Page 91 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

Kolya nods once.

“She alright?”

“She will be,” Kolya says.

He opens the door and lifts me inside like I weigh nothing. As he climbs in after me, I glance back at the building—flames licking the roofline, smoke billowing into the stars.

That place was meant to break me, but Kolya burned it to the ground instead.

The SUV hums beneath us, a low, steady rhythm that should feel soothing. But my body’s still trembling.

I sit stiff in the seat, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped tight around them. My hair sticks to my face in damp, tangled strands, and there’s blood smeared across my shirt—not mine, but I don’t know whose. Maybe that’s worse. My whole body aches, and my wrists sting where the zip ties cut into my skin.

Then it’s just us.

The doors shut. Boris says something low to the driver and disappears. It’s just Kolya now, breathing heavily across from me, his broad chest rising and falling beneath his ruined black shirt. Blood paints his skin, his hands, the blade still tucked into the waistband of his trousers. It’s not that that makes my heart hammer harder.

It’s the way he looks at me.

Like I’m here. Safe.His.

He moves slowly at first. As if he knows that if he rushes, I might shatter. He reaches for my wrists.

I flinch—an instinct I hate, one I can’t suppress.

Kolya doesn’t comment. He just takes my hands in his, turning them over to inspect the damage. The pads of his fingers glide over my raw skin, his touch so gentle it doesn’t feel real. It feels like the calmafterthe hurricane, and that somehow makes it harder to bear.

The tears start before I realize they’ve come. I don’t sob. I just sit there, silently shaking, wetness sliding down my cheeks.

He unties the last of the frayed restraints, working with careful precision. His hands are still stained from the men he killed minutes ago—some of it already drying under his fingernails. And still, his touch is tender.

Once I’m free, I let my hands fall into my lap. They tremble. I stare at them like they belong to someone else. Then I feel his gaze again, and I look up.

His eyes are molten. Still furious, still wild—but there’s something else now. Something wounded underneath it all. Like watching me like this is undoing him.

“Why?” I whisper.

My voice is raw, like I haven’t spoken in hours. I haven’t.

Kolya’s brow furrows.

“Why would you come for me?” I ask again, louder this time. “After everything I’ve done. After Ileft.”

His jaw tics. “You’re mine.”

The words snap like a whip in the quiet. Hard. Brutal. Undeniable.

I should fight him on it. Throw it back in his face. Tell him I don’t belong to anyone.

Except, Iwantedhim to come. Icalledfor him.

I prayed he would find me in that darkness, and he did. Not just with bullets, not just with fury—but with the kind of force that saysnothing will touch what’s mine and live to tell it.

My body gives in first. I slide forward, out of the corner, and into his lap without a word. He catches me instantly, arms folding around my waist as I curl against his chest. His warmth seeps into me. His scent—smoke, leather, blood, and something that’s justhim—fills my lungs.

I bury my face against his throat. He exhales, one long breath, like maybe he was holding it the whole time.

“I was so scared,” I whisper into his skin.

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