Page 20 of Kidnapped Bratva Toy

“You’re…You’re inside Pietor Vadim’s house?” The way Nicholas asked made my stomach clench.

“Yes,” I dragged out, walking over to the tub's ledge and sitting down. “Now’s the part where you call the cops, yeah?”

I could scarcely breathe around the tension crowding my chest, and in the other room, I heard the floor creak outside the door. Pietor was obviously listening in.

“No. No, I don’t think we should do that. This…this is a good opportunity, Billie.”

Calm and even-keeled was not what I wanted right now. I wanted Nicholas to be furious on my behalf, to scream about calling the authorities and pulling his connections for action right away.

That is not what I got.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

I knew that, technically speaking, I was being rude, but I truly did not give a fuck. My boss seemed entirely unconcerned about the fact that I’d been stolen from my apartment and was being held in some…criminal’s house, and it brought out the worst in me.

“No.” He breathed hard into the receiver, and I could tell the phone was suddenly closer to his mouth, taken off speaker. “We can use this. Learn everything that’s going on with Pietor and that family.”

“Family?” The word wasn’t exactly what I’d use to describe a criminal hideout. “Nicholas, I’m not some fucking spy or something. I’m a lawyer. And this man is clearly breaking the law. You have to help me.”

“Listen,” I could practically feel his finger jab into my chest for the change in his tone, bringing out the one he used on stubborn clients and interns, “you need to help the firm. You get that incriminating evidence, and we’ll be able to go public with it. Or…use it as leverage for something even better. You’ll fucking do this. You hear me, Billie.”

For the first time since I’d started working at the law firm, I truly regretted my decision. Douchey bosses are a thing for everyone, but what Nicholas was doing now was something else. None of this felt right, and aside from the fact that the guy had to keep his voice down, Nicholas was screaming at me—about blackmailing someone.

This is so incredibly fucked. What is he thinking?

“You…” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “You’re really suggesting that I spy on Pietor so that we can use the information against him. That’s unethical at best.”

“We’re finding the truth. Investigative journalistic stuff.” The nonchalance in Nicholas’s voice was beyond unsettling.

“Again, not my job. I’m a lawyer.”

“One who’s about to show me just how much she wants to be partner and fight for her clients, or she can kiss her job goodbye.”

Bile rose up the back of my throat. Something was up. Something was so very obviously up that I had to…I had to just play along with it for now. There was no way any of what he was asking me was legal or would even be admissible in court. Nicholas had to know that.

And I was beginning to get really damn curious about what else he knew.

“Fine. I’ll…I’ll see what I can find.”

“Good. Contact me however you can,” Nichola’s tone harder all the more, “but don’t use this line. We can never be too careful. Understood?”

My stare fell to the immaculately clean tiles of the bathroom floor, cool under my feet. They were marbled, swirls of grey and cream mixing in with the white.

“Yeah.”

With that, I just hung up. There wasn’t anything else to do after all. I was officially between a rock and a hard place. It was either this or…Well, I wasn’t sure what.

Looking down at the phone and briefly considering calling 911, I heard the creak of the floor outside the door again. Pietor would probably be able to sweet talk his way out of the police making a fuss. And worse, I wanted to know what was going on with Nicholas.

The behavior didn’t sit right with me, and for whatever reason—whatever bizarre, fucked up reason—I trusted Pietor’s motivations in this situation more than I trusted my boss.

That is so fucked up, Billie. And it’s too early to blame Stockholm Syndrome.

But here I was.

I stood up off the ledge of the tub, straightening down my shirt. God, I was still in my fucking pajamas. Or some excuse for them. Underwear and a tee. Great choice, Billie.

It wasn’t like I knew I was going to be kidnapped, but hell, this was not what I wanted to be wearing around Pietor Vadim. He’d been pretty damn overt about how he felt in my office, and that blatant flirtation wasn’t something I was used to. Dealing with it when I was scantily clad was so much worse.

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