Page 25 of Kidnapped By the Bratva

His thumb presses into the soft skin of my throat, and I can’t look away. His eyes bore into mine, and for a long, intense moment, neither of us speaks. The world around us fades, and all I can focus on is the way his hand feels against my skin, the way his eyes hold me captive. My breath catches, and I wonder—what is he going to do next?

Just when I expect him to close the distance between us, to take whatever this is further, Maxim pulls away. The sudden absence of his touch leaves a cold emptiness behind, and I blink, startled by the abruptness of it.

“Follow me,” he orders, his voice hardening again as he steps back. The intensity between us vanishes in an instant, replaced by the same cold command that he always carries.

My throat tightens with disappointment, confusion swirling inside me as I realize I’m not escaping anything. He’s tracking my every move, and even if I tried to run, there’s no point. He’ll always be there, just like he was tonight.

I follow him down the hallway, my footsteps slow and reluctant. He leads me to another part of the mansion, the layout unfamiliar to me. The walls here are lighter, more polished, and the scent of fresh air wafts through the open windows. This place is better, warmer, less suffocating. He stops in front of a door and pushes it open, stepping aside to let me enter.

“This is where you’ll stay now,” Maxim says, his tone clipped but calm. I glance inside the room, my eyes widening slightly. It’s a far cry from the cold, dark room I was in before. The bed is larger, the furniture elegant. There’s even an attached bathroom with a shower and a large bathtub.

I look at him suspiciously, trying to figure out why he’s doing this. Why the change of heart? I can see it in his face, the way his jaw is clenched, his eyes flickering with something like restraint. He’s forcing himself to be somewhat kind, as if it’s part of some strategy I don’t understand.

I hesitate for a moment, my thoughts racing. Then, the question escapes my lips before I can stop myself. “You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?”

Maxim’s expression remains unreadable, his gaze sharp as he watches me. For a long moment, he says nothing, and the silence hangs heavy between us. I feel my heart thudding in my chest, every beat echoing in my ears as I wait for his answer.

I can’t breathe properly, can’t think. All I can do is watch him, waiting for some kind of response. Anything.

He doesn’t say a word.

The fear coils tighter inside me, twisting my stomach into knots. Heisgoing to kill me. That’s what this is. He’s just deciding when. The realization sends a wave of terror through me, and I force myself to speak, my voice trembling.

“Maxim… please… just tell me what’s going to happen,” I manage to say, my throat dry. My words come out softer than I intend, almost pleading. I hate how weak I sound, but I can’t help it. The fear is too real, too overwhelming.

His gaze remains steady, piercing through me, but still, he says nothing. His face is a mask of indifference, as if my words don’t even reach him. It’s like I’m talking to a wall, and the more I try, the more hopeless it feels.

I swallow hard, my hands trembling at my sides. “You… you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to kill me. I’ll do whatever you want, just—”

Before I can finish, he turns away, heading toward the door without so much as a glance back. My heart sinks. I want to call out to him, beg him to stay, but the words catch in my throat. He walks out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

I wait, staring at the door, expecting to hear the familiar sound of the lock turning. It doesn’t come. The silence on the other side of the door is absolute.

I stand there for a moment, frozen in place. Why not lock it? The question hangs in my mind, gnawing at my nerves. I inch toward the door, my fingers brushing the handle. Slowly, I pull it open, just a crack, enough to see the empty hallway beyond.

He didn’t lock me in. I’m not trapped in this room.

Then it hits me, a cold wave of realization that makes my stomach churn. He doesn’t need to lock the door anymore. This entire mansion is my prison. I can wander wherever I want, but it won’t make a difference. Maxim will always find me. He’s tracking my every move. Every step I take, every decision I make—it’s all under his control.

I pull the door shut and slump down onto the bed, my hands shaking as I bury my face in them. The fear gnaws at me, relentless, as the truth sinks deeper. There’s no point in running. No point in trying to escape.

I’m not just a prisoner in this room. I’m a prisoner in his world.

There’s no way out.

Chapter Thirteen - Maxim

I can’t stop thinking about Sophia. No matter how much I try to focus, her image keeps slipping into my mind, like an itch I can’t scratch. She’s Kace’s daughter, the one person I should be keeping at arm’s length—nothing more than a pawn in my game.

Every time I picture her, the attraction gnaws at me. There’s something about her that pulls me in, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I remember the delicious moan that dripped from her lips, when she didn’t know I was listening. Even now, it makes me shiver.

It’s not just the sounds she makes, or the fear in her eyes, the way her lips trembled when she asked if I was going to kill her. It’s more than that. The way her body tensed under my touch, the spark of chemistry that flared between us. The memory of it plays in my mind over and over, like a melody I can’t forget. I want to make her moan again, only this time, I want to be the one causing it. I shouldn’t feel this way, not about her.

The more I try to ignore it, the more it lingers.

“Maxim, you’re zoning out,” Artem says, snapping me back to reality. We’re headed to a social event, one of the many where power and money exchange hands under the guise of civility. I adjust my jacket and step out of the car, clearing my thoughts. Tonight is business, nothing more. The last thing I need is to let distractions get in the way.

The venue is grand, with high ceilings and glittering chandeliers, filled with the usual faces—men who run the underworld, all dressed in their finest, pretending to enjoy themselves while they calculate their next moves. Artem and Imake our way through the crowd, exchanging polite nods with familiar faces.

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