Page 11 of Cruel Russian Pakhan
But you already did. You married him.
“I’ll make you regret the day you set eyes on me. I’ll be the most horrible wife in the history of all time,” I threw back. I didn't want my body responding to him. “You destroyed my future! I hate you.”
And I did! I despised the man standing in front of me.
“You can hate me all you want. But I know women like you, stubborn…defiant…” His finger trailed my cheek, leaving a heated trail. “I’ve been with more of you than I can count, and theyalwaysgive me what I want in the end. You won’t be any different.”
And I hated that despite my hatred for him, my body responded to him in the most delicious ways possible. Ugh!
“You can kiss my ass!” I spat.
“Soon enough, I’ll do way more than kiss that rounded ass of yours.”
I slid from between him and the bureau, heart thundering, and stalked across the room before he could see the blush that rushed to my cheeks. I yanked open one of the doors on the left, silently begging it not to be a closet.
It wasn’t. It was a bathroom. Thank God!
I slammed it shut behind me, locked it, then slid down until my butt hit the cool tile.
Katya, you’ve really stepped in it this time. Not just stepped into it, but swan-dived and face-planted into a forced marriage to the psycho man who kidnapped you.
Then a darker thought crept into my mind.
What if there's no way out?
Katya, that isn't an option.
I sat there for another ten minutes before finally getting up. I used the bathroom, since I was already in it, and stepped back into the room. It was empty. Thank God. I yanked the wedding band off my finger and tossed it on the bureau.
That was when I saw my handbag on the bed.
Hope sparked in me. I rushed over and emptied its contents: a Chapstick…a few napkins…old grocery bills.
“Where was it?” I mumbled.
I sat on the bed, feeling defeated. My phone was missing.
Did Lev take it so I couldn’t call for help?
Then I remembered. No…it wasn’t Lev. I left it charging in the kitchen this morning while making breakfast, since I forgot to plug it in last night. In my excitement to get to the interview on time, I forgot to pick it up.
Dammit.
But who would I have called anyway? The police? I was married to the guy, and I wasn't injured. And if they knew they were heading to Lev’s house, they might not even bother to come.
We were in an upscale part of Philadelphia where police probably only showed up if there was a theft in the area. It would be Lev’s word against mine, and with my history with the police, I didn’t think I’d win. And with no friends to vouch for me, that only weakened my case.
I pushed myself off the bed, walked to the bedroom door, and turned the knob. I slapped the door. The sting of it made me swear under my breath. Of course, he locked the door.
I made my way to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
Guards dressed in black patrolled outside, cradling massive guns. Even if I picked the lock on the door, I’d still have to get past them.
I had to play it smart.
The next day, when I woke up, the walk-in closet had been stocked with clothes, shoes, and accessories, all with outlandish price tags. Meals were brought in on a tray, but I barely touched them.
Over the next few days, I spent most of my time by the window, watching the guards, memorizing their routines, their shift changes.
