Page 16 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
She glared at me, her expressive hazel eyes shifting between amber and green in the soft hallway light. Her oversized shirt and baggy jeans hid her petite frame, and her golden hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few strands framing her face.
“Kidnapping strangers and playing warden,” she said, staring at me. “You think that’s noble?”
“Do I look like a man who gives a shit about nobility?” I asked, my voice a low growl. “You should be grateful that you’re not still rotting in my dungeon.” I paused, letting the words sink in. “Keep this up, and you’ll end up back there much sooner than you can think.”
Her brows furrowed, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths as she walked away, heading toward her room.
She’s pissed. Good.
However, I was almost certain that that stubborn shutterbug wouldn’t back down; she wouldn’t break easily. There was a fire in her eyes that masked her fear, and that flame was what drew me in like steel to a magnet.
Wren was different from most of the women I’d met: stubborn, relentless, and insufferably defiant. She was proud, and that pride kept her from showing fear. So, she hid behind wit and sharp-tongued sass. However, I could see through her arrogance, through the brave front she put up.
Deep down, she was just a scared little girl, desperate to go home.
Chapter 7 – Wren
No camera. No laptop. No books. Nothing to keep my mind occupied other than the flat screen TV in my room. How could I waste my time watching some silly show when my life was slowly plunging into darkness?
I had no idea where I was or who my captor was. No name to the face. Nothing. Everyone at the mansion, guards and maids, seemed to all be going about their normal lives like there wasn’t a kidnapped girl held against her will in the upper room.
No one had said anything to me—not even the maids. It was like their boss had warned them not to get involved with me. Why? I wasn’t entirely sure yet, the same way I wasn’t sure why he still kept me prisoner.
He’d had his men kidnap me because he thought that I was working for someone—a rival gang, maybe. But it had been three days already. Hadn’t he still figured out that I was who I said I was, a photojournalism student?
The more I thought about it, the scarier this whole thing became. He’d told me just yesterday that I would only leave if he wanted me to, meaning that my liberty and my life were in his hands.
How the hell would I convince this monster to let me go? My family and friends must already be looking for me. They might have by now figured out that something was terribly wrong. This man had confiscated my phone, my laptop, and any means to the outside world.
I was stuck in this mansion with sleek furniture, state-of-the-art equipment, and high walls that suffocated me every single day. The more time passed, the more I came to the realization that this man may or may not have any plans of letting me go.
What would my fate be then? What would become of me? Would he keep me locked up in here forever? Would he sell me off as a sex worker? Fuck, the mere thought of that sent cold shivers down my spine.
I’d never been more afraid in my life. But I knew fear would only get me killed. The best way to scale through this alive was to act like I was brave, to hide my terror. And so far, maybe, I wasn’t such a bad actress after all, considering that I still had my head.
My jailer was the most unreadable human being I’d ever met. Everything he did or didn’t do left a question that kept me up at night.
For instance, why did he get me out of the dungeon? Did he suddenly grow a conscience? What was his deal?
One minute, I was wallowing in darkness, scared for my life. And the next, I was treated like royalty in a room that exuded luxury and style. Why the sudden change of heart?
I saw the look on his guards’ faces whenever I acted all stubborn and arrogant. They would glare at me as if wondering why their boss hadn’t put a bullet in my head yet. It was like they were warned not to touch me, and so each time I misbehaved, they’d just try their best to ignore me.
Why? Why give a prisoner so much freedom of speech? What’s my jailer up to?
The more I thought about it, the more it made no sense, especially because I knew for sure that he was the leader of a Russian Mafia. Those folks weren’t exactly known for their leniency; they were ruthless, brutal, and one of the most dangerous sets of people to get entangled with.
Yet, here I was, treated more like a guest than a prisoner. I was well-fed in a room that had everything an average human being needed to be comfortable and a closet full of fancy clothes.
What’s the game here?
He implied that I was ungrateful for the princess treatment, and maybe he was right. But then again, he wasn’t a straightforward person. And that’s the problem. I couldn’t read him, couldn’t understand his personality or why he did what he did. The man was a mystery, a puzzle too hard to solve.
A few days ago, when his men brought me to the room, I thought I knew for sure that he wanted to have his way with me. I was wrong.
I thought for sure that he was going to punish me for putting up a fight with his men. I was wrong. Again.
Just last night, after our encounter in the hallway and the sassy statements I made, I returned to my room. At almost midnight, when I realized that my door wasn’t locked from the outside, I decided to sneak out. No plans whatsoever. Stupid move.
