Page 31 of Used Bratva Bride

Yet, my thoughts refuse to settle.

The image of her lingers in my head—the way she had looked up at me last night, tears shining in her eyes but with her chin lifted, still fighting even as she crumbled.

I liked it, probably more than I should.

There’s something irresistible about it—fear and anger twisting together, making her eyes burn even brighter, her body tense as though she wanted to run but knew she couldn’t. Knew she was mine to control.

I exhale, rubbing my thumb along my jaw, considering.

Perhaps I should visit her. Not out of kindness—there’s no room for that—but out of curiosity. I want to see if she’s still shaking. If her lips will still tremble when she speaks to me, if she’ll still try to fight when she knows she’s already lost.

The thought of it—of standing close to her again, watching the emotions flicker across her face, feeling the heat of her skin when I brush too close—sends a slow burn curling through my chest.

She’s beautiful. I noticed it the first time I saw her, but’s more than that. It’s the way she looks when she’s cornered. The way her body goes still, like a rabbit caught in the sights of a wolf, knowing there’s no escape. I bet she’d look just as good like that in other situations.

Trembling. Breathless beneath me.

I exhale sharply, shaking the thought away before it can linger too long.

Distraction.

That’s all she is.

I reach for my phone, ready to call Ivan and tell him I’m heading down to see her. But before I can, the device vibrates in my palm.

I glance at the screen. The doctor.

Frowning, I answer. “Speak.”

The man on the other end clears his throat. “I’ve seen to Miss Spade. She’s recovering well. The fever has gone down, and the wound is healing properly.”

I say nothing, waiting.

“However,” the doctor continues hesitantly, “she’s still weak. She needs to eat more, drink more. If you want her to regain strength, she’ll need fresh air. Some movement.”

Before I can respond, Ivan’s voice cuts in from the background, sharp and unimpressed. “She gets enough fresh air through the window.”

I smirk slightly, knowing full well that window is barred shut.

The doctor hesitates. “That’s not quite the same thing, is it?”

Ivan exhales in irritation. “Besides, I can’t force her to eat.”

I consider that. I could force her, except subtle fear is a better motivator than brute force.

She’ll eat when she realizes starving herself won’t change her fate. She’ll drink when the thirst becomes unbearable. She’ll break when I decide it’s time.

“Do what you can,” I say flatly, then hang up before the doctor can respond.

For a moment, I sit in silence, my fingers tapping idly against the desk.

Julie Spade is recovering, that’s good.

It would be a shame for her to fall apart too soon. I want to watch her push back, even knowing it’s useless.

I picture her again—lips parted, breathing uneven, her body tense with uncertainty. The way she looked at me last night, caught between fear and defiance, was exquisite.

If I push her just right, if I step too close, if I murmur something dark against her skin just to watch her shudder…. I grin. That trembling wouldn’t just be from fear.

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