Page 13 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

He returns carrying two drinks and hands me one of them.

“Thank you.” I sip it, still smiling, feeling like a little girl, happy and excited.

“Oh, actually, just give me a second. I need to run to the men’s room. I won’t be long.” He says, standing up again.

When he’s out of sight, I start questioning my choices. I’m here with a total stranger—a hot one—about to do something crazy or wild or silly—and actually—I want to.

I’m just nervous, that’s all.

I stare down at my gin. Without giving myself a chance to think about whether it’s a good or bad idea, I down the entire thing. If that’s what it takes to push my nerves aside and quiet my thoughts, then so be it.

He’s gone so long that I start to wonder if he changed his mind and ditched me. But then he returns, smiling that gorgeous smile, and slides back into his seat.

“You’re finished with your drink? Can I tell them to bring you another one?”

“Not right now.” I don’t drink that often, I shouldn’t down anymore.

I chuckle to myself.

“Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll get one for you.”

I nod.

My head spins a little when I do.

Goodness me, maybe downing it was a bad idea.

“So, what do you do when you aren’t dancing alone at a club?” he asks with a chuckle.

“I enjoy reading,” I reply, then hope he doesn’t find me boring. I hardly get to leave the house, so I don’t have any exciting stories to tell him.

“And shopping, I’m guessing.” He tilts his head, the corner of his lip curling.

“Shopping?” Ugh, no, I think to myself. I only shop to escape my father because it’s the one thing he doesn’t question me doing. Why is my head spinning? My lips feel tingly.

I blink my eyes tightly shut and try to focus on what the stranger is saying.

I know I don’t drink often, so that tequila is probably hitting me a little harder than I expected. I shoud never have downed the gin.

I guess I should slow down with any drinks he brings me after this.

Maybe I should ask for water.

“Yes, a girl like you. I bet you shop all the time.” He sounds sarcastic, almost mean about it.

I want to defend myself, because that’s not who I am. I’m not the girl who wants to spend all her time in a mall. I want to go hiking and swimming and—ugh. My head feels thick.

“I don’t—I just—I feel dizzy,” I say, pressing my fingers against my temple, trying to massage away this weird feeling. I swallow and try to sit up straighter because something is wrong.

“It’s okay, Sasha. Don’t fight it,” he says darkly, and my brain fires a million warnings all at once. I never told him my name. He never told me his. The entire room is spinning wildly.

My lips are so numb I am barely able to string my words together.

“I didn’t—tell—you my—name," I stammer, mumbling more than speaking.

Panic surges inside me and rushes against my skin.

What is going on?

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