Page 46 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

I just sit there, trembling in a cage of my own body.

Another thunderclap shatters the air. This time, without asking, Kolya reaches out and wraps his hand around my wrist.

I should pull away. Iwantto pull away.

With the storm clawing at the walls and my body on the edge of breaking again, I need something solid. Something real. Even if it’s him.

Especially if it’s him.

His hand stays wrapped around my wrist, warm and immovable.

I hate how much I need that warmth. How the weight of his touch steadies something inside me, even as every instinct screams to fight it. But my body’s traitorous—shaking still, sobs tapering into hiccups, too weak to resist the comfort, even if it comes from him.

Fromhim.

Another thunderclap rolls overhead. I jerk despite myself, a tremor racking through my shoulders.

Kolya’s thumb brushes along the inside of my wrist, the motion slow and deliberate. Not comforting exactly—he’s not that kind of man. But steady. Controlled. Like he’s reminding me who he is, and what he can do.

“Is this what breaks you?” he murmurs. “The weather?”

My throat tightens.

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you tried to escape twice, bled for it, and still looked me in the eye like you weren’t afraid.”

I don’t answer. Can’t.

His voice drops further, almost thoughtful. “But thunder leaves you shaking like a leaf.”

“It’s not the thunder,” I whisper. “It’s what it reminds me of.”

I don’t elaborate. I don’t need to. He doesn’t deserve that part of me. He’s silent a beat, then says, “I didn’t expect you to fall apart.”

“I didn’t expect you to care.”

Kolya doesn’t flinch. “You shouldn’t have trusted William.”

I turn my face toward the wall. My voice cracks. “He was all I had.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, carefully, “Now you have me.”

I laugh—hoarse, bitter, trembling. “That’s not comfort, Kolya. That’s a threat.”

Another crack of thunder makes me wince, but I don’t pull away from him. His grip on my wrist shifts. He moves closer, kneeling fully beside the bed now, and I feel the heat of his body as he leans in.

“You’re stronger than this,” he says softly. “I’ve seen it.”

“I don’t need your approval.”

“I’m not offering it.”

“Then whatareyou offering?”

His silence stretches again. My heart hammers.

Finally, he answers, voice rough and quiet: “I don’t know.”

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