Page 28 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

The flutter it sent through my chest, my stomach. The jolt when he stepped forward, as if I’d forgotten how to breathe. I want to pretend it was fear. That itonlyscared me.

I know fear. Intimately. This was something different.

I clean the needle, dispose of the gauze, then strip off the gloves and toss them into the bin. My finger still aches faintly, but it’s not the wound that stays with me—it’s his voice. That mocking tone. The way he used cruelty to cover what had nearly happened.

To cover care.

I press the heel of my hand to my chest, trying to steady my heart. Then I straighten, wiping my palms on the front of my scrub pants.

He left without dismissing me, but I know better than to wander. I wait at the door, pulse still too high, willing the air to cool the flush I can’t explain.

This isn’t attraction. Itcan’tbe.

I’m a hostage. He’s a monster.

Yet, the second I hear his footsteps again in the hall, my breath catches.

Damn him.

Chapter Seven - Kolya

The whiskey burns, but not enough.

I take another swallow, the glass heavy in my hand, the silence of the room too loud to ignore. The fire in the hearth crackles low—lazy orange light licking across the dark grain of the walls, casting my shadow long behind me. The bottle beside me is half empty, the ice in the glass long melted. I’m not drunk. I don’t get drunk. But I’m chasing it anyway, like I might outrun the way she made me feel.

Elise. FuckingElise.

I close my eyes and lean back in the chair, the wood creaking beneath my weight, and it’s not her name that grates—it’s how it sounds in my head. Not like a hostage. Not like a liability. But like something sharp and dangerous. Something alive.

She was supposed to be a tool. A temporary necessity. Someone with a steady hand and enough training to keep Yuri breathing until he was useful again. I expected tears. Panic. Quiet compliance. Instead, I got a woman who looks me in the eye when I threaten her, who talks back with a mouth made for more than defiance.

That mouth….

I take another drink, this time slower.

She looked at me tonight like she could see straight through every inch of my control. Like the gun in my hand didn’t matter. Like I was the one exposed.

That little scratch on her finger—barely a wound—and the way she flinched, just for a second. The kind of reflex that makes a man want to reach out, to touch, to reassure. For a heartbeat, Ialmostdid.

I hate that. I hate that her eyes stayed locked on mine, daring me to speak, to move, to dosomething.

I hate the way her voice slid under my skin when she snapped at me, soft but savage—“At least I don’t need a gun to feel like a man.”

I should’ve silenced her right then. Should’ve let Boris drag her out, reminded her exactly who holds the power here. Instead, I walked away.

If I stayed, I might’ve done something worse, something reckless.

I grip the edge of the glass tighter and let my head fall back, staring at the dark rafters overhead. My thoughts circle her like blood in water, and it’s not just her mouth that haunts me now—it’s the way her hands moved over Yuri’s body with that quiet competence. She didn’t flinch at the smell, at the heat, at the sight of torn flesh. Her fingers were steady, her breathing tight but focused.

She looked good like that. Too good. Bent over, focused, determined. Capable.

Fuck.

I shift in the chair, the heat in my gut deepening, crawling lower. The fire cracks again behind me, casting her face across the walls of my mind—those sharp green eyes, full of fury, lit like embers even when she was terrified. She’s fire under pressure. A controlled burn. The kind of woman who doesn’t break. The kind of woman who’d fight you while she was bleeding.

I wonder how long she’d keep fighting if I had her pinned beneath me.

If I pressed her back against the wall again—not with anger this time, but with hunger. If I slid my hand beneath that bloodstained waistband and found her soft and wet for me. Would she still glare at me with that same defiance? Or would she finally crack? Moan my name, maybe beg a little, just enough for me to taste the difference between hate and want?

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