Page 100 of Captive Prize

I was thinking about him.

Roman.

Where had he brought me? Why? What was he going to do with me now that I was chained to a bed with nowhere to go?

He rescued me. I was sure of it. I was also fairly certain that he had killed Mateo for me.

Then there was how he argued with that angry man outside of the door. He defended me. He was trying to protect me.

But why?

He had me. There was no denying it. I was trapped.

But now that he had me... what was he going to do with me?

CHAPTER 24

ROMAN

Zoya was so close, but I couldn’t go see her.

It had been an entire week of keeping my distance—staying away, not even able to check on her—because if I did, if I went anywhere near her, my cousins would accuse me of thinking with the head between my legs instead of the one above my shoulders.

I needed them to see reason.

I needed them to understand that my need to protect her, to care for her, wasn’t just because she had a tight ass and a great rack. This wasn’t about lust because she was pretty, or because her green eyes sparkled like emeralds set against the most beautiful blonde hair I’d ever seen.

No. While Zoya was the most stunning woman I had ever seen—flawless, untouchable—that wasn’t the reason I needed to know she was okay.

All week, I had been pacing the hallway outside her room, making sure only women went into her room.

Only women brought her food, helped her change clothes and bandages, made sure she stayed clean, and unchained her long enough to use the restroom or whatever she needed.

I didn’t trust the men.

Not all the guards would respect Zoya the way they respected the wives. Some of them would enjoy scaring her or try to touch her. Then I’d have to kill them—and Artem would complain about the bodies.

I didn’t believe Gregor or Artem would order her execution while she was injured. That was beneath them. But I couldn’t risk someone trying to take the initiative in a misguided attempt to earn favor.

The only man I allowed in that room was her doctor. Even then, his visits were timed, and he gave me a full report the second he left.

I wanted to get back to her.

I wanted to return to that armchair I’d stationed outside her door, to make sure no one else went in.

Instead, I was headed to the outpost building Gregor used for official business inside the compound.

Family meetings were normally held in one of the houses—in a rec room, a basement, somewhere more casual. Intimate meetings required intimate settings and the good booze. Places where we could smoke, drink, relax, and come to a decision as a family. Only the inner circle was allowed in those rooms—those close enough to be trusted around the wives and children.

This meeting room was different. This was where we handled formal business with outsiders. Hiring security, planning joint ops, even the occasional sit-down with a senator or congressman. It gave the illusion of welcome without granting actual access to our home.

I knew, the second I was summoned, this was about Zoya.

I had hoped I could reason with my cousins—that we could have a calm conversation where I could make them see my side.

Gregor and Artem weren’t unreasonable men—unless the safety of the family or the business were threatened. Zoya haddone both. Now that we knew she had been pulling Solovyov’s strings, the extent of the danger she’d put us in was undeniable.

Zoya wasn’t a threat—not anymore. But making them see that? That would be difficult.

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