Page 198 of The Lazarov Bratva

“What?” I croak.

“Terence, would you get her some water, please?”

The large man rises from the sofa with a nod. He clears the glass table in one step and vanishes from view.

“I don’t want any water.”

“I don’t care what you want.” Mara closes the magazine delicately, then smoothly rises from her chair. “I know what you need, Alena, and that’s all that matters.” She approaches, gliding along despite her stick-thin stilettos audibly catching in the carpet.

“Where am I?” I demand, and with that thought comes a rush of panic.

Did Andrev and Katja make it out okay? Where are Kristof and August? Did they make it out okay? Is everyone alive?

I search Mara’s face for answers, but she remains completely calm and impassive.

“How is the baby?” Her sharp eyes drop to my swollen abdomen.

I don’t reply.

“Healthy, I presume? It would be cruel of them not to let you see a doctor, but given everything else that’s happened, I wouldn’t be surprised.” She perches on the edge of the table and purses her red-painted lips. “Do you know the sex yet?”

My lips remain sealed.

“How far along are you, exactly? Any issues with your own health? Has it been a smooth pregnancy so far?”

I’m not telling her a single detail about my baby.

Suddenly, her thin hand flies out sharply and collides with my face, slapping me with unexpected strength. My head whips to the side, and the guard’s shoes come into view as he stands next to my chair, a glass of water in hand. My cheek smarts, and tears of pain flood my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall as I slowly lift my head back to Mara.

“Well?” she prompts, taking the glass from her guard.

Still, I say nothing.

“Fine,” Mara scoffs. “I will get those answers from my own doctor when we are home.”

My skin crawls. The second someone tries to touch me, I’ll fight. I don’t know how, but I will.

Mara leans forward and offers me the glass of the water, holding the straw an inch from my lips. After the drug on the cloth, I’m loathe to accept anything from her, even though my throat throbs at the sight of the ice clinking around the rim.

I am thirsty, but not that thirsty.

“No thanks.”

“Don’t be so stupid,” Mara snaps. “Do you really think I would give you anything that risks harming that child?”

I lift one brow, and Mara’s sharp gaze narrows to a knife’s edge. Then she glances up at Terence.

Suddenly, his hand fists into my hair, and I yelp in pain, then I’m unable to close my mouth as his other hand forcefully grips my jaw and pinches my cheeks to keep my mouth hanging open. I struggle against his grip and the ropes, but there’s no give anywhere.

Mara leans forward and rests the straw against my lower lip.

“It’s simple, dear. Drink through the straw, or I’ll have Terence hold your mouth open for the rest of the flight and drip-feed you. Your choice.”

Her tone gives me no reason to doubt her, and the thought of Terence touching me any longer than necessary churns my gut. I grunt softly, and Terence steps back. Closing my lips around the straw, I drink obediently, and there’s no denying how cool and refreshing the water is.

Mara waits until I’m drinking desperately, giving in to my dehydration, before she rips the glass away and leaves me sated, yet craving more.

Bitch.

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