Page 17 of Chain Me

Alexi's lips twitch. “Sure. And I'm the Pope.” He taps his tablet. “Just remember what she's worth to us intact. Mentally and physically.”

I brush past him, done with this conversation. My hand hesitates on the door handle for a split second before I push through.

The room is dim; the curtains are still drawn. Katarina's form lies curled under the blankets, only her dark hair visible against the white pillow. Something twists in my chest at the sight.

“Status?” I ask Viktor, who rises from his chair.

“Quiet. Too quiet.” Viktor's voice drops. “Hasn't eaten. Barely moved. Not like yesterday at all.” He glances at the bed. “Tried to get her up around nine, but...” He shrugs.

The twist in my chest tightens. I did this. Broke something in her with my roughness, my loss of control.

“Medical check?”

“Vitals normal. No injuries beyond...” Viktor clears his throat. “Surface marks.”

I wave him off, not needing the reminder of what I'd done to her skin. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with her stillness.

The clock reads eleven forty-seven a.m. She should be up, taunting me, plotting, or doing something. This silence feels wrong.

My feet carry me to the bedside before I can stop them. She doesn't stir, though I know she's awake by the tension in her shoulders.

“Katarina.” My voice comes out softer than intended.

She curls tighter into herself, and that twist in my chest becomes a knife.

I grip the edge of the nearby chair, fighting the urge to touch her. To soothe the marks I left on her skin. To claim her again.

No. Distance. Control. That's what I need.

But watching her curl away from me sets something dark and possessive loose in my chest. Each breath she takes, each subtle shift of the blankets— it all screams at my senses. The soldier in me catalogs every detail while something else entirely burns to possess.

“I...” The words stick in my throat. Apologies aren't my strong suit. “What I did last night. It was...”

She remains still, face hidden by a curtain of dark hair. The silence stretches between us like a wound.

“Tell me how to make it right.” The request comes out rough, unfamiliar on my tongue.

Katarina finally turns, her green eyes meeting mine. The emptiness there hits harder than any blow I've taken in combat.

“Make it right?” Her laugh holds no warmth. “I'm your prisoner, Erik. Nothing about this is right.” She shifts back onto her side, pulling the blankets tighter. “And nothing can make it right.”

The dismissal in her voice claws at something primal inside me. My fingers dig deeper into the chair's wood, splinters threatening to break the skin.

I want to grab her. Force her to look at me. Make her understand that this isn't...

But what isn't it? She's right. She's here because we took her. Because I'm keeping her captive.

Because I'm failing at keeping my distance in every way that matters.

I pace beside her bed, studying her curled form. This isn't the fierce woman who challenged me yesterday. This broken silence grates against my nerves.

My lips curl into a smirk. “So this is what it takes to tame the mighty Katarina Lebedev? One rough fuck against a door?”

Her shoulders tense under the blanket.

“I expected more fight from you.” I let contempt seep into my voice. “The way you stood up to your father's rivals. The way you built your company from nothing.” I lean closer. “But here you are, hiding under blankets like a scared little girl.”

She shifts, and I catch a flash of green eyes burning with familiar fire.

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