Page 18 of Claimed Bratva Virgin

Super brilliant, Leo.

That had to be the stupidest plan I had ever come up with in my life.

With nothing else to do but hope Papa was able to locate me before he received Rafayel’s present, I slewed a string of curses at every creature that could hear me within and outside those walls before biting back hot, stinging tears as I shut my eyes.

****

I didn’t know how long I was out, but a rattle of keys and the sound of the door unclicking jolted me awake from a very uncomfortable sleep. Napping with your head hanging off one side of an iron chair was the worst way to take a rest.

I flexed my shoulders and rolled my neck when heavy footsteps approached. At first, I thought it was the crazy Russian with a cynical smile and shiny businessman shoes. Maybe he’d forgotten to make my life more miserable with taunting remarks. But when this stranger in a black leather jacket and pants stepped under the light, I frowned deeper at the unfamiliar grin on his face.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, champion of the Long Beach Grand Prix. You look a lot smaller in person, though.”

And the other one said I was on the news. There was no doubt that Ivan blabbed about our encounter with the entire Russian Mafia.

“We haven’t met.”

He dropped to his haunches, pointing upward at me with a silver blade similar to Rafayel’s, while he grabbed one of the ropes in the bounded bunch. Somehow, his black eyes appeared darker under the light.

“We’re meeting now. That should count.”

I eyed him and his combat boots suspiciously, narrowing my gaze at the knife in his hand. “And you are?”

I was expecting something dramatic like, “The man sent to kill you,” but a cryptic scoff came before he grunted his name when he slid the blade under the rope and started cutting through.

“Tikhon.”

Tikhon. Big guy, broad chest and shoulders, with an easy laugh and murderous eyes, who somehow wasn’t sent to kill me in cold blood but, rather, set me free from Rafayel’s hold. There had to be an explanation.

He was too comfortable in his own skin, doing what he was doing, to be an inside man for Papa. He was handsome and appeared normal and level-headed. The only indicator that this man was Russian was his thick accent and striking hard features. The air around him was unexpectedly light and not as enigmatic as his leader’s. He seemed like a fair fighter and honest man, the type who would deal you only what you deserved.

But it didn’t end there.

As he grabbed another rope to slice, I saw the tattoos inked across prominent scars on his fingers and wrist, Russianalphabets that I couldn’t make sense of. He was no doubt a gallant soldier. And if my guess was right, judging by the keys he held to this room, I’d say he was next in command after Rafayel. Only the most trusted had keys to the rooms were prisoners were kept

And that meant this big guy wasn’t anordinaryperson like his guise made him out to be. I knew from experience that anyone who worked with the head of an outfit was required to be equally as smart, heartless, and ruthless as they were.

One slip up with this man, and that knife would find solace in my throat.

But it wasn’t going to keep me from asking. “I don’t want to presume you’re here for an autograph.”

“Wouldn’t that spike up your ego?” He laughed at his own joke and started ripping the shredded ropes with his bare hands. “You’d leave here with your head bigger than it already is.”

“But not more inflated than yours.”

He chuckled and muttered something under his breath in a rushed string of Russian. It was basic enough for me to catch on, but he didn’t need to know that.

“No wonder he didn’t let Ivan kill you.”

According to the big guy, Rafayel wanted me around for sport. He enjoyed riling me up and watching me feel frustrated at my helplessness. How did that make me feel?

Like I should knee the smirking man in the nuts, too.

Frigging Russians.

Listening to Tikhon speak to himself made me remember another thing I wished I didn’t. Rafayel’s compliment, when he called me beautiful. He probably didn’t know that I understood him. His face gave nothing away, not before dropping the bomb or afterward.

I wasn’t sure if he’d said it for the mere sport of evoking a reaction from me or if he’d said it because he really meant it. With the man, you could never tell.

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