adrian in his car downstairs.

He lifts his chin in greeting, and I do the same as I slide beside him.

We don’t take off right away, though. He looks through the window and makes sure all his guards are in place. It isn’t a surprise since he’s known to be careful. It’s his silent strategic nature that’s allowed him to be one of the strongest pillars of the Vory, if not the deadliest.

“Where are your guards?” he asks.

“I don’t need them.”

His light grey eyes flicker a little. They’re muted a dull cloudy sky, but at the same time, they’re intense, hard, and merciless. It’s strange how they add to his ruthless personality. He doesn’t show it often, but when he does, it’s game over.

His general appearance is different from the rest of the leaders. His jet-black hair and trimmed beard are always meticulous, and yet seem rebellious. He can pass as the least Russian-looking or the most, depending on whether he speaks in an American or a Russian accent. He uses that tactic a lot when he does his thing for the brotherhood.

“Underestimating your opponent is a sure way to be defeated before you even get started, Kyle.” He uses the American accent.

“They can’t reach my level.”

“Arrogance is another way to lose.”

“Stop the philosophical bullshit. I did get myself a guard after Igor insisted.” I search the crowd for a bleached-haired brat. “There he is.”

Adrian raises an eyebrow. “He looks like a kid.”

“That’s because he is one. Barely twenty, newly recruited orphan, school dropout. I’m teaching him the ways of the Bratva.”

“How would you teach him something you don’t believe in?”

“Hey.” I pretend to be offended. “Just because I don’t sing the Russian anthem doesn’t mean I’m not part of this holy union.”

“We don’t sing the Russian anthem. Do you even know why the Bratva started?”

“Sure do—USSR and World War bollocks that I’m not interested in hearing about. What I am interested in, however, is your love story with the Italians. What made the overly distrustful Luciano family trust you so much? It can’t be your non-existent charm.”

“It could be something similar to why Rai married you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Blackmail.”

I smile even though I want to snarl.

“What?” He picks up on my change of mood. “She would’ve never married you of her own accord. Even Sergei knows that. Which brings me to the question: what will you do once she figures out who you are?”

“She won’t.”

“And if she does?”

“So what if she does?”