Page 20 of The Bratva's Hostage Bride

“Because they’ll think it’s a way to get to you, and therefore me. Don’t worry. I’ve sent a message that no one is to mess with your family while you’re under my protection. Or else.”

I want to ask, or else what? But the words don’t make it to my lips.

Chapter 8 - Luka

I don’t see the problem, really. She’s going to get to live the high life for a few weeks while she stays with me. Who wouldn’t want that? I suppose if you don’t know who I am, it won’t seem as appealing. I’m not unhappy about my choice to keep her near me. I need to keep her safe.

I could probably send a message to the Armenians that she’s not to be touched like I’m doing for her family, but that would ruin the fun.

I eat my food, glancing at her as she picks at hers.

I don’t want her to be completely uncomfortable here. Maybe it’s the penthouse. She’ll be more comfortable at my estate, which is state-of-the-art and has all the comforts one could ask for.

She’s attractive, and judging from her pre-drunk dancing, she seems like a lot of fun. What attracts me most, though, is her innocent naivety.

She doesn’t seem to have a single clue about our lives and the kind of dark history and traditions my family has. She seems oblivious to the Vegas underworld and what happens around her day to day. I want that to be mine. I want to possess her. By keeping her, I will have the opportunity to get to know her better and charm her.

She excuses herself to the bathroom, and I browse through photos of my casino from last night's shooting. Prior to that, several people were posting about being there, but one group was bragging about getting into the VIP section, and that’s what I am looking for. Devon, her cousin, tagged Hannah Jenson in a few photos from the VIP section, where she awkwardly posed with them.

Hannah Jenson.

I search for her on the Internet, and the first thing that catches my eye is the website hannahjensonmua.com. I click on it, and sure enough, it’s my Hannah. I scroll through her gallery. She’s an excellent makeup artist. I wonder why she came to Vegas and didn’t go to Hollywood or somewhere like that.

I see a tab called Creepy Podcast, and I click on it. I’m redirected to her Spotify page, where she has a podcast listed as Hannah Jenson Serial Good Time. From the description, it looks like she talks about serial killers here for however long every week.

Her next video is due to be posted tomorrow. I wonder if she’s scheduled it to upload yet. I should tell her to bring her equipment. It will give her something to do while she’s at my place. I hadn’t considered if I was going to let her out of my sight or not, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want her to get attacked again.

I scroll through some episodes and shut my phone off as she returns. I don’t get it. I don’t see the appeal of sitting and talking about a serial killer for over an hour at a time. I see she has a handful of followers.

“When you’re done eating, we’ll take some guards and go get your things and fetch your cat.” I finish up my food and sit back. I reach for a sparkling water and take a sip of the crisp liquid. It makes my mouth zing, just how I like it.

She pushes her food away. “I could call the cops, you know.”

“I wouldn’t stop you,” I say quietly. “But know this: these kinds of criminals are the kind that have the cops in their back pockets. The cops will hand you over to them.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

“Because they would hand you over to me if I paid the right price,” I shrug. I stretch and smile. “If you’re done eating, then we can get going. If we’re going to move to my estate, I want to get you settled in before I go check on the progress of my casino.”

“You’re reopening it so soon?” she asks confused.

“As soon as possible. I have people who work for me that need to pay their bills,” I explain.

I stand up and motion to Monty. “Is the car ready?” I ask.

“Yes, sir, and another will follow us to her apartment to get her things. I’ve arranged for four men to assist.”

She looks a little overwhelmed, so I give her a charming smile. “I promise, it’s just temporary.”

She nods and gets up. She follows me out of the apartment, down the elevator, and into the Range Rover parked outside.

“Don’t you need my address?” Hannah asks.

“We already know where you live, ma’am,” Monty says from the front.

Hannah looks at me fearfully.

“He sounds so ominous, but no, we called the cab for you, remember?” I ask.

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