Page 17 of Ruinous Need
DEAR GOD.
I’m not used to this.
My hands curl into fists at the sight of Lisette wearing my hoodie and sweatpants, her slim frame drowning in the dark fabric, as she sips from a huge mug of tea. She’s perched on the stool with both feet tucked beneath her.
As I watch, she tilts her head at the newspaper, her blonde hair spilling across her face while she bites her lip in concentration. Her knee is jiggling, moving up and down as she thinks.
The sight sends the blood rushing away from my head to a place that shouldn’t be responding to her.
My cock needs to learn the stakes involved here.
Because if Semyon found out, he would cut it off. Without hesitation. Using a pair of rusty scissors. Before leaving me to bleed out or die from tetanus.
Not only that, but she’s a full fourteen years younger than me. And entirely under my guard.
I am not mentally or physically prepared to see her every day. That much is certain. Especially not if she keeps crossing lineslike this.
“Who said you could wear that?” I growl as I approach the breakfast bar.
“You. You said I could help myself.” Her voice is light, cheery, though it’s early in the morning. She frowns at a crossword in the newspaper, tapping her hand against the mug. She doesn’t seem worried about my mood. She should be.
“To the living room and kitchen. Not my bedroom.” When she meets my simmering gaze, her eyes flash with amusement. She unfolds her legs to kick her feet against the chair.
I’m radiating anger and danger. I’m wearing military fatigues. There are five weapons strapped to various places on my body.
But still she looks at me with a shy-yet-cheeky smile. Like the sensors that detect danger in her brain are faulty.
“What did you expect me to wear? I didn’t exactly pack a bag for my kidnapping.”
I sigh and brace myself against the kitchen island. My knuckles turn white with the strength of my grip. I should have thrown her in the cells like Semyon ordered. “There were clothes in the guest room. Women’s clothes.”
I had borrowed them from Vera, my brother’s wife. She works as a lawyer for the Bratva. They looked like they were about the right size. Buying new clothes for a hostage had seemed excessive at the time.
Lisette wrinkles her nose. “I didn’t think you were expecting me to go to a business meeting. I wanted to wear something comfortable, not a silk blouse.”
This woman.
It’s been two nights and already she feels comfortable enough to talk back to me. I’m clearly doing something wrong.
I rip the mug from her hands and set it on the counter, spinning her stool around so she’s facing me.
“Lisette.” My voice is low and dangerous as I grit out her name but she looks up at me eagerly. With a pretty smile that doesn’t seem the least bit forced.
“Viktor.” There’s a teasing note there but not a single tremor in her voice.
“You are under my watch. And I may not be the Pakhan, but rest assured, I make the rules here. I have permission to keep you in line however I deem necessary. So, here are the ground rules. You do not communicate with the outside world. You do not go into rooms without permission. And you do not nap in my bed.”
She frowns at that last one, her soft lips bunching together in a pout. The movement, the plushness of her flesh, sends me barreling into a dirty fantasy where I force those lips open. “So you have been watching me. I couldn’t find any cameras.”
As if I would need cameras to know she’d napped in my room when I can smell her on my bedsheets.
“I’m not just watching you, Lisette. I’m keeping you here. By any means necessary.”
“And you just follow whatever orders the Pakhan gives you?” Her mouth twists.
“That’s my job. I’ve killed people for him.”
“And will you kill me?”
