Page 38 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
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I hadn’t been able to get her out of my mind since last night. The sex was so good that I replayed it over and over again in my head when I returned to my room.
This morning, I woke up with the taste of her nectar still lingering on my tongue, her scent clinging to me like a second skin. I’d never been more satisfied after sex before, but even thatwasn’t enough to get her out of my mind. Instead, I wanted her even more.
I craved her touch and yearned to bury myself deep inside again. Wren’s pussy was so good, I could worship it all day, all night, and still not get tired. What happened last night was a clear indication that she’d always wanted as much as I wanted her.
Despite the so-called hatred she claimed to feel for me, last night, she let herself lose control. Obviously, she’d dreamed of that incident beforehand. Why else was she already soaking wet? And why didn’t she push me away when I pulled her to myself?
Perhaps she didn’t hate me as much as she wanted me to believe. There was still a part of her that saw me as something more than the monster most people saw at first glance. And that was my window into her heart. She’d proven last night she could be tamed, and she wasn’t as closed off as I thought she was.
Later that evening, I was seated in my study, trying to focus on work—fishing out the mole in my compound—when the front door opened.
“Move!” Luka growled, his voice deep with resentment.
I lifted my head and saw him forcing a man into the room. The victim was dressed in torn clothes, his face was swollen, and his eyes were barely open. He’d been beaten up without mercy and was bleeding on his head.
Luka knocked him down to his knees before my desk and met my gaze. “Boss, we have a mole in our midst.”
That was when I recognized the beat-up man as one of my guards.
Luka stepped forward, his tone calm as always. “I’ve been wondering how the assassins gained access to our security system and how they knew when to attack.”
My eyes narrowed, my curiosity piqued.
“So, I kept an eye out for any shady activity within the guards and the maids because, clearly, that attack was an inside job. Someone had tipped the assassins off.”
Now, he had my full attention.
“I did a little digging, and I found this.” He set a brown envelope on my desk.
I reached out and opened it. There was a burner phone inside.
“Turns out Mikhail here has been communicating with a rival gang. Check the call records and the messages.”
Mikhail, too weak to even speak, just knelt, pleading with his eyes and hands.
I skimmed through the call logs, and I saw more than a few incoming and outgoing calls to and from an unknown number.
“We haven’t traced the number yet. But our team’s on it,” Luka said.
From what I gathered, the calls were made two days before the attack. And even on the very day of the invasion, Mikhail had called the unknown number thirty minutes earlier.
My blood boiled with rage, my fingers curling into a fist. To confirm that this wasn’t just a coincidence and some big misunderstanding, I checked the text messages. The top message was more than enough to convince me. It was sent by Mikhail only ten minutes before the attack.
“It’s time. The coast is clear. Remember no screw ups.”That was the content of the text, and it pissed me off.
Slowly, I rose to my feet, fueling my rage with the thought of Wren’s life being in danger. All because of this fool. I recalled how close she came to death that fateful evening, how terrified she was.
My brows furrowed with deep creases forming between them as I approached him. He sat on his heels, looking up at me like a man who already knew he was as good as dead.
I towered over him, a hand in my pocket. “Who’s the unknown caller?”
He flinched at the sound of my voice and swallowed hard.
“He won’t speak,” Luka said to me.
Without taking my eyes off Mikhail, I added, calm but menacing. “I’ll ask you again: Who’s the unknown caller?”
