Page 18 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

I tried so hard to fight against falling asleep last night, but obviously, I was still drugged, and I slept like a rock all night and woke up with drool all over my pillow.

I sit up, looking around the room. The late morning light is shining through the open curtains, and the room is bright and welcoming, which is in contrast to the fact that I do not want to be here and was taken against my will.

I groan loudly, rubbing my eyes.

On the bedside table is a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs.

It’s cold.

Whoever dropped this off did it long ago while I was still deep in dreamland.

I pick the eggs up and poke them. They are rubbery and gross. Cold eggs are just a solid no from me.

Then a flash of anger flares through me, and I fling the plate at the closed bedroom door. Rubbery yellow blobs stick to the wood and then slowly trail down to the floor.

I look at the coffee.

I want to throw it, too, but even cold, I also want to drink it.

I sigh, pulling the cup towards me and taking a sip.

It’s good coffee. Even cold.

My entire body feels stiff and bruised.

When my coffee is gone, I push the blankets off my body and stand up. A wave of dizziness washes over me, so I stand for a minute, waiting for it to go away.

I am still wearing the dress I went clubbing in.

I walk around the room, examining everything, looking for a way out but finding nothing.

I do find a pair of pale blue sweatpants and a few t-shirts alongside some clean undies. I guess my kidnapper is not a complete savage since he was nice enough to give me fresh clothing.

I sigh and roll my eyes, picking it up and walking through to the adjoining bathroom. Maybe a shower will help make me feel better and wash away the rest of this drugged feeling.

While I am showering, the thing that is worrying me the most is the man who I bit.

He will probably be in a lot of trouble for letting me get away, even if it was an unsuccessful attempt. I know my father would torture him to death if it happened back home, and I assume this asshole who took me is of the same persuasion.

They are, after all, all mob bosses.

I can’t believe I fell for his shit at the club. How naive does that make me look? I’m so angry with myself.

I wonder if that guy I bit is being tortured right now. I’m glad I tried to get away, but not at the cost of another man’s life. He is just an employee. He isn’t the one who decided to kidnap me, so it sucks that he'd be the one punished for my escape attempt.

I sigh, climbing out of the shower feeling only marginally better.

I wrap a towel around my hair and then realize there is a hairdryer set up by the vanity basin.

What the hell? Does this guy kidnap girls often?

But the hairdryer is brand new.

I toss the towel off my hair and take my time blow-drying it. I’ve got nothing else to do, seeing as I am locked up in here.

It’s odd, but I’m so used to being locked up in my room, by my own choice, that it doesn’t feel much different being here.

But why am I here?

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