Page 39 of Stolen By the Bratva

“No. Wait. What are you?—”

He firmed his lips in a thin line and shot me a hard look. Impatient and frustrated, two things he often showed me, but I didn’t care. He grabbed my thighs and parted my legs, not too gently. I tensed, unsure what he had in mind until he lifted his other hand. In it, he held a wet washcloth, and I held my breath as he brought it to me. With sweeping swipes, he cleaned me up. He left twice more to rinse out the rag and continue to wipe me down. I hadn’t missed the tinge of red on the white terry cloth, and I frowned at the visual evidence of my virginal blood.

Mine. The blood was mine, and it would never happen again. He’d taken something no other man would ever have, and it filled me with a deep spike of indignation. Not only had he taken it as he pleased, but he’d done it so quickly.

I didn’t speak. I kept all my thoughts and opinions locked inside as he continued to clean me up like it was the most normal thing to do in the world. He concentrated, checking that he’d removed all the sticky cum and smears of blood. And he didn’t make eye contact once.

It reminded me of how I’d done this very thing for Rosamund. This… aftercare. I was the only one who helped that woman clean up after her violently brutal scenes with her husband, my father, and whichever other men wanted in on the action.

Having someone tend to me was an extraordinary experience, and I struggled to reconcile how the man so tenderly cleaning me up could be the same brute who’d kidnapped me.

He didn’t stop there. After bringing the blanket around me and making sure I was comfortable and no longer exposed, he brought over a bottle of water and food. Again, he was seeing to my needs. Without my having to ask or speak up about my basic needs, he delivered.

I wouldn’t let it get to my head. He wasn’t doting on me, but with his lack of conversation, the lack of his saying anything at all or even looking at me, it felt weird.

I couldn’t tell whether he was seeing to me afterward like this out of misplaced responsibility or guilt. Or… I didn’t know what. Alek tending to me was the very last thing I’d counted on.

As he reclaimed his spot on the bed, sitting next to me but not touching me, he didn’t give the impression of caring. He avoided contact, it seemed, but it didn’t feel like a cold detachment.

I was… his. I could sense that change. Even if he hadn’t proclaimed his intentions to take me before he did the deed, his nearness spoke of a possessive nature.

I was claimed. No longer clean as a bride. My one value, my main asset, was stolen and tossed away by this man, and I fought the urge to lash out at him.

“Now what?”

He turned to face me, his brows raised at my outburst. The apartment had been so quiet and still for so long, my loud voice was jarring.

“Now what?” I repeated as the burn of tears threatened in my eyes. Did he think ahead to that? Had he considered what he’d really just done here? I was no longer a virgin. I no longer had any value or worth. None at all. I was used up.

All my life, I’d known my purpose. To serve the bratva men. I was a pawn. A usable, disposable thing, not a person, and now that he’d ripped my worth from me, I felt empty and useless. Discarded.

“I told you,” he repeated as he lowered to lie next to me, facing me but not touching.

I wrestled with my bindings, and I damned them all over again. Shame crested through me at the memory of how I’d used them to push against him so I could feel the full, deep hit of his dick inside me, but now, as I struggled to acclimate to the fact that I was no longer a virgin, I loathed the constraints all over again.

“I’m… I’m nothing now. Just used up and?—”

“Hey.” He set one hand on my stomach, pushing down as I writhed and fought to get free. “Calm down.”

“No!” I glowered at him, hating that he saw the tears leaking from my eyes. “I will not calm down.”

“It’s better this way.”

“Better?” I sassed. “Better? I’m good for absolutely nothing now.”

He shook his head, calm but irked with my outburst. “It’s better this way.”

“What?” I snapped, wishing I could punch his smug face. “What is better this way?”

His eyes turned flinty with annoyance, but I didn’t give a shit. I had every right to react however I saw fit.

“You'd better watch your mouth.”

“Don’t tell me?—”

He reached over and gripped my jaw. “If I hadn’t shown up at the church and stopped the wedding, you would’ve been his wife by now.”

I stilled, letting his words sink through the chaos in my mind. With clarity, I understood his point, and the ramifications of what he’d prevented chilled me. Instead of losing my virginity to Alek, I would have done so with my husband. Andrey.

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