Page 44 of The Bratva's Captive

We shall see about that.

I turned, letting my actions speak louder than my words. It’d serve no good to tell her how wrong she was. I’d show her.

“Rest, Sloane,” I told her before leaving and locking the door.

Rest now, because you won’t have time to later, when you bow to me.

19

SLOANE

Days passed, and my captivity became a routine. Predictably, I would wake in Maxim’s bed, alone. Then a maid who wouldn’t even make eye contact or say hello would bring me my food. Clothes would appear, brand-new and laundered, at the door. And I would be left alone to pace, think, sleep, or try to read the one worn paperback that was printed back in the eighties.

Once again, I was stuck in a rut.

Every day was the same.

Exactly the same.

Yet, this wasn’t at all like the life I had been so used to. I wasn’t nearly existing and trying my hardest to stay afloat. With every day and night that went by and I remained in captivity, I was given a chance to recover.

For the first time in my life, I was pampered. No noisy neighbors were blaring their music or letting their toddler shriek. Not a single noise bothered me here, nothing to keep me awake and chronically sleep-deprived.

I wasn’t sweating in bed and aggravated by the lack of air-conditioning that made me wonder if I was in hell.

I had no schedule that forced me to get up and go into work at a job I didn’t want. There was no pressure to dance at Stanley’s every single night of the week like a desperate beggar for every dollar bill that I could get my hands on.

I was fed with free food that I didn’t have to ask for. I didn’t have to cook or deal with the mental load of grocery shopping and budgeting.

For the very first time in my life, for these two weeks after Maxim showed up in my life again, all of my basic needs were met. It was bliss.

Yet not.

Anything this good couldn’t last, and while I embraced the chance to not wear myself out, I knew there had to be a catch. I spent too much time wondering what it was and when I’d realize it.

Keeping track of the days seemed pointless because after two weeks of being Maxim’s captive, I had to seriously debate an answer for one simple question.

Why would I ever want this to stop?

Why would I ever want to leave?

I had faced such a hard life as an orphan, then a mistreated woman, and I had fought for the most fundamental necessities of life for so long that this was like a vacation I could have only ever dreamed of.

I winced as I paced.No, that’s wrong.

I knew that Maxim’s keeping me here against my wishes was wrong.

He had captured me like a ruthless, lawless criminal.

He had kidnapped me. There was no way to sugarcoat that truth.

Kidnapping was a bad thing and nothing would ever change that.

Yet, every time that I lay awake and thought back to the circumstances that brought me to this position, I couldn’t deny how grateful I was. Iwasthankful. Hehadsaved me. He killed an abusive, horrible man who wanted to hurt me.

That was a good thing. I ever wished anyone ill or wanted anyone dead, but in that context, Maxim had done a good thing to save me the way he had.

“Okay, if he hadn’t killed him or brought me here, where would I be?” Whispering that to myself was practice to keep my voice alive.

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