Page 11 of Forced Bratva Hostage

Hopefully, the priest will call me soon enough that I don’t have to worry about food here—we can get the marriage signed off and get to the mansion.

Chapter 4 - Tatiana

The door closes, and I stir awake, roused by the sound of his quiet footsteps on the wooden floor of this musty cabin.

It smells like old wood and damp forest.

I don’t really want to admit it, but I kind of like the smell. If I close my eyes and ignore the handcuffs cutting into my wrists, I imagine this is what camping might smell like. Earth and nature.

I’m exhausted, right down to my bones. My head is aching, my throat is sore, and I’m thirty and tired and hungry and cold and annoyed. Every muscle is sore because of the weird positions I had to sleep in with my hands locked against this shelf.

I can’t believe this asshole left me like this.

Stupidly, I kicked the blankets off last night, almost as soon as he left. And I’ve been freezing cold all night, which didn’t help me get any decent sleep. Not that I was expecting to get any.

Rolling onto my back, I realize my dress is all the way up around my waist, and I groan loudly. That asshole got a full show this morning.

My eyes drift to the tiny window. From the mattress on the floor I have a view of the sky. It’s starting to glow with pale pink and baby blue tints as the sun slowly creeps into the sky.

It’s really pretty.

From my bedroom back at the estate, I can see a road and a big hill far in the distance. The sky isn’t always clear—not like this—because we are right on the edge of the city.

In the morning, the air sometimes smells like traffic, sometimes like the ocean, but never like the forest. Never like this.

I roll onto my tummy and crawl forward, dragging the cuffs up the shelves and standing so that I can pull my dress down. It’s awkward and difficult, but I manage.

Then I lean with my back against the wall and sigh loudly.

I need to pee.

And I’m not using that fucking bucket.

I hate having to ask for help, but right now I have no choice.

“Hello,” I shout into the cabin, rolling my eyes to try and dispel my annoyance. “Hey, Mr. Asshole Kidnapper—I have to pee,” I shout again.

The door pushes open, and he’s standing there, his face void of emotion as he silently stares at me in the dim morning light.

“I have to pee.”

He glances at the bucket, not saying a word.

“Oh, come on, you cannot be serious about that,” I huff. There is no way I am peeing in a bucket. Not a chance. And then what—he’s going to clean it out and bring it back? No. Not happening.

The mischievous smile that slowly spreads across his lips makes my heart skip.

Fuck.

He’s actually fucking gorgeous.

I wasn’t paying attention last night.

But damn, this man is fucking sexy. His blonde hair is long enough to be messy, tousled around by his hand as he obviously tried to brush it out of his eyes.

Even in the low light, I can see how green his eyes are, piercing and full of mystery. There is a dark tattoo on the side of his neck, framing his jaw and running down, out of sight beneath his shirt.

I bite my bottom lip and scrunch my nose up. I shouldnotbe perving my kidnapper. There are psychiatric diagnosis for people who end up attracted to their kidnappers. Hell no.

---