Page 11 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
Every movement he makes seems deliberate and measured. That night at the club, he was so relaxed and carefree, functioning only on desire.
Now, he looks more stern and somewhat tense.
It was supposed to only be one night. We were both supposed to have fun and never see each other again.
But he’s here in this unfamiliar place, looking at me like I’m a problem he has to solve.
He runs a hand through his dark hair. “I didn’t expect it to be you.”
I have half the mind to laugh, but I hold it in. “I know the feeling.”
Mikhail doesn’t react, showing me this serious side of him that seems almost stark in comparison to how he had been with me before.
With everything clicking in my head, piecing together how I’ve been taken to a secondary location after seeing what happened in the alleyway, and now knowing he’s somehow connected to all of this, I can’t see the man at the club anymore.
Instead, I see someone who isn’t on my side. Who isn’t looking to help me.
He may be vaguely familiar to me, but that doesn’t make him someone I can trust.
That spikes the panic in me, and my throat feels dry.
“What is this? What the hell is going on?”
Staying quiet and almost solemn, Mikhail pulls the other chair out and sits down before running a hand over his mouth. He exhales deeply, as if not wanting to deal with any of this.
“You were in that alley earlier tonight, and you saw something you shouldn’t have.”
My stomach drops, well aware that he’s right. But I don’t like the hidden implications that come with it.
“You think I was spying?” I ask, tone clipped. “I was trying to get home after class—it was a shortcut.”
“And a mistake.”
Blinking back at him, I don’t like the note of finality in his tone. “What, are you with the cops now? Are you going to tell me what alleys I can’t take now?”
He forces out a small, humorless huff. “Do I look like a cop to you?”
Then, the reality of that sinks in.
He isn’t surprised to be here, and he looks far too at ease, like he has spent more than enough time in that room.
My pulse grows louder in my ears, and I take a moment to try and calm it.
“Mikhail…what is this place?”
At first, he doesn’t say anything, but then his gaze seems to say more than his words could.
“You’re in a warehouse my family owns.”
“Why does your warehouse have an interrogation room in it?” I ask, brows pinching together.
“It’s complicated.”
I scoff. “Apparently.”
His jaw tightens, not taking well to the bite in that simple word.
“Look, Lily…you saw something you weren’t supposed to, and that’s why you’re here.”
