Page 10 of Secret Bratva Baby
Strawberries and warm vanilla. The sweetest, most intoxicating scent I’ve ever experienced.
I set my drink down on the small glass coffee table and sit on the sofa with one leg folded over the other, my ankle resting on my knee.
I’m exhausted. I’ve been working non-stop for so many days in a row to cover for Niko and still get my own stuff done. I can’t ask Ark for help, because—hey, I love him, he’s my brother, but he’s chaotic and unreliable, and I’d rather just do things myself than walk him step by step through everything.
Closing my eyes, I lean back on the sofa and rest my head on the back, pressing my fingers into my eyes to massage them.
Suddenly, I feel her kick my foot.
“I asked you a question. Don’t ignore me,” she huffs.
“What was the question?” I groan, leaning forward to grab my drink again.
“Am I prisoner here?” she asks, a little louder than before.
My eyes trace over the body-hugging dress she’s wearing. Every curve is accentuated. She looks professional and elegant, apart from the mermaid backpack slung over her shoulder.
I chuckle.
“You can put that down and make yourself comfortable, Rose.”
She gasps in disbelief. “I am not letting go of my child for a second.”
I laugh again. “I meant the backpack, not the kid.”
She bites her lip and lets the backpack slide off her shoulder and onto the floor.
“Sit.” I gesture towards the sofa.
“No,” she snaps.
“Suit yourself.”
“Answer me.”
I roll my eyes, brushing my hands over the thighs of my dark blue jeans.
“Yes, Rose,” I exhale. “You are a prisoner here. I have kidnapped you because it is the only way that I can properly protect you. You will not be allowed to leave this property without me until I can figure out what is going on.”
“You kidnapped me?” she gasps.
“Yes,” I say, leaning back on the sofa again.
“But I have a life, a job—"
“I know. You said so. Look, Rose, you need to accept that this is for the best. When it’s over, you’ll be free to go and carry on with your life and your job and your…boyfriend, or whoeveris waiting for you.” I swallow hard, the last few words tasting horrible in my mouth.
She glares at me, and I glare at her, waiting for an answer of some sort, even though I haven’t asked a question.
I’m hoping she will tell me there is no boyfriend.
But of course there is.
She’s young, beautiful, and the little girl in her arms is kind of a dead giveaway that she’s not single.
“I won’t have a job if you don’t let me go to work tomorrow,” she snaps.
“You won’t have alifeif I let you leave this house,” I say angrily, still heated by the idea of her loving someone else.
