Page 20 of Innocently Imprisoned By the Bratva

Pippa's cheeks flush, but she keeps her composure. "Nope, too busy with school. Don't have time to deal with boys."

They exchange glances. "Well, why don’t you make some time? You’re super hot.”

I grit my teeth. This ends now. But before I can intervene, Pippa coolly looks him in the eye. “And what exactly would that do for me?” she asks.

“Well…” the guys look at one another, at a loss for words. I smirk. She asked the right question.

“Now, if we’re done here,” she stands and grabs her bag. “I was just leaving.”

One of them grabs her hand, forcing her to turn around and face him. “Hey, what’s your bra size?” he asks, ogling at her figure.

I clench my fingers, ready to pounce in and knock off his teeth, but before I can move, she jerks her arm back and steps away. "I’d rather not share that with assholes who peaked in high school. Meet me five years later, and you might understand what I’m saying. Now, leave me alone before I take this to the Dean for harassment.”

A glint of anger flashes in the Jock’s eyes. The other guys look plain terrified now and part way for her to leave. Dmitri follows her trail.

I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. Smart girl. She diffused the situation with grace and courage.

I stay back in the cafeteria and walk over to the guy who grabbed her. He’s putting a cracker in his mouth when I grab his wrist halfway. He looks up at me, ready to pounce, but I twist his arm.

"Don't you ever touch her again," I snarl through gritted teeth. The boy's smug grin vanishes and fear flashes in his eyes. His friends back away.

I shove him back, and he stumbles off his chair, cradling his wrist. Without looking back, Pippa continues on. She didn't even notice my intervention. I glare at the boys one last time before following her out.

As she exits the campus gates, I melt back into the crowds. My heart pounds against my ribs. That protective instinct came on fast and fierce. There's no denying it now—she's gotten under my skin.

Chapter 8 - Pippa

The following Friday, I slide into the backseat of Dmitri's car, closing the door with a soft thud. "No classes today," I announce, handing him a small slip of paper with Mrs. Thompson's address scrawled on it. He glances at the address before typing it into his GPS, and I can't help but notice how his strong fingers fly across the screen.

"Mrs. Thompson's house?" he asks, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

"Yep, I clean her house every Friday," I reply, pulling out the new phone Lev got me to check for any last-minute schedule changes. I've been doing this for over a year now, ever since I won the scholarship for college, and I pride myself on being punctual and thorough. My clients appreciate that, even if they don't always show it. “Missed it past two Fridays because of your boss, but I think she’d want me there today.”

"Alright then, let's go," he says as he pulls the car away from Lev’s driveway.

A short drive later, we arrive in front of Mrs. Thompson's quaint little brick house. The neighborhood is filled with similarly charming homes, each boasting well-manicured lawns and flowerbeds bursting with color. As I step out of the car, I'm hit with the sweet aroma of blooming roses and freshly cut grass.

"Have fun cleaning," Dmitri says with a smirk as he watches me get out of the car. I roll my eyes at him but can't suppress a small smile.

"Thanks, I'll try," I shoot back sarcastically before walking over to the house and ringing Mrs. Thompson's doorbell.

When the door swings open, I'm greeted not by the familiar face of Mrs. Thompson or any of her family but by a young woman I've never seen before. She's wearing a cleaning uniform similar to mine, with a puzzled expression etched on her face.

"Um, hi," I say hesitantly. "I'm Pippa. I usually clean Mrs. Thompson's house on Fridays."

The girl looks at me with furrowed brows, clearly confused. "Oh. I was told you wouldn't be able to make it anymore for your appointments, so they sent me instead."

"Who told you that?" I demand, my confusion rapidly turning to irritation. My mind races, trying to figure out who could have called and canceled on my behalf without telling me.

"Uh, I'm not sure," she stammers, nervously twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Some guy from the cleaning service called and said you were unavailable and hired me as a replacement for Mrs. Thompson."

"Unavailable, huh?" I mutter under my breath, clenching my fists in frustration at this mix-up. For now, I plaster on a fake smile for the girl in front of me.

"Thanks for letting me know," I say through gritted teeth. "I guess I'll just have to sort it out later."

As I turn away from Mrs. Thompson's house, my mind reels with questions, anger bubbling just below the surface. Who at the cleaning company could mess my schedule up?

I storm back to Dmitri's car, my anger simmering just below the surface. As I slide into the backseat, he raises an eyebrow at me through the rearview mirror.

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