Page 23 of Forced By the Bratva

From the outside, one would think that I would fear no one since I had a husband like Feliks—but in truth, he was the one I feared the most.

Still, regardless of all of this, I somehow found myself attracted to him anytime he came around, or anytime I looked at him. However, part of my precautions of keeping safe from him included avoiding any form of conversation with him as much as I could, which had been working—probably because he didn’t want to talk with me, either so he didn’t care if I spoke to him or not.

Conversations between us had been short, almost formal, and only happened when necessary. He acted in a way that made me nearly think he was relieved that I had decided not to talk to him.

Now, I was in Feliks’ private jet, and we were flying to God knew where.

It would have been fascinating since this was my first time traveling in a private jet, but my anxiety wouldn’t let me relax and make the most of my first time. However, I could take in the interior since I was trying to look everywhere else but at Feliks, sitting opposite me and concentrating on the papers he had in his hand like I wasn’t in front of him.

The jet was a sleek and luxurious vessel with a gleaming white exterior and a spacious, elegantly appointed, equally white interior. The cabin was divided into two sections, with a comfortable seating area at the front and a private stateroom at the rear. The walls were adorned with rich, dark wood paneling, and the floors were covered in soft, cream-colored carpeting.

It was hard not to notice the beauty and luxury of the aircraft. I couldn’t help but get lost in admiration as I took in all the plane's features. For a very moment, I was able to forget about the mean-looking man sitting opposite me, who happened to be my husband—mean, but at the same time, hot as fuck.

The seating area where we sat opposite each other was furnished with plush, white leather chairs and a polished wooden table. A small flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall, displaying a show neither Feliks nor I was interested in watching.

Feliks was carried away, his head buried in his papers, while I was busy admiring the jet. Even if it hadn’t been there, I would still have been too nervous to pay any attention to the show being displayed. A minibar was discreetly tucked away in a corner, and I couldn’t help but wonder how one person managed to live in so much luxury.

The atmosphere was quiet and subdued, with soft music playing in the background and freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. I’d hardly touched the coffee in front of me, while Feliks had long since downed the entire contents of his mug.

His piercing hazel eyes were fixed on the newspaper in his hands, his expression unreadable. It was like he did not acknowledge my presence there, as if it was just him and his paper.

Even though I would hate to admit it, I still found him hot, even while he looked as mean as ever. How could one person be so many things at the same time?

His dark brown hair went forward across his face and would be occasionally blown over by the wind to cover his face. Then, with a finger or two, he’d send the hair backward and brush his hand over it, which I found absolutely hot. Because his eyes were fixed on the paper, I used that opportunity to study his face and take in all his features for the umpteenth time.

I fidgeted a bit nervously, my eyes darting between the newspaper and Feliks’ face; I was trying to search for any hint of affection or, at least, any move that would hint that he acknowledged my presence. But who was I trying to deceive? To him, probably, I wasn’t there.

The tension between us was palpable, getting thicker as time went by, and the silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the drone of the jet’s engines or the occasional soft rustle of the newspaper pages whenever Feliks turned a page.

The chilly air from the vents would occasionally swoosh by and make me run my hands over my arms to get rid of the goose pimples caused by the cold. I had no idea what sent more shivers down my spine, but it wasn’t the cold from the air conditioner. Or was it the fact that I was sitting directly opposite my terrifying husband?

The situation made me even more awkward because I had no idea where we were heading. I was following mindlessly.

I’d just finished making dinner last night and had been relaxing over a glass of wine in the sitting room, watching a show on Netflix, when Feliks had come home and hurriedly—and dismissively—announced that we were going on a trip the following day.

“Pack your stuff—we’re leaving tomorrow,” was all he’d told me last night without even allowing me to ask where we were heading.

Initially, I’d been so confused because I didn’t know where we were going and why, so it had been hard to decide what to take with me. I’d had difficulty figuring out what to pack, but I eventually threw some stuff in a suitcase and called it a night.

And so, here I was, sitting and feeling more like a statue because there seemed to be something very fascinating—at least, more captivating than me—in the newspaper since my mean, hot husband would rather get lost in the paper than spare me a glance.

After what seemed like an eternity of sitting there unnoticed by Feliks, I finally decided to draw his attention to myself because, if nothing else, I needed to know where we were headed. However, I dreaded touching him. His outburst the other day over a simple phone call was enough to instill fear in me, which made me know better than to touch him without cause.

After much deliberation and fighting within myself, I faked a cough and used that opportunity to get rid of the hard lump that had formed in my throat.

The cough seemed to have worked as Feliks finally looked up and met my gaze.

His hazel eyes first pierced deeply into mine, which sent another long shiver down my spine. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but feel like he could see the inside of my soul with his sharp eyes.

Because of his stern gaze, I almost chickened out and lost the courage to inquire, but I decided not to miss this opportunity since I already had his attention.

I cleared my throat and swallowed another lump before the words could flow out, though not as freely as I wanted.

“Where are we headed?” I stuttered, my voice soft and meek.

The look in his eyes remained the same for several seconds after my question; if anything, he looked sterner, and I thought I also saw his jaw tighten.

I was starting to get terrified and almost regretting my actions. I should have stayed quiet.

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