Page 8 of Innocent Bratva Hostage

The name hits me like a freight train. My head snaps up, and I stare at Kris, trying to make sense of the words.

“Makar Sharov?” I repeat, disbelief thick in my voice.

Kris nods, clearly enjoying my reaction. “The owner of this club, and a whole lot more, if you catch my drift.”

My mind reels. Makar. Of course. That’s why his presence had felt so commanding, so impossible to ignore. He wasn’t just some rich guy blowing through town. He owns the Ember House, and who knows what else.

Kris watches me with a smug expression, like he’s just dropped the world’s most shocking gossip.

“Didn’t take you for the type to go for someone like him,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I guess everyone has their price.”

My jaw tightens, and I glare at him. “I didn’t—”

He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “Hey, no judgment here. In fact….” His tone shifts, turning oily. “If you’re into that sort of thing, I could help you out. I’ve got some VIPs who’d pay good money for a pretty little thing like you.”

I stare at him, my stomach twisting in disgust. “What are you talking about?”

Kris shrugs, like he hasn’t just crossed every possible line. “I’m just saying, you’ve got options. One-night stands are fun, sure, but why not make a little extra while you’re at it?” He winks, the gesture making my skin crawl.

It takes me a moment to process what he’s implying, but when it hits me, the tray slips from my hands, the glasses clattering onto the desk.

“You think I’m—?” I can’t even finish the sentence.

Kris grins, unbothered by my reaction. “Hey, no need to get all worked up. It’s just an idea. You’d be surprised how much some of these guys are willing to pay.”

I push myself to my feet, my hands shaking with anger and humiliation. “I’m not interested,” I snap, my voice louder than I intended.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, still smirking. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I don’t bother responding. I storm out of his office, slamming the door behind me. My heart pounds in my chest as I make my way back to the bar, the lights and music suddenly too loud, too bright.

The nerve of him. The sheer audacity to look at me and assume that because I gave in to my desires one time, it meant I was willing to sell myself.

I feel dirty, exposed, like every step I take is being scrutinized. My face burns with embarrassment, but beneath it all, there’s a simmering rage.

How dare he?

I’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to treat me like I’m nothing more than a commodity.

I take a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the bar to steady myself. My thoughts spiral, images of Makar’s intense blue eyes flashing through my mind. If Kris was telling the truth, if that man was really Makar Sharov….

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

I force myself back onto the floor, tray in hand, trying to shove the encounter with Kris out of my head. Even so, his words stick, coiling around my thoughts like barbed wire.

Makar Sharov. The owner of this club.

The bass-heavy music is relentless, drowning out my racing thoughts as I approach a table near the VIP section. A man in a tailored suit raises his hand to flag me down, his date draped across his arm, her laughter sharp and shrill.

“Another round,” he says, not bothering to look at me.

“Right away,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside me.

As I turn toward the bar, one of the waitresses, Tina, sidles up to me, balancing her own tray. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says with a grin.

“Just a long night,” I reply, trying to sound casual.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been in Kris’s office, huh? He’s the worst. You okay?”

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