Page 22 of Stolen By the Bratva

A man spoke on the phone, and I twisted on the bed to watch his tall, powerful body pace across the simple room.

I was still so weak—dehydrated, famished, and sleep-deprived on top of the stress—but I was instantly alert at the realization that he wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

Aleksei Valkov. The hotheaded man my libido had awakened to at the S.T.L. offices. Then the devil who’d barreled his way into my wedding, guns blazing, to steal me away.

I ground my teeth together, letting the ache of my jaw’s tension add to the dull throb in my head. Through slitted eyes, I tracked his steady strides.

That asshole! Just coming in and… taking me like that!

“I welcome war. That’s what we need before anyone can ruin our family.”

His words sent shock and outrage slithering down my spine. War? He could do whatever he damn well pleased, but I didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it.

Fury enveloped me. My muscles trembled with the strain of fisting my hands. The urge to launch at him and attack filled me as he disconnected his call and stalked toward me. He was predatory, striding toward me with so much masculine dominance, such sure confidence that he had me right where he wanted me.

Which is not at my wedding.

I didn’t flinch, keeping my lips pressed together tightly as he advanced toward me. I wouldn’t show him fear. I hadn’t in the office and I wouldn’t here. Wherever here was. Without lowering my guard or changing my expression, I tore my focus off him and scanned the room.

Sparse décor adorned the studio. Calling it an apartment seemed like a reach. At the bare minimum, this place could be inhabited, but it didn’t resemble a well-lived-in home. A simple kitchenette faced me from the opposite wall, and the only other interior door led to a bathroom. The shower stall was visible from where I sat on this bed, but what gripped me the most was the bloody washcloth hanging from the rim of the tub.

He cleaned my wound. That gauze hadn’t wrapped around my arm on its own. Alek must have done that too. His… care should’ve been touching. I should’ve felt better that he was motivated to see to my injury. But he’d caused it. Perhaps he hadn’t shot me himself, but he’d instigated the situation where I was caught in gunfire.

No one else was here. It was only me and him, and I didn’t know how this private isolation would fare for me.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded as he stood near the bed.

He didn’t reply, simply staring down at me like he wasn’t sure what to do. All the power was in his hands. It wasn’t just this submissive position, me seated on the bed and wounded. His presence screamed authority, but I didn’t find comfort in it.

“I shouldn’t be here.”

He huffed, and I couldn’t tell whether that was a sound of agreement or dark amusement. I risked a glance around him, wondering if I could run. That door would lead to my freedom, but I had no means to outrun him or escape his grasp. Looming over me like this, he damn well caged me in place.

“Did you hear me? I shouldn’t be here. You’ve got no right bringing me here.”

He shrugged.

I fumed, pissed off even more that he couldn’t reply. He was just like all the other men I’d ever met in my life, in charge and never feeling the need to answer to a woman.

I refused to cave and let him see how much this silent treatment wore on me. I was tired. I was scared deep down, but most of all, my nerves were frayed beyond repair with this constant battery of stress.

“You need to take me back.”

He huffed. “To your wedding?” His lips curled in a devilish smirk.

I doubted the church was left in any state to resume that ceremony. “To my father.” Sitting up straighter, I tried to show how confident I was behind my words. “You’re a dead man walking, capturing me at my wedding like that.”

His shoulder shifted a bit in an indifferent shrug. “We’re all one day closer to death anyway.”

Morbid. I refused to let his devil-may-care attitude get to me. “I knew you were trouble the moment I saw you.”

“Likewise.” He paired that parroted reply with a long, lazy, and appreciative stare over me. From my cleavage to my eyes, he looked his fill, smiling that sinister smile of pure arrogance. I struggled to banish the thought that he was the predator closing in on his prey—me.

He didn’t glance away. His hot, lustful focus remained on me. The longer he looked, the less he spoke. The air grew heavier and taut with this sparking pulse of awareness. It was stupid, but instinct kicked in. I wanted to know what he thought of what he saw, to know what he was even searching for. All I could guess was that his seductive expression wouldn’t bode well for me. I grew uneasy, so openly studied like this by his intense eyes.

“Then you'd better take me back right now,” I snapped, riled up from his gaze on me.

“Oh, I'd better, huh?” He smirked, stepping closer.

---