Page 23 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva
I was yet to understand why she looked at me with so much anger, as if I were the guy who played her.
“Tarasov,” I said, catching the glimpse of fear flickering in her eyes. “Yulian Tarasov. That’s my name.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and her breath caught in her throat. Her chest moved subtly, and she swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably.
I must admit, the shock and fear in her gaze, the way her face lost color, gave me some sort of comfort. My lips twisted into a self-satisfied grin as I watched her glance around as if hoping someone would swoop in and save her from this monster.
No one came.
Fascinating how my identity had her all rattled—scared to the bone like I wasn’t the same man she rode to cloud nine the other day. The same man whose name she moaned all night long.
Ester looked at me like I was the devil himself, like I was some mindless beast straight out of the pit of hell. And althoughI was already used to this kind of reaction from people, a part of me still hated thatshelooked at me like that.
She withdrew from me with slow steps, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. The closer I got, the more she stepped back until she finally hit a wall.
Trapped.
I halted before her, eyes boring into hers. I was tempted to tell her not to be afraid of me, but what difference would it make?
“Not so brave now, are you?” I teased, then leaned in, my breath against her ear. “Your last name’s put a giant bullseye on your back,malyshka. Now, I’m tempted to take a shot, and trust me: When I shoot, I don’t miss.”
She swallowed hard, and her body stiffened like she’d just braced herself. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
I leaned closer to her face, her warm breath against my skin, my eyes fixed on hers. My gaze swept over her body, taking in every detail, every curve and contour.
The air was thick with tension, and with this close proximity, I could almost tell what was going on in her head. The same thing was going on in mine—images of our time together that fateful night in NYC.
“Do you still think about that night?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
She flinched when I ran the back of my hand along her arm, and I could’ve sworn that I heard a soft purr escape her lips.
She didn’t respond. She just stared into my eyes, struggling to control her breathing.
My presence had shattered her defense, keeping her on her toes, unsure of what would happen next. She was petrified and aroused at the same time—I could see it beneath the defiance that masked her emotions.
A crooked smirk lined the corner of my lips, and my gaze lingered on her body a while longer. “Red looks good on you, by the way,” I said softly, then stepped away from her.
She stood rooted in place, her back still pressed against the wall. A sigh of relief escaped her full, boldly red lips. Clearly, she’d been holding her breath.
I flashed another grin at her and then quietly stepped away, leaving her confused, shaken, and burning with questions.
Chapter 9 – Ester
“Shit, shit, shit….” The words fell out of my mouth in a nervous rush as I walked into my room, trembling like I’d just seen a fuckin’ ghost.
I tossed my purse on the nearest table, hands flying into my hair in confusion. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I couldn’t stop pacing back and forth.
It was him. Yulian.
After these few months, I finally ran into him—the only man who’d messed with my sanity. This would’ve been a great reunion if he didn’t turn out to be my father’s worst enemy.
Tarasov.
The name was spat out like venom in this household, and my father’s hatred for the man knew no bounds. I wasn’t sure what exactly sparked their quarrel, but one thing I knew for sure was that Dad hated his guts. And from what I’d gathered, the feeling was mutual.
I dropped onto a couch by the window, cupping my face in my palms and pondering how messed up things had become. Yulian might have left without so much as a goodbye after giving me the best time of my life, but he was still the one man my heart beat for.
Seeing him tonight affected me more than I cared to admit. His voice—that deep, husky tone that always sent shivers down my spine—worked its magic on me. The scent of his cologne invaded my senses, leaving me disoriented and confused. And when his skin brushed against mine, I felt a familiar warmth spread across my body.
