Page 59 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

I can feel her, her soul, her heart, her smile against my lips.

I run my hand down her back and hold her tightly against me as I continue to kiss her.

The world seems to fade away in that moment.

Finally, I let her go, and she pulls away from me with a beautiful smile on her lips.

I stand up, pulling her to her feet.

“Let’s get something to eat, I’m sure we can find something in the kitchen.”

She picks up my shirt, sticky with blood. “Do you have anything else to wear?”

“In the dresser in the room next to the bathroom,” I reply.

“I’ll get you something.”

She disappears, and I take a deep breath when I am alone. Everything has shifted in the shortest amount of time. Finding out what I know about Sasha and what she’s been through has changed my entire perspective of her.

Who she is makes more sense to me now.

She returns to find me lost in thought about her and what she’s been through.

“Are you okay?” she asks nervously.

“Yes. I’m great, actually.”

“I found this.” She hands me a black hoodie.

“That’s perfect. Thanks.”

I pull it over my head, careful not to move my side too much. She helps me ease it down my body.

We stand in the bathroom for a moment, looking at each other. I wonder what she’s thinking. I want to kiss her again. I need to figure out what all of this means for my plan against Danil.

Honestly, what he did to her, it makes me want to tear him apart. It makes me want to torture him in all kinds of new ways and make him suffer an eternity of pain.

“So, um, let me see what I can make you to eat,” she smiles.

***

In the kitchen, I lean against the counter while she pulls out some spaghetti, some canned meats, canned mushrooms, sauce and a pan.

“Sorry, it’s not the best selection.” I shrug.

“I can make something amazing with this. Don’t underestimate me,” she laughs.

“I don’t think I’ll ever underestimate you again,” I say quietly, and she throws me a questioning look.

I help her cook, opening cans and getting things ready and find it a comfortable, fun task.

But she catches me completely off guard when she turns to me and asks. “Did your parents also teach you how to be stronger by torturing you when you were young? I mean, to mold you into the person you are today?”

“No, Sasha. That’s not how things are—parents don’t torture their kids to teach them strength. Your father was a monster for what he did. You are right about that. What he didn’t isn’t normal at all. My parents were kind, loving and supportive. When I was growing up, they kept me out of all of the mafia business, and I had a pretty normal life. I didn’t know about any of the mafia stuff until I was older.”

She throws the spaghetti into the boiling water and then turns to look at me.

“Why do you hate my father so much? What did he do to you?”

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