Page 10 of Watched and Bred By the Bratva
He doesn't flinch. "My home." His voice is lower than I expect, quiet enough that I have to lean a fraction to catch it. "You're safe."
The blanket clamps tighter around my ribs. "Safe would mean I was asleep in the apartment you promised to take me to before you drugged me."
He doesn't respond to my accusation. His face is beautiful granite, unyielding and unreadable. I discreetly slide my thighs against each other, and his brow arches. He knows what I'm doing, but I don't care. I need to know what he's done to me, but I'm fine. He hasn't defiled me... yet.
He nods at the tray. "Drink."
"You're out of your mind if you think I'm drinking anything you give me ever again—"
"Zara." One word. Not loud. Final anyway. "I won't tell you anything until you drink. Hydration. Then answers. That's the order."
Steam rolls off the cup. Chamomile and honey. My mouth aches with dryness and suspicion at the same time. His gaze doesn't waver. I pick it up with both hands so he can see me and sip. Warmth slides down my throat. The ache eases.
He exhales slowly, like he's been holding breath with me.
"Ground rules," he says. "One rule, really."
I set the cup down, palms tight around the porcelain. "Of course there are rules."
"Honesty. I don't lie." He's three feet away and somehow close enough to touch. "You don't either. Say what's true, even if it cuts."
My laugh sounds more like a cough. "You don't lie? You drug a woman—"
"You offered to take me home—"
He waves his arm around the bedroom. "And I did. So, no lie."
"Fine." I lift my chin until my neck stretches and hurts a little. "I choose not to correct the obvious. You go first. Why am I here?"
"Because you wanted to be here." His voice strips down to bone. "Because what you want most doesn't fit in a gift bag." A beat. "Children, safety, and security. I'm giving you all of it."
I'm shaking my head before he finishes. "Most women want the same. You don't get to decide when or how I get it."
"I already did." That not-smile touches his mouth. Not cruel. Certain.He pauses. "You completed your last step at New Beginnings." My stomach drops to my knees. "During the interview, you told the doctor what you want."
My chest cinches tight. "How, when— You do not—"
"I own it." A single, impossible sentence.
Silence thunders. The room is too pretty for it—the pale floors, the big windows, the soft rug under my toes. He looks like sin parked in a cathedral. Calm even while he sets fire to my rules.
"Why?" I ask, but his only answer is that infuriating stone face. "You bought a clinic because of me?" My voice is soft and ugly at once.
"Yes." No apology. "Because of you."
The porcelain taps the tray when I set the cup down. Tiny clink, huge in this quiet. "You can't just— Even if you're the owner, HIPAA laws exist for a reason," I whisper. "Privacy laws. You can't just—"
"I can." He doesn't blink. "I did."
The floor shifts. The room lists like a deck in a storm. I grip the blanket, knuckles whitening. "Have you been watching me?"
"Yes." He doesn't blink. "I have."
The floor shifts. The room lists like a deck in a storm. I grip the blanket, knuckles whitening. "This is sick."
"Yes." His eyes warm instead of dim. "It is."
"Do you hear yourself?" I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to throw the cup at the wall to see if he flinches. "You're a nightmare."
