Page 52 of Captive Prize

A tingling sensation traveled up my spine, and a smile pulled at my lips. My littleprintsessawas giving me a challenge.

A woman as strong as Zoya shouldn’t be easily captured or easily contained. She was going to make me work for every single inch I took, and I couldn’t wait.

After texting for another guard to come help his fallen colleague, I stalked through the cabin looking for her, hunting her, my Glock in one hand and a knife in the other.

There was no trail of bodies left like breadcrumbs for me to follow. That probably had more to do with the skeleton staff in the cabin than anything else.

She almost killed one man easily enough, and now she had his gun. I had no doubt she would take out anyone who got in her way. Zoya was fierce like that. Strong and fearless.

Stalking her through the cabin made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t felt in years. I was a hunter, following my prey—the wild, man-eating jungle cat.

It didn’t take long for me to find her in a hallway leading to the back door. Her stolen gun was trained on one of my men.

I could have just grabbed her by the hair and dragged her back like an animal. But I wanted her to know I was right behind her. I wanted her to feel the moment I took back control.

So instead, I moved silently, creeping up on her until I could press the gun between her shoulder blades.

Her entire body tensed before she whipped around faster than I thought possible and her head slammed into my gun.

Zoya pistol-whipped herself.

That was a first.

I opened my mouth to give her so much shit for that but before I could say anything she stumbled and then grabbed the wall. The hit didn’t have enough force to knock her out, but it certainly appeared to have the room spinning for her.

This was going to be fun. I didn’t want her to have any excuses, so I gave her a minute to collect herself. I wanted her to be as vicious and sharp-witted as ever when I took her back to the office and punished her severely.

It wouldn’t be nearly as enjoyable if she didn’t fight back.

Then the bleeding started.

All head wounds bled a lot.

But this was more than normal.

It wasn’t a slow trickle, or even a small river trailing from the impact site.

Blood gushed from her head in thick, sticky pulses. It coated her temple and ran down her cheek, soaking into her collar and dripping onto the floor.

Her skin paled even more before the light behind her angry green eyes dimmed.

“Jesus Christ, baby. What the hell?” I rasped, but even as I cursed, my hand trembled—because I’d seen men die from less.

Still, she lifted her gun, her hand shaking and her expression defiant.

Even injured and losing an ungodly amount of blood, she was still fighting.

This woman would never go down without a battle.

The muzzle of the gun shook wildly as she placed her finger on the trigger.

My hand whipped out, grabbing it and wrenching it from her fingers. It was far too easy to take it from her.

She was losing strength, and fast.

“Zoya?” I said, just before she stumbled forward.

I didn’t think.

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