Page 34 of Owned By The Bratva King

It took everything I had not to message Roman back. I had to bury my cell phone in the deepest recesses of my closet so I couldn’t text him impulsively, and I spent the evening under a throw on my couch, watching America’s Next Top Model re-runs.

He said he’d be back for more. Well, he can’t walk in, not now. And if he comes to the bakery again, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. I’ll look him right in the eye and tell him…what?

Exactly. That’s the whole point. What could I even say? He read my filthy fantasy. He followed me to the park and claimed my mouth. Maybe humiliating women like me is a hobby.

I sink into my pillows and turn off my lamp, but sleep is impossible. The room’s blueish light makes it look off-kilter, like a dream.

I will never feel this way again. I could kiss a hundred sweet, safe boys, but none of them would ever make my core seize at the thought of their name.

Memories flash quick-fire through my mind. Roman, wounded in the bakery, eating a cinnamon roll like it was nothing. Roman, shirtless, rinsing blood from his beautiful body. Roman’s face contorted with exquisite agony as he came.

With my thoughts full of him, there’s no room for anything else, and I find myself at the door again. It takes only a moment for me to remove the chain from the door, and then I’m back in bed, quivering with lust and fear.

26

Roman

I’m parked outside Quinn’s building, watching her on my remote camera feed. She’s in bed but restless.

I could call and demand she lets me in, but where’s the fun in that? Maybe I’ll pretend to be the building superintendent. Tell her there’s a leak or a fire or some bullshit and get her to?—

Wait. Where is she going?

No way. Am I fucking seeing this? Yes. She’s at her door, sliding the chain through the bracket and undoing it. The primary lock is still secure, but she knows I have a key?—

She bolts for her room, and I switch to the bedroom camera to see her dive beneath her duvet again like she’s afraid a monster might be under her bed.

Oh, rusalka. I see you. You want a monster in your bed. Don’t you worry; I’m right here.

I climb out of my car and head over the road to her building, my heart pounding in my ears.

27

Quinn

He won’t show up. All this stalking and obsessive behavior is just what rich men do for fun. I’m on my knees for Roman—or at least, I was this afternoon—but that doesn’t mean he’s on his knees for me.

He’s a billionaire. He could have anyone, so why would he lose his mind over a chubby girl with zero sexual experience.

My chattering thoughts fall silent as alarms ring in my head. I clap my hand over my mouth in shock.

Someone is turning the handle of my apartment door.

I’m supposed to leap out of bed, grab a blunt instrument, and hide, ready to strike. Great. What is my plan? Use my cat-like reflexes to sneak up on the intruder then knock him out with my new dildo?

The scared kid I am at heart has only one strategy; I pull the duvet over my head and lie perfectly still, waiting for something to happen.

Silence. Did I imagine the sound of the door opening?

When I lower the duvet and peer out, I inhale so harshly that I almost choke on air.

Roman sits on my window ledge, the toile curtain billowing behind him. It’s as though he descended from the skies and lighted here, and my mind goes straight to thoughts of Peter Pan before reality pulls me up short.

Roman is no boy. He is a man who could be anywhere, doing anything, and yet he’s here with me.

“You didn’t reply to my message, Quinn.” Roman stands and moves to the foot of my bed, towering over me. “That was rude.”

I can’t speak or move. His smooth voice has me hypnotized again, held in place, and I’m reminded of when I first met him.

---