Page 25 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

“Give him more fluids,” she says without looking up. “If you want him awake long enough to talk, I’ll need more antibiotics. And ice. His fever’s climbing again.”

Her voice is tight, professional, but her body still hums with defiance.

I nod once to Boris, who slips from the room.

Elise doesn’t thank me.

I stand in the doorway, watching her, trying to remind myself what she is—leverage. Nothing more.

It’s getting harder to believe that. Harder still to look at her and not wonder how a stranger carved her way under my skin.

Chapter Six - Elise

The hours blur.

There are no windows in the room they’ve locked me in—just four walls, a thin mattress on the floor, and a steel bucket in the corner that makes me feel more like livestock than a prisoner. The walls are bare wood, knot-holed and splintered in places. Every sound echoes, and without light to mark the passage of time, I count the seconds by heartbeats. The rhythm changes sometimes, slows or speeds. Usually when I let myself think of him.

Kolya Sharov.

I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying to squeeze the thought of him out, but it never leaves for long. I can still feel the way his hand fisted my shirt, dragging me so close I could smell the cold steel of his gun, the burn of alcohol on his breath, and something darker beneath—power, maybe. Violence. Control. It’s not just fear that lingered in my spine after he shoved me back against that wall. It was the heat of him. The way the silence wrapped around us like a fuse, just waiting for the spark.

Ihatethat my mind returns to it.

Not because I’m afraid—though I am. Anyone in their right mind would be—but because fear would be easier to carry thanthis.This crawling, unwelcome burn under my skin. This awareness I can’t shake. The memory of the way his eyes locked on mine, not empty or wild but measured. Testing. Like he was weighing what to do with me. Or what I might do to him.

I curl tighter on the mattress, drawing my knees to my chest. My scrubs are still stiff with blood and grime. My hair’s tangled and falling out of its tie. I’ve been left with nothing but my own thoughts for what must be a full day, maybe more. No mirror. No clock. No answers.

The only human contact comes when the door creaks open, just enough for Boris to slide inside with a tray of food. The smell turns my stomach—stew, thick and over-salted, with a chunk of bread that looks like it was sliced with a rusted machete. But it’s warm.

I’m starving.

Boris sets it down without comment at first, his heavy boots thudding against the wood floor. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching me like I’m some kind of science experiment.

“Didn’t think you’d still be breathing,” he says finally.

I say nothing. I pick up the bread, break it in half, and bite. The crust tears at my lips, but it’s real. Solid. Something to focus on.

He smirks. “You know, you’re the first person to talk to Kolya like that and still have teeth.”

Still, I don’t respond, but the words sink their hooks in deep.

WhydoI still have teeth? Why am I still breathing?

I poked the bear. Pushed him. I called him a coward to his face, in front of his men, and he didn’t shoot me. He didn’t even slap me. He pulled me close, looked me in the eye… and then he walked away.

It doesn’t make sense.

Boris chuckles under his breath. “You’ve got a spine. I’ll give you that. Most people break the second he looks at them sideways, but you?” He clicks his tongue. “I think you got under his skin.”

I finish the stew in silence.

He doesn’t press further. After a few minutes, he picks up the empty tray and walks out, the door slamming shut behind him with a dull finality.

Alone again.

I shift on the mattress, lying on my back now, arms crossed over my chest. My eyes stare up at the ceiling, where a single bulb flickers now and then, casting stuttering shadows against the wood. I trace the patterns with my gaze. One knot in the ceiling looks like a bird’s wing, stretched in flight. Another like a spiral, curling inward.

Like a trap.

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