Page 66 of Bound By Hate (Born in Blood)

Soon, it will be me. I can feel the vise of the Bratva closing in around me.

Sofiya survived it. I hope Vik will survive it, too, but I think she’ll have a much harder time with her strong personality. Though, if there’s anyone capable enough of surviving anything, it’s Vik.

As for me, I’m worried that someday I’ll get swallowed whole, and I won’t be able to stop it.

VIKTORIYA

For the first time in weeks, when I wake up in the morning, I don’t feel like throwing up.

I also still feel full from my meal last night. Normally, my hunger pains are torture by now, but not today.

And it’s all because of Aleksander.

I hate him for it. I hate how already he has control over me.

For some reason, though, I don’t want to stop it.

When I roll over, I find myself face-to-face with him. “Hi,” he says in his deep voice. A shiver goes over my body.

“Have you been watching me sleep?”

“Just for a moment.”

“That’s not creepy or anything,” I mutter, sitting up and holding onto my side to keep myself from screaming in pain.

“You look so peaceful when you sleep. I’ve never seen you look that way.”

For once, I don’t have a snarky reply. “Shouldn’t we get going? I’m ready to leave this hotel behind.”

“Desperate to get home? You do know you’ll be living with me, correct?”

“I figured as much. Lucky for you, I’m in too much pain to actually run away.” I stand up and remember I’m only in my bra and underwear. I was in too much pain last night to actually put my pajamas on.

As Aleksander settles his eyes on my underwear, a flash of heat goes through my core. I quickly turn away and grab a fresh, clean dress to slip on that will be easier than that damn wedding dress.

“You didn’t have to get dressed on my account,” he says, getting up and showing off his bare chest.

“I did, actually. I don’t like you looking at me.”

“Are my eyes not worthy to look at you?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles and shakes his head as he dresses. I find myself strangely disappointed not to see his bare chest any longer.

I sit down and slip on my high heels.

“You’re really going to wear those?” he asks, nodding at my shoes.

“Why wouldn’t I? I look good in them.”

“Don’t they make it harder to get around with your broken rib?”

Yes. “No.”

“Viktoriya, you don’t have to torture yourself.”

“I don’t have any other shoes,” I admit.

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