Page 14 of The Russian Pakhan's Forced Bride
“I gave her a room to stay in, and I’m planning on keeping her here for the time being. We need to know what happened and who the hell she really is,” I say, wondering just how much my patience can stretch for the matter. “Find out what’s going on. And be discreet.”
Mikhail, still drowsy despite the situation, sighs once more, and the sound of him shifting in bed carries through the phone. “Alright…I’ll get on it first thing.”
“Good. Get rested up…you’ll need it.”
“You got it.”
I let the slight drag in his voice linger before hanging up and tossing the phone aside with an exasperated breath.
As it lands on the nearby sofa, I catch a glimpse of the screen, seeing how it’s just after three, as Mikhail mentioned.
Sitting there in the dim living room and given the chance to let that fact sink in, I can feel the weight in my eyelids and how closing them is far too tempting. Regardless of the thoughts banging around in my head, I know I should get some sleep. It’s been quite the eventful Friday night, after all.
Making my way through the empty house, I drag myself along until I pause outside of my bedroom door and glance over at the spare.
Without giving it another thought, I head over and unlock the door before popping it open and slowly pushing inside.
The room’s dark for the most part, but the moonlight spraying across the floor offers me some sort of guide.
I don’t know why I’m drawing closer, but I tell myself it’s just to check on her. To make sure she’s still breathing and hasn’t done something stupid in the last few hours.
But as I drift towards the bed, I find her tucked beneath the sheets, fast asleep.
Curled on her side with those medium-length locks splayed across the pillow, she looks strangely peaceful. That tension is gone, and in sleep, she looks almost soft. Youthful.
In that moment of tranquility, she looks nothing like Maxim.
No…she looks beautiful. There’s no way she shares similar genes to that snake.
It’s either confirmation that she isn’t Viktoria Nikolaev or proof that time spent concealed behind a different identity has changed her.
Regardless, I don’t know what to think, and that’s not a typical thing for me.
Stepping closer, the floorboards groan faintly beneath my feet without making enough noise to make her stir. She doesn’t move a muscle.
Studying her, I take in the rise and fall of her chest. Her lips are barely parted, and the heaviness of those long lashes against the apples of her cheeks.
There’s something in that piece of hers that spells out temptation for me. That beauty of hers is drawing me in, and I want nothing more than to reach out and touch her.
I hate how easily those desires have crept in.
I don’t know her. I don’t know the truth of her identity or what could’ve gone wrong in my plan. Still…I know I chose to jump headfirst into it for reasons beyond getting back at Maxim.
Try as I might to convince myself it didn’t come from a selfish place, I still know that her photo pulled me in right from the start. I shouldn’t want her or anything to do with the mess I caused. Especially not after dragging her into everything despite her unwillingness.
I’ve seen more women in my life than are worth being counted, and I’ve slept with my fair share of them. Yet, none of them looked like this while sleeping under my roof.
None of them belonged here.
And yet, Victoria seems to fit. Like I’ve been waiting for her to cross my path all along.
Looking down at her, I feel the thrum of my instincts coming to life…the urge to protect her. To right what I’ve wronged.
Even more so, I can’t let her go, even if I should.
She might not be Viktoria Nikolaev, but she has seen too much.
She knows my face and my name, and she’s been in my home. She’s a civilian who has been swept into a world she never should’ve seen.
