Page 15 of Ruinous Need
“That man from the other night was looking for you. There are others like him as well.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re his. And he has many enemies.” He’s staring out the window again, the brightness glinting in his black eyes.
“So you kidnapped me for him. I’m trapped here. I can’t leave.”
He nods again. “Correct.”
“So… Aren’t you going to tie me up?”
I’ve imagined how this would happen many times. How the Pakhan would send his men to claim me when he’d had enough of my delays. And it always involved me kicking and screaming. Going down with a fight.
His nose wrinkles as he considers it. “Why would I need to do that?”
“I’m a prisoner. What if… What if I try to escape?” My mind is turning slowly this morning. I feel drained of energy. The drugs are still working their way out of my system.
He turns to face me. I’m hit head-on by the force of his presence. Those dark eyes gleam like polished granite. He looks energized, as if I’ve just asked to play his favorite game.
“It makes no difference whether you’re tied up or not, Lisette. I’m not letting you go anywhere.” His voice is a low, powerful hiss. I feel disoriented by the intensity of his gaze.
“You can’t be here 24/7.” I point out weakly. “You must have other things to do.”
“You’re right. You can try. If you like.” His mouth twitches into a cruel, knowing smile. “I don’t think you’ll get far.”
“I will escape,” I vow.
I can be forced into marriage for the right price, they already proved that, but they can’t lock me in an apartment for supposed protection. That was never part of our deal.
“As I said, you can try.” His eyebrows lift, and he turns away to think again.
I can’t stop myself from asking. “W-when’s the wedding?”
In the next few weeks, I suppose. They can’t keep me locked away forever.
He shrugs lazily, as if that’s irrelevant. As if my being sold to a monster isn’t really a concern of his.
“Who knows? That’s for the Pakhan to decide.”
Then he seems to decide the conversation is over. “There’s aspirin and water on the table. You can take whatever you like from the living area. There should be enough for you to survive while I’m gone.”
He walks out of the room, taking up most of the doorframe as he leaves. The man is huge. I shudder to think what it’s like to be on the wrong side of the muscles that seem to strain at his shirt with sheer power.
“I don’t even know your name,” I call out after this impassive, tattooed giant who’s now my prison guard.
He casts a glance over one broad shoulder. “Viktor.”
Then he stalks away with silent steps. I hear the click of the front door, followed by the electronic beep of a security system, and he’s gone. I’m alone. Relief washes over me, followed quickly by exhaustion.
I didn’t expect to be left to fend for myself. The Pakhan has always been controlling.
When I was supposed to attend our engagement party, three years ago, I was given instructions on what to wear, the color lipstick I should apply, how to style my hair, and even what type of manicure I should order. I still remember my mother’s hands shaking as she braided my hair into the specific style he’d requested.
Then, at the last minute, he told me not to show up to my own engagement party.
We’d celebrated at home.
I tore the frilly white dress off, wiped the make-up from my face and gladly pulled on my flannel pajamas. My parents and I were giddy at the thought that this meant the deal had been called off.
