Page 33 of Virgin Bratva Hostage

“Alright,” he says after a while. “I’ll see you later.”

Then he turns and walks out of the kitchen and I find my eyes trailing over his body, watching his ass, biting my lip.

He really is gorgeous. But whatever.

He has me prisoner. He’s an asshat. No matter how hot he is, he’s still not in my good books.

It’s still really difficult for me to be locked up like this. But for someone who got kidnapped, I think I’ve got it easy. I can read, watch movies, there is even a gym upstairs, and the food is incredible.

I wait, listening carefully for Avraam’s car.

It moves down the driveway.

Sneaking a peak out of the window, I see him pull out of the gate and disappear down the road. It’s time to carry on with my investigation.

He doesn’t leave the house every day and often works from his home office—but whenever I am alone here, I try to find out anything I can about him.

Today, I want to get into his office and scratch around.

Sliding the little hairpin from my hair, I grin. It’s amazing how this little thing has become my key to almost everything.

I set my unfinished coffee down on the kitchen counter and bolt upstairs. There is no way to know if he will be gone for an hour or several hours. Moving fast is the best option. The sooner I break into the office, the more time I will have to look around.

The office door is as easy to lock pick as the bedroom door. I’m getting really good at it by now.

It swings open and I wait, listening for an alarm or commotion from outside to indicate that someone knows I’ve broken in.

Nothing happens so I stand up, grinning, feeling rather successful.

The drawers are neat, organized and minimalistic. He is a man who likes control, I think—judging by how he has his paperwork filed and neat.

Drawer after drawer, I rifle around and find general admin paperwork, accounting and schedules. He runs a few businesses like my brothers do. It all looks so similar. The same patterns, the same methods.

In one drawer, I find a photo album and pull the pages open, flipping through images of a much younger version of him with who I assume are his parents and a little girl. Perhaps his sister.

They clearly grew up poor, living in a run-down house, his clothes aren’t fancy—but they look happy. His family looks happy.

At some point, there are no more photos, only newspaper clippings.

I read through them and my heart sinks.

Avraam lost his parents in a very violent way, the injustice of it is cruel and unfair. After going through that there are no more happy family photos, only one or two pictures with him and his sister. Both of them looking miserable.

Then, the articles tell a story about a young man who came from nothing and started building business after business—growing an empire.

He fought for everything he has in this life. He worked hard, clawing his way from nothing to what he has today.

Of course, I know the legal businesses are just fronts for what he really does. The same way my brothers have fronts.

Knowing that he lost parents so young, I feel much more connected to him than I expected. We both went through that—but I had my older brothers and sister to help me through it.

He didn’t have the same kind of support. He was the oldest, he had to take care of his sister.

I guess that’s what made him so hard—so willing to do whatever was necessary for his family.

Rodion is the same. He would sacrifice anything for us.

I bite at my lip, comparing him to my brother, I can’t help but think that Avraam is a good man, somewhere deep inside. Despite what he is doing to me.

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