Page 38 of Used Bratva Bride

I pull out my flask and take a long sip. “Humiliation,” I say simply, watching the amber liquid swirl in my glass. “James Spade might not give a damn about his daughter, but she’s still his. Still Spade blood.”

Ivan’s lips press together, considering.

I take a slow sip, relishing the heat of the whiskey down my throat before continuing. “And what’s more humiliating than having your daughter—the one you cast aside—taken by your enemy? Not just taken, Ivan. Claimed. Made mine.”

His expression darkens, understanding sinking in.

“James and Sophia won’t be able to ignore this,” I continue smoothly, watching him. “It’s a direct insult, a public mark of their weakness. They’ll have to react.”

“When they do,” Ivan mutters, rubbing a hand down his face, “you’ll be ready.”

I put my flask away. “Exactly.”

This isn’t about Julie. Not really. She’s just a piece in a much larger game, the perfect way to lure James and Sophia into making their move. Once they do, once they step into my trap—

I will dismantle the Spade family from within. When I’m finished, there won’t be a single trace of them left.

Ivan exhales again, still looking like he wants to argue, but he knows better. “I assume you’re going to tell her yourself,” he mutters.

I smirk. “Of course.”

As I make my way out of the room, a different thought enters my mind—Julie.

The way she looked at me when she fought back earlier. The way her lips parted, breathless and angry, when I manhandled her back to the house. The way her body fit against mine, small and fragile but full of fire.

I didn’t let myself think about it then.

Didn’t let myself acknowledge the way her touch, however brief, sent a flicker of heat through my blood.

Now, as I approach her door, I wonder… what will she look like when she hears the news? When she realizes there’s no escaping me?

A wicked satisfaction curls in my chest as I reach for the handle.

I push the door open, stepping inside, and freeze. My smirk falters slightly as my gaze lands on her.

Julie stands by the bed, barely covered in a small towel, her damp blonde hair cascading over her bare shoulders. Her skin glistens slightly, still damp from the shower, her curves on full display beneath the flimsy fabric. Her breasts are small and full, and water trickles down her collarbones.

She gasps, clutching the towel tighter against her chest, her entire body going rigid.

For the first time since I took her, she looks truly vulnerable. Her wide blue eyes are locked on mine, her lips slightly parted, her breath shallow.

For a brief moment, I don’t move, because she’s fucking stunning. Even in fear, in embarrassment—she’s breathtaking.

Her cheeks flush a deep shade of pink, and it’s not just from the heat of the shower.

I let my gaze trail over her, slow and deliberate, lingering on the curves of her waist, the soft swell of her breasts, the way her toned thighs press together in an effort to hide herself.

Julie notices. I see the way her breath hitches, the way her fingers tremble against the towel.

There’s something else beneath the mortification—something reluctant, hesitant.

She’s attracted to me. She doesn’t want to be, but she is. And fuck, I enjoy that realization.

I take a single step forward, watching as she stiffens, her knuckles turning white where she grips the fabric against her skin.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, erratically, as if she’s caught between fight and flight.

I tilt my head, my voice smooth as silk. “Expecting someone else?”

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