Page 12 of Forced Bratva Hostage

Her eyelids fluttered but didn't open. Instead, she let out a gentle groan, instinctively hugging a comfy pillow. Her lips parted a little as if whispering secrets in her sleep. Her hair—long, dark, and wavy—cascaded like a waterfall across the pillow, framing her baby face.

The sun's gentle glow danced over her dark locks, casting subtle highlights that seemed to simmer in the lights.

My eyes roamed her gorgeous body, tracing her delicate curves as her form stretched across the bed.

Usually, I kept my prisoners in a dark cell in the basement to amplify their fear before I began whatever I had in mind for them. But she was a pretty one, and she didn't belong down there. Besides, my quarrel was with her father, not her.

The guest room had seemed like the perfect place befitting for a beautiful woman as such herself.

A smirk played on my lips as I recalled the night before: the fear in her eyes and how she’d frozen as I approached her. The way she'd sprinted through the alley like her life dependedon it was quite hilarious. She was perceptive enough to have sensed my presence even before a twig snapped beneath my feet.

Impressive.

I’d deliberately rustled the bushes, signaling my presence after the snapping twig had caught her attention. I wanted her to sense the danger lurking in the shadows—to feel the thrill of being watched. I allowed her a glimpse of my imposing form in the darkness, inflicting her with a breathtaking terror.

I’d reveled in her sudden tension, finding solace in her fidgeting form and her heightened awareness. The hunt was on, and the thrill of the chase coursed through my blood.

It had been far too long since I indulged in the raw thrill of hands-on operation. I'd missed the calculated manipulation, the precision of the hunt—the rush of adrenaline—and it all came flooding back.

My reacquaintance with its dark allure filled me with sinister satisfaction. Maybe I should do this more often.

Her loud gasps, laced with fear, yanked me out of my thoughts, stealing my attention. My eyes settled on her as she jerked, struggling to sit up. The comfy bed creaked beneath her weight as she shifted, her body shuddering, gaze flashing with apprehension.

I arched my brows, amused by her reaction.

Her manicured hands grasped the sheets as if seeking an anchor, her forehead creating deep creases. “Who are you? Where am I?” she demanded, her brown eyes shooting wild glances across the luxurious interior.

My gaze never wavered as I looked beyond the fear and anxiety plastered over her baby face. Her innocence warmed my heart, and I remained silent, drinking in her beauty.

She was even prettier now—the sun's gentle glow dancing across her face, her porcelain skin simmering in daylight. Hereyes, wide with terror, shone with desperate intensity as a faint flush on her cheek accentuated her agitation.

Even in distress, her elegance still bloomed like a flower in a harsh environment, her unmistakable beauty undiminished by fear.

Her voice trembled, chest heaving rapidly as she held my gaze, accusation and horror flickering in her eyes. “Are…are you…the man from the alley?” she stuttered, pulling away to rest her back against the headboard. “Have I been kidnapped?”

“Too many questions, Jesus!” I rubbed my forehead, letting out an exasperated groan. “Are you always this inquisitive?” My gaze lingered.

“When I'm afraid…yes,” she replied, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.

“That was a rhetorical question, but whatever,” I muttered, uncrossing my legs, the sofa crunching beneath me as I leaned forward, eyes pinned on her. “And yes, you've been kidnapped,” came my blunt reply.

Her brows furrowed, and her head shook subtly as confusion settled over her features. “Wh–why? I'm a nobody who always minds her business. Why would you kidnap me?” The words burst out of her in a frantic rush, and she cast me a pleading look.

I rose my brows, taken aback by her low self-esteem. Why would she consider herself a nobody?

“Wren, is it?” I asked, my gaze unwavering.

“Yes,” she replied, her tone sharp and fearful.

“My God, you really don't understand rhetorical questions, do you?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, a soft sigh escaping my lips.

“I'm sorry, I get like that when I'm nervous,” she said, her eyes roaming over my form.

“It's not you I'm after, Wren.” I locked eyes with her. “It's your father.”

“My father?” She pulled back her head, squinting. “What has he done this time?” A faint scowl flashed across her face.

Her words hinted at the fact that this wasn't the first time the man was getting himself in trouble. Well, this was his first time getting in trouble with me, and it wasn’t going to be business as usual for him. No.

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