Page 41 of Captive Virgin of the Bratva

She backs away, but there’s nowhere to go.

Her hand brushes the wall, like touching something solid might keep her upright.

The sob that escapes her chest is broken, wet. She turns from me, shoulders curling inward. Her knees give. She slides down to the floor, arms around herself as if she can still hold on to some sliver of control.

“You’re lying,” she whispers. “You’re just trying to break me.”

I crouch beside her, close enough that my breath stirs her hair.

“I don’t have to lie, Elise,” I say, softer now, dragging my knuckles gently down her jaw. “That’s the worst part. You always belonged to us. You just didn’t know it.”

She turns her head away, but I grab her chin, making her look at me.

Her tears spill fast, quiet, no longer hidden behind that wall of fire she always kept so carefully intact.

I brush one away with my thumb. Her skin is cold. Her pulse beats fast and frantic beneath her jaw. I rest my hand there; just enough to feel it, enough to let her know who holds it now.

Her whole body trembles.

“You belong to me,” I say, voice low but firm. “Now. Always.”

Her breath catches.

“You don’t get to run. You don’t get to hide behind the past. You’re mine.”

She tries to shake her head, but my grip tightens—still not choking, but enough to still her, to remind her I could.

“You killed him,” she whispers. “You killed Yuri. You’d kill me too.”

I lean in, my lips near her ear. “I didn’t kill you.”

“Not yet, but how do I know you won’t?”

I smile against her cheek. “You’re not disposable. Not to me.”

She closes her eyes. I feel the tension in her jaw, the way her hands curl into fists in her lap. She’s terrified. Not just of me. Ofherself. Of what part of her doesn’t pull away.

“I hate you,” she breathes.

“You’ll learn to thank me,” I reply.

The thing is—I almost believe it.

She doesn’t speak. Not a word, not a breath. Her mouth stays parted like there’s something caught between her teeth—something she wants to say, but won’t. Her eyes shimmer, wide and glassy, and for a long moment I think she’ll scream. Fight. Spit something vicious at me the way she always does.

Something about that silence unnerves me more than anything else she could’ve done.

My fingers are still around her throat—not tight, not painful, just there. Just enough for her to feel the weight of them, the threat beneath the surface. Her skin is ice. Her pulse flutters like a bird trapped under glass.

Then her knees buckle.

“Elise—” I catch her before she hits the floor.

Her body folds into mine without resistance, all tense limbs and frayed nerves gone slack in an instant. Her head lolls forward against my chest, her breath shallow and thin. I drop to one knee, holding her upright. My other hand finds the back of her head instinctively, cradling it as if she might shatter if I let her fall.

She’s fainted. Fucking hell.

I pull her closer without thinking. Her hair brushes my chin. Her cheek presses into the front of my coat. Her tears—fresh ones—are still wet against her skin. And for a moment, all the noise in my head dies.

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