Page 40 of Used Bratva Bride

Okay. Maybe this marriage is a really good idea. The Spades will suffer. Julie will be bound to me. Best of all, I’ll get to have her. The thought sends another wave of heat through me, sharp and undeniable.

I inhale deeply, trying to clear my mind, but it’s no use. The way her body had looked under the dim glow of her bedroom light is seared into my memory. Her damp skin. The delicate curve of her waist. The fullness of her breasts, barely hidden beneath the towel she clutched so tightly.

That fucking towel. A flimsy, pathetic barrier between me and what I already know will be mine.

I drag a hand through my hair, frustration and amusement warring inside me as I push open my bedroom door. The room is dark, the heavy curtains drawn, casting long shadows across the space. I step inside, shutting the door behind me, but the restlessness doesn’t fade.

I strip off my jacket, tossing it onto a chair before walking to the bar in the corner of the room. I pour myself a glass of whiskey, the rich amber liquid swirling as I bring it to my lips. The burn is satisfying, but it does nothing to dull the fire still simmering inside me.

I set the glass down with more force than necessary, jaw tightening. This should be simple. She’s a pawn, a tool to bring the Spade family to its knees. Now….

Now, I want her for more than just strategy. I picture the look on her face when I told her we were getting married. The horror. The disbelief. The way she’d gone silent—as if her brain couldn’t fully process what I was saying.

She’ll fight it. Of course, she will. She’ll claw and struggle against the idea of belonging to me.

In the end, it won’t matter, because she will be mine.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips as I lean back against the bar, rolling my shoulders, shaking off the tension.

I strip off my shirt and head toward the bathroom, my muscles tight with lingering frustration. The mirror reflects my broad chest, my abs carved from years of training, and the dark ink that coils over my arms—a map of my past, my sins, my victories.

“You’re losing focus,” I mutter to myself, dragging a hand through my hair before stepping under the hot spray of the shower. The water scalds my skin, but I welcome the burn.

It’s nothing compared to the heat raging inside me.

Julie’s image won’t leave my mind—the way her body looked under the dim light, the way her lips parted in shock, the way her breath hitched when she realized I was watching her.

Mine.

I let the water wash over me, my hands bracing against the cool tile as I take slow, measured breaths. This game has only just begun, and I intend to win.

When I finally step out, I dry off quickly, slipping into a pair of loose sweatpants before collapsing onto my bed.

Even as exhaustion creeps in, my mind refuses to quiet. She’s trapped here. In my house. In my world.

And soon, in my bed.

A slow, wicked grin tugs at my lips as I close my eyes. Sweet dreams, Julie.

Chapter Eleven - Julie

I sit cross-legged on the floor of my room, my fingers running gently through the soft fur of the tiny kitten curled up in my lap. Its small body rises and falls with steady breaths, completely trusting, completely safe. The warmth of its fragile frame against me is comforting, grounding. It purrs faintly, a soft vibration against my palm, and for the first time in days, I feel something resembling peace.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I watch the kitten stretch, its tiny paws flexing before it settles deeper into my lap. He’s healing well, still a little tender when he walks, I think, but his energy is returning.

I whisper to it, nonsense words meant to soothe, though I suspect I’m the one seeking comfort.

This moment—this fragile, stolen piece of happiness—feels like a luxury I don’t deserve. The world outside this room is ruthless, filled with men who see me as nothing more than a pawn. But here, in this moment, with this tiny creature depending on me, I feel a sense of control, of purpose.

I close my eyes briefly, allowing myself to breathe, to forget everything beyond these walls. Peace never lasts. Not in this house.

The soft creak of the door hinges snaps me back to reality. I tense, my arms instinctively wrapping around the kitten as if I can shield it from whatever comes next. My pulse quickens, dread curling low in my stomach.

The door swings open fully, and a maid steps in, her expression blank. The moment shatters.

She stands there for a second, hesitant, before stepping inside. Draped over her arm is something shimmering andwhite. It catches the light from the small lamp on the bedside table, and for a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at.

Then she moves, carefully laying it across the bed. The fine silk pools like liquid over the sheets, delicate lace detailing catching in the dim light.

---