Page 31 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
If he’s accusing me of things, well, I have questions too.
I slam the door to his bedroom shut behind me. He’s lying flat on his bed, going through his phone, but when he hears me, he rises on his elbows and gives me another amused look.
I make my way to his bed and take the other side, my feet truly hurting now. I fall flat on my back and turn to face him.
“Tell me who those men were,” I ask.
He groans, as if to say, “This again?”
“Tell me!” I ask again, more forcefully now. “Or I’ll run. I swear!”
Ilariy sighs heavily, then shuffles for something in his bedside drawer and pulls out a pair of handcuffs. “I didn’t want to do this,” he says. “But you leave me no choice.”
“What the hell?” I scream, trying to scramble off his bed, but before I can react, he grabs my wrist and snaps one cuff around it. I shriek and try to pull away, but he’s too strong and manages to cuff my hand to the bedpost, keeping me in place.
“You’re insane, you know that?” I scream, writhing to get free, but the iron digs into my wrist.
“You shouldn’t have threatened to run,” he says simply, then falls back flat on the bed.
“I hate you,” I spit.
“No, you don’t.” He says it so calmly that I want to scream.
“Don’t tell me what I feel!”
“Then stop lying to yourself.” He stands and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “You were going to run. Weren’t you? You said so yourself. I’m making sure you don’t get yourself in trouble like you did yesterday. I won’t always be around to save your ass, you know?”
“I was only in trouble because of you!” I shriek.
“True, but I can’t change that. I can, however, keep you safe,” he shrugs and throws his shirt on a chair. I know I shouldn’t, but even now, in the midst of my rage, while being handcuffed to his bed, I can’t help but let my eyes wander across the planes of his chest, across all those hardened muscles that glint under the soft hotel lighting.
“Like what you see?” His devilishly proud voice brings me back to attention.
“Screw you!” I hiss.
“Whatever you say, princess,” he chuckles, andcontinues to undress.
“What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly alarmed at the sight of his trousers falling to the ground.
“Getting ready for bed,” he says, now in his boxers. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep to my side.”
“You can’t be serious. You’re going to handcuff me to the bed and then sleep beside me?”
“Would you prefer I leave you handcuffed in bed alone? What if a fire breaks out or something?” He raises an eyebrow and notices the doubt in my eyes. “I didn’t think so.”
I tug at the handcuffs again, but they’re solid. Damn him.
“This is insane,” I mutter.
“You keep saying that,” he says. The next thing I know, he gets into bed, slides into the covers beside me, and turns off the light, leaving just one night lamp on.
The room is suddenly dark, intimate, and he reaches over, putting a decorative throw over me.
“You get the blanket and I get the throw?” I say, annoyed.
He turns to me, his brown eyes darker now, his features soft. “Behave, and I’ll give you a blanket next time.”
“Who are you?” I ask, turning to my side, one hand still clinging to the bedpost.
