Page 18 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
His frown darkened. “That’s it, you’re done.”
He was about to take a step toward me when the boss finally spoke, saying, “Leave her be, Luka.” His voice was casual and calm as always. “If the little shutterbug wants to speak, let her speak.” He lowered his head, facing his plate as he ate.
Luka. That’s the big guy’s name. Okay.
Luka’s glare intensified, his brows knitting tighter. If he had his way right now, he’d put a bullet in my head, that’s for sure.
“I want my freedom,” I blurted out. “Holding me prisoner is inhumane and is punishable by law.”
At this point, a small chuckle fell from Luka’s lips, as if my words were ridiculous. Maybe he was right.
My jailer raised his head and met my gaze for a while. His expression was still blank, his eyes cold as ice. He waved his hand casually, and in an instant, Luka dematerialized, his footsteps retreating as he left the room.
This is the part where you filter your next words carefully,the voice of fear whispered in my head.
“You want your freedom?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.
“Yes,” I said, looking right at him. “I have a life outside of these walls, you know—a life that you stole from me, and I am yet to understand why.”
“You know why.”
“No, I do not. I don’t know why!” I snapped, gesturing with my hands as the next words fell off my lips in a rush. “You said I was here because of the photos I posted onmyblog,because you thought that I was some private contractor hired to spy on you!”
“And you’re not?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I am not a spy!” I slammed both my palms on the table, pissed by his words and how annoyingly calm he was. “You’ve done your homework on me. You know I’m telling the truth. Why won’t you let me go?!” My voice rose with each sentence, blood boiling with rage.
He looked me dead in the eyes and said, his voice steady and measured, “Because I choose not to.”
I threw my hands in my hair, frustrated by his response. “You…are the devil incarnate!”
He cocked his head to the side as he reached for his glass of red wine. “I’ve been called worse,” he said, taking a sip.
“You think you’re powerful. You think you’re in control. Well, newsflash, you’re not!” I threw my hands up, voice slicing through the air. “You’re just a bitter old man hiding behind muscles and threats because that’s all you’ve got. Strip those away, and you’re nothing!”
Um…Wren, I think you’re starting to overstep. You need to calm the fuck down.
I wasn’t sure which of the two voices in my head had said that, but I was too pissed to listen.
The man just sat there, quiet, composed, and completely unaffected by my ranting. He looked at me like a man who was in control of the situation. And indeed, he was.
I leaned forward, chest heaving with jagged breaths, eyes blazing with fury. “You carry yourself like some king—a god to be worshipped. But you don’t fool me; all I see is a man desperate to feel in charge, and so he suffocates everyone else just to prove a point.”
He still didn’t respond.
You really should keep your mouth shut now.
I clenched my jaw, rage twisting my stomach.
He dabbed his lips with a napkin and then slowly rose to his feet.
Oh, fuck. We’re cooked.
He dipped a hand in his pocket and strolled toward me with that signature unreadable expression of his. His measured footsteps sent fear coiling in my chest, my pulse racing. But I wouldn’t let him see the effect his aura was having on me.
He stopped in front of me, eyes sizing me up. “You don’t know where to draw the line, do you?”
I swallowed hard, meeting his intense gaze. “Well, if you do the right thing and let me go, I’ll draw the line and be out of your hair.” My voice was much calmer this time.
