Page 8 of The Bratva's Prisoner Bride

One moment, he looked ready to end me himself, and the next, he seemed to be hanging on, precariously resisting the urge to rip my clothes off. It was confusing, frustrating, and, to my dismay, almost intriguing.

I was in no position to find him alluring in any capacity, but that choice seemed to be out of my hands.

As much as I still thought he was beautiful and at least tempting, I knew I couldn’t let myself slip up.

Even while the vehicle pulled up to a gated property and went up the driveway towards the obscenely impressive mansion, I urged myself to maintain some level of restraint. To push back my attraction to him and remember that I wasn’t some welcomed guest.

I was his prisoner, and surely that meant he didn’t mean to treat me like one of his friends. I had to keep my guard up and remember exactly what he was.

With the SUV parked out front, I ogled at the structure that seemed to scream eloquence and more wealth than I could ever dream of having. I shouldn’t have been surprised at all.

I knew the Fokins had money, but I was still impressed either way. Hearing about it and seeing it for yourself were two very different things.

Without the same aggravating display as last time, Ivan unbuckled himself, then reached over to mine and did the same before exiting the vehicle. After a few seconds, he appeared at my door again, popped it open, then gestured for me to follow.

When I moved slower than he liked, Ivan huffed and reached for my wrists, hoisting me out with ease.

The smoothness at which he manhandled me was enough to make me bristle, reigniting that desire to be anything but compliant or complacent.

Wishing he’d just treat me like a normal person, I gritted my teeth and pulled back against him.

Ivan’s entire body seemed to tighten at the resistance while he gripped my wrists harder and shot me a warning look. His eyes were dark while silently telling me to give up. To give in.

I knew that putting up a fight against him was playing with fire, but I didn’t care. He was treating me like a criminal, and I couldn’t stand it.

Digging my shoes into the driveway again, I was swiftly brought closer to him as he stared down at me, face to face, so that I could feel the gentle fan of his breath against my skin. Despite myself, a shiver scurried down my spine.

“What did I tell you?” He snapped, jaw tight and giving away the full extent of his anger.

He may have been pissed off before, but with every moment I grated against his nerves more, I was only making it worse.

“You can’t handle me like this,” I returned, not letting up despite how something in me was screaming to just give up. To sate his need for control long enough to save my own skin.

The skin of his neck tightened around a vein there as he restrained himself, eyes roaming my face for a moment. “Can’t I?”

God, everything about him was infuriating. From the way he looked at me, to the way he talked down to me, and how he seemed so convicted in his disdain for me. Like he was entitled to ruin my life, all because I wasn’t truthful about my real identity. Even if I was an unwilling participant in my brother’s plan. But regardless, it was no use trying to appeal to him.

“No…you can’t,” I mumbled, uselessly pulling my arms back. “I won’t go inside.”

This only made him grip me tighter with fiery rage in his eyes. “Yes, you will.”

“You can’t make me—”

The breath was stolen from my throat the moment he kneeled down, pressed his shoulder against my stomach, and hoisted me up. Instinctively, my body folded over his as my eyes widened, and everything felt off-center.

My blood boiled as he pinned me against his hard shoulder and maintained that tight grip on me even while I flailed and tried to fight against him. It was a brave attempt, even if pounding my fists against his back did nothing.

“Ivan!”

“Yes, prisoner?” He asked mockingly while he continued walking, heading straight for the front doors with ease. Despite my thrashing, he seemed virtually unaffected and went right up to the guards posted by the door.

Seeing an opportunity, I continued fighting him. “Help me—please! He’s abducting me. Call someone!”

I half expected them to stop and ask if everything was all right, or at least show an ounce of concern between them. Butthey kept their mouths shut and barely paid any mind to how Ivan carried me through the ornate doors.

As the moment passed for them to offer me any kind of help, my stomach dropped, and my throat burned at the thought of truly having no one to help me.

I didn’t want to believe what Ivan said to me earlier about being all alone, and nobody noticing I was gone, but the longer it went on, the more I couldn’t help but see his point. It made my stomach ache.

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