Page 4 of Kidnapped & Bred By The BRATVA
She clears her throat, clutching the gown tighter. “My father… he’ll never forgive this.”
“Good.”
Her eyes widen, but I don’t take it back. I mean it. Her father traded her to better his chances of winning at the next election. He doesn’t deserve forgiveness.
Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling faster, and I swear I can smell the shift in her. Fear giving way to something sweeter, darker.
I lean in, close enough that her veil brushes my cheek. “You’re mine now, Olivia.”
She shivers at the sound of her name.
The rest of the drive passes in silence, heavy and electric, my brothers keeping their mouths shut for once. The mansionlooms ahead, its stone façade stark against the sky, a fortress that will keep her safe from anyone who thinks they can take her back.
The car rolls to a stop. My brothers file out first, their movements efficient, checking the perimeter, scanning for threats. I don’t wait. I push open my door, circle to her side, and pull her out into my arms again.
Her hands clutch at my shoulders instinctively, not to push me away but to steady herself. She fits there too well with her chest pressed against mine and her lips parted while she looks up at me. My cock throbs again and I feel the strain on what’s left of my sanity.
Inside the house, the air is warm tinged with the scent of the fireplaces that are all lit and heating the house. I stride through the grand entryway, past the watchful eyes of servants who know better than to question me. Up the sweeping staircase, down the hall, straight to my suite.
I kick the door open and carry her inside.
Finally, I set her down.
The gown glows orange in the firelight, a shimmering prison I intend to strip away. She looks up at me, wide-eyed, lips parted, trembling with something that isn’t just fear anymore.
My scar pulls tight as my mouth curves in the faintest of smiles.
She’s mine.
And tonight, she’ll know it.
Olivia
I should be terrified.
A stranger ripped me from the altar, carried me out of the church in front of everyone I’ve ever known, and shoved me into his car like I was nothing but a prize to be claimed. I should be shaking, sobbing, begging to be taken back.
But I’m not.
All I can think, the thought that beats louder than the thunder of my pulse, isthank God it wasn’t the groom.
The relief is almost dizzying. I don’t want to marry him. I never did. He looked at me like I was a burden, like I was a leash my father had fastened around his neck. And I could already picture the life that would follow: cold dinners, silence, maybe children raised in the same hollow house where I was trained to smile and obey.
Instead, I’m here. With him.
The car stops in front of the mansion, stone and shadow rising like a fortress against the sky. Before I can gather myself, he’s opening my door, pulling me out with hands that are too sure, too strong. My fingers clutch his shoulders instinctively, not to fight, but to keep from falling.
The mansion swallows us whole. Dark wood, polished marble, chandeliers that glitter with a kind of old-world menace.Servants glance up but quickly look away, their silence an unspoken vow.
He doesn’t slow. He doesn’t explain. His stride is relentless, dragging me through corridors until we reach a door larger than the others. He pushes it open with his shoulder, and suddenly I’m in his world.
The suite is vast. High ceilings, heavy curtains, furniture in deep, masculine tones. It smells of leather, cedar, and something faintly metallic. My skin prickles.
He shuts the door behind us, and the click of the lock echoes like a verdict.
I spin toward him; breath caught in my throat. “What do you want from me?”
His eyes burn as they rake down my body, searing through satin and lace like they’re layers of tissue paper. He doesn’t answer right away. He takes his time, closing the space between us until my back presses against the wall and he stands only inches away.
