Page 39 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
A flicker of something dark crossed his face. “It’s not a funeral, Katria. It’s a chessboard.” His voice was a low growl. “And you, whether you like it or not, are the Queen. Every movewe make is watched, every absence noted. Your defiance serves no purpose but to make us both look weak.”
“I am not a piece in your game,” I said, rising to my feet. “And I don’t care how I make you look. My only concern is getting out of here.”
“That’s enough, both of you,” Marielle interjected, her voice firm. She stood, coming over to me and wrapping me in a quick hug. “Kat, it’s best if you come. You’re part of the Bratva now.”
Her words were meant to be a comfort, but they were a grim confirmation of my new reality. A glided cage, and I was being told to simply enjoy the scenery. Marielle gave me a final squeeze before looking to Danil.
“I’ll see you both tonight.”
With that, she left, pulling a reluctant Sava out with her.
The door clicked shut, leaving us alone in a silence more charged than any scream. We stood a few feet apart, the space between us humming with unspoken fury and far more dangerous attraction.
“You think you can play these games,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, the rage a tight knot in my stomach. “You think you can control me. You think that because you put a ring on my finger, you own me.”
He took a step toward me, his eyes now icy. “I don’t think so, Katria. I know it.”
“Last night,” I went on, my breath coming faster, fueled by anger and a reckless need to break him, to shatter his calm face. “That kiss meant nothing to you? Is that another lie you told yourself?”
He was now in front of me. He didn’t speak. His hands reached out, not to hurt me but to wrap around my waist, pulling my body close, twisting a handful of my curls tightly in his fist, forcing my head back.
“Tell me what you want,” he ground out, his voice thick with a rage that mirrored my own. “Tell me what you really want, and I’ll show you what ‘nothing’ feels like.”
I saw the raw need in his eyes, the thin veneer of control finally snapping. This wasn’t about power anymore; it was about two desperate people fighting to find a release in the most destructive way possible. I twisted my mouth to his, meeting his hungry aggression with my own.
The kiss was a punishing, brushing collision. It was all teeth and tongue and desperate, frantic need. He let go of my hair, his hands tangling in the silk of my blouse, tearing at the buttons until the soft fabric gave way. His mouth moved down my throat, leaving a trail of fire. My fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders, clinging to him as if I were drowning.
“This isn’t you,” he bit out his words, a harsh gasp against my skin. “This isn’t you getting swept away. This is you fighting for control.”
“Then let’s see who breaks first,” I spat back, the challenge a feverish whisper.
He might have my body, but he still didn’t have my mind.
As I slowly gathered myself, pulling my blouse closed, my thoughts returned to Feliks. He had to have the answers. And no matter what had just happened between me and Danil, I was going to that party. I had to because it was the only way out.
Chapter 10 – Danil
I walked out of my closet, the feeling of a freshly tailored suit a familiar kind of armor.
Then I saw her. She was standing by the window, her back to me. The dress was a defiant pop of color in the muted tones of the suite—a vibrant pink silk that looked impossibly devastating, lying beautifully on her. The sight of it hit me like a physical shock. My gaze fell to her back, which was completely exposed—a deliberate, calculated provocation.
“What is that?” I asked, my voice flat and low.
And she turned her back to face me, a small, knowing smile on her lips. She saw the tension in my shoulders, the tight line of my jaw. She knew she had gotten to me.
“This?” she said, gesturing to the dress with a shrug. “It’s a dress. We’re going to a party, aren’t we? I thought I should dress for the occasion.”
“You look like a target,” I said, my words a cold blade. “You’re wearing that to get a reaction from me. To show me that you’re definitely not afraid to be seen. You think you’re clever.”
“I am clever, yes,” she shot back, her smile widening. “And I don’t think you’re angry because I’m a target. I think you’re just angry because other men are going to see me.” She took a slow step toward me. “And you hate that you can’t stop them.”
I didn’t move. My hands stayed at my sides, but they were clenched into fists so tight my knuckles began to ache. “I could stop them,” I said, the threat clear and sharp in my tone. “I could lock the door right now, and you wouldn’t leave this room in that dress.”
“Then do it,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Lock the door. And show me what you’ll do to me then.” Her gaze was a direct challenge, and for a fleeting second, thethought of doing exactly that consumed me. The idea of tearing that silk from her body, of proving my ownership in a way that left no room for doubt, was almost overwhelming.
But a part of me, the cold, tactical part, held on. I had to fulfill my public role. A game to win. This party was not a place to lose my control. Not yet.
“Get in the car,” I said instead, my voice a low rumble of command.
