Page 11 of Kidnapped Bratva Toy

I adjusted in my chair, pushing on the break and taking the car out of park to finally head home. It wasn’t too bad in terms of traffic, which could be horrendous in downtown Chicago. I got back to my tiny apartment with enough time to eat before just passing out.

Parking in the small alley lot the building offered, I got out and walked around to the front of my walk-up with my key punched between my fingers. You can never be too careful. It appeared to be paranoia again as I reached the main entrance without issue and used my code to let myself inside.

There was no elevator in the building, so I lightly jogged up to the second floor and then hung a left at the top of the stairs. My unit was down the long, musty hallway, and the uneven floorboards beneath the faded, grimy carpet creaked loudly as I walked past the other numbers.

“Good, old 221,” I mumbled as I stuck my key in the lock, turning over the deadbolt and then the smaller in-knob lock that took a second key.

It was just how the building was designed; it was too old and too inexpensive to upgrade the doors properly. Still, I kind of liked how it provided a meager second layer of security.

Stepping in, I shut the door behind me, turning both the locks back over and securing the sliding chain. Right to the left was the little shelf I’d picked up at a thrift store that acted as my entryway table. I tossed my keys down in the soft fabric basket I used as a catch-all and set my briefcase on the floor next to it.

Next, of course, was the shoes. God, it felt so damn good to take off the heels that I actually let out a low moan. I unbuttoned the oversized jacket I’d worn and hung it up on the set of hooks I’d drilled into the wall—even though I wasn’t supposed to—and padded to the short distance to my room.

Going straight for the minuscule closet, I yanked the form-fitted dress I wore over my head and pulled off the tall socks I’d worn underneath the boots. For a moment, I just leaned there against the wall while I let my body adjust from being cooped up in that tight outfit all day.

There wasn’t really anything wrong with it, of course. Still, I couldn’t deny that my favorite part of the day was coming home so that I could shake off the traditionally feminine version of a monkey suit. Last, before slipping on some PJs, was the piece du resistance—my bra.

No one liked these things, all underwires, and compression, and as I reached around my back to undo the clasp and relieve that pressure, I let out another throaty groan.

“Oh, yeah. That’s so much better.”

My nipples tingled as the cooler air flowed across them, and I shuffled over to the rack where I hung my tees. I grabbed a large black one with a deep v-neck, pulling it over my head. My hair fluffed into my face, and I remembered I needed to deal with it.

Reaching behind me, I gently worked it free from the band that had been keeping the curls somewhat tamed, and they spilled over my shoulders. I needed a trim. My hair was getting a little unruly now, taking up much more volume than I wanted, but such is life with pretty damn coiled hair.

When I was younger, my mother always said I reminded her of Keri Russel, except a brunette. I still never found out where it all came from, being adopted and all. But I had zero desire to connect with the people who’d literally left me at the hospital, even after my parents passed. So, a mystery it would remain.

Turning to leave the closet, I considered putting on some pants, but I was still feeling cooped up in my skin, so I decided to stick with just my black boyshorts. My stomach rumbled low when I left the bedroom, and I went to the kitchen to see what I had in stock.

Opening up the fridge to find a few odds and ends and one very expired milk, I shook my head.

“That would be nothing. Fuck.”

I grabbed the single piece of string cheese that was left, making sure I hadn’t missed the expiration date on that, too, and went to the small pantry to the right of my counter.

Hidden in the back was a gleaming blue package of splendor. I still had some Ramen noodles left, so I snagged one while I munched on the string cheese, not bothering to peel it.

The familiar Ramen routine settled my nerves, and I hummed a little as I smashed the dry noodles in the package and filled a measuring cup with two cups of water. Pouring the water and the crushed noodles into a pot, I turned on the gas and waited for the soup to boil.

It was always so quiet in the house when it was just me, so I took my phone from my purse and pulled up YouTube. Choosing a chill mix from the main menu, I let it play while I watched the tiny, cream-colored noodle bits swirl in the pot. I planted my foot on my other calf, running it up and down while the food heated.

Light, airy music provided a calming backdrop to my dinner, and I slurped up the soy sauce-flavored noodles until I was good and full, standing at the counter instead of bothering to sit down. Rinsing out my bowl and setting it in the sink, I padded back to my bathroom, my phone in hand and exceedingly more tired now that I’d eaten.

Spring was beginning to poke its sleepy head out of the Chicago winter, so when I reached my room, I pulled open the blinds a bit and cracked my window—the sounds of cars and streets filtered into the apartment, along with the cool breeze.

Just below the window across the street was the tiny section of grass I thought of as a park, but tonight, a sleek black car blocked my view. Bummer.

I turned around, stretching before I shuffled to the bathroom for my typical pre-passout routine. My mind flicked back to my office visit as I spread toothpaste across the bristles of my toothbrush.

You should not be thinking about this. You should be brushing your teeth and washing your face for bed.

And still, I could see the fire of Pietor’s striking mismatched eyes burning in my mind. I mean, who had eyes like that? They were stunning, they were alluring, they were…

“No, no, no. Mr. Vadim. Come on, Billie. You’ve never had this problem before.”

I shook myself, resolutely washing away the thoughts as I scrubbed down my face. Once I was dried, cleaned, and ready to go, I flicked off the bathroom light and went straight to the bed. Clearly, I needed sleep because I just couldn’t get a handle on myself.

The smooth, well-worn sheets were made of the same material as T-shirts, and I snuggled deep under the covers, realizing too late that I still had to plug in my phone.

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