Page 164 of Made for Sinners

“I’ll send someone with food,” he said instead. “You must be hungry.”

“Great,” I said. “I’ll be sure to leave a five-star Yelp review for the hospitality.”

He turned muttering in russian and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stared at it for a long time, waiting for the lock to turn. It didn’t. Either they were confident I wouldn’t try to escape… or they wanted me to.

I wasn’t sure which was worse.

The tea was untouched.

I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers curled around the edge of the mattress, my mind racing. I was in Nikolai Romanov’s house. Aleksander’s younger brother. The one Valentina had been in love with. The one who was supposedly the “nice” one.

And yet, here I was. Kidnapped.

I stood, pacing the room. I crossed to the window and pulled back the curtain. The view was… beautiful, actually. A manicured garden stretched out below, framed by trees and hedges and winding gravel paths. It looked like something out of a painting. Peaceful. Deceptive.

I pushed the window open and leaned out.

Second floor. Maybe twenty feet up. Not ideal, but not impossible. Below, a row of thick hedges lined the base of the wall. If I landed right, I could cushion the fall. Maybe.

I glanced over my shoulder. No one in the hallway. No guards outside the door. No cameras that I could see.

I climbed onto the windowsill, gripping the frame with both hands. My heart pounded in my chest, loud enough I was sure someone would hear it. I swung one leg over the edge, then the other, until I was crouched on the sill, staring down at the bushes below.

This was a terrible idea.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself.

And that’s when I heard it.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

I froze.

A window on the first floor creaked open, and Nikolai’s head popped out, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury.

“?? ? ??? ??????” he snapped in Russian.“Are you insane?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, he disappeared from view.

A minute later, strong hands grabbed my waist and hauled me back through the window like I weighed nothing.

I landed in a heap on the floor, tangled in my own limbs and the hem of my dress, blinking up at him as he loomed over me.

He was breathing hard, his hair slightly mussed, his eyes blazing.

“Were you really about to jump?” he demanded.

“I was considering it,” I said, brushing hair from my face. “You know, for the thrill.”

He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “You could’ve broken your neck.”

“Better than sitting around waiting to find out if I’m being ransomed or murdered.”

He muttered something else in Russian—probably a curse—and ran a hand through his hair.

I sat up slowly, brushing myself off. “Why am I here?”

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