Page 9 of Watched and Bred By the Bratva
“To give you what you went to that clinic for.”
Her mouth drops. Her throat works. “That’s impossible. There are privacy laws—how did you—”
“You’re in my world now. Consider yourself Alice in a hole where the rules are different. The laws protect files. They don’t shield patients from employees. Or from their owner.”
She blinks. “Wait. Are you telling me you own the clinic?”
“I do now.”
“And you bought it because—”
“Because of you.” I finish it for her. “You have one week until ovulation. When that day comes, it will be my pleasure, my honor, my duty to fill your precious body with every drop of my seed until you carry the child you’ve always wanted—the child I didn’t know I wanted until I met you.”
“I don’t understand,” she whispers.
“Let me make it clear. You’re mine. My woman. My life. My future.” Her head shakes hard enough I cradle the back of it so she won’t hurt herself. “I’ve seen your book collection,” I add, quieter. “All those fantasy mafioso stories where men say ‘Mine’ like it’s a game. I don’t say it lightly. This isn’t an author’s imagined happily-ever-after. It’s reality—more fantastical than anything on the page. You’ll have everything you dreamed of. That’s your real graduation. I couldn’t wrap it and leave it on a table.”
My thumb rests near the corner of her mouth; I feel the small swallow. Her lashes flicker. Finally: “You’ve been watching me.”
“Yes.”
“You were stalking me.”
“Yes.”
Silence charges the air.
“What happened with Wissam today?” she asks. “Why did he leave so suddenly after talking to me?”
“Another gift for my girl.” I let her see the truth in it. “When he put his hands on you in that shop, I’ve never been more fevered to put a bullet in a man’s head. The only things that saved him were your words—‘just a friend’—and that he’s leaving the country. He keeps living under your protection. If he comes back, he doesn’t.”
She inhales and exhales like she’s steadying a glass she doesn’t want to drop. “You’re crazy. Insane.”
I let my hands drop, curling them into fists so I don’t reach for her again. “Those are cruel labels. Maybe.” A breath. “I’ve heard it said that music soothes the savage beast.” I lean in, eyes locked on hers. “Zara… you’re my symphony. I’m willing to pay any price for that concert for the rest of my life. If it means giving you everything you’ve ever wanted, I will. I swear.”
“You don’t know what that is,” she whispers.
I take her hand, open her fingers, and thread them into my hair. Her eyes widen; a small gasp escapes.
“Then teach me,” I murmur. “Teach me, Zara.”
Zara
Iwake in heat and silence.
Sheets whisper against my skin. Too smooth to be mine. The light is pale—soft as mist—slanting across a room big enough to swallow my apartment whole. My throat scrapes when I breathe.
Not my bed. Not my ceiling.
Him.
I sit up too fast and the world tilts. Blanket clutched to my chest, I scan what I can't make sense of—high windows, pale stone, a tray on a low table with a steaming cup. A chair in the corner.
And him in it.
Nikolai leans forward, elbows on his knees, like he's been carved there. Hazel eyes fixed on me. Hair uncombed, a crooked healing nick on his chin that shouldn't look good and somehow does. That stare pins me to the headboard I want to use as a shield. I want to hide beneath it.
"What did you do to me?" The words scrape out before I can soften them. "Where am I?"
