Page 33 of Kidnapped Prisoner By the Bratva
I should’ve been prepared for the thunder, considering the fact that light traveled faster than sound. But nothing could’ve prepared me for the loudness of that thunder clap. The clash was so deafening that it forced an abrupt yelp out of me.
My body jerked in shock, my left leg reflexively rising off the cool marble floor.
Undisturbed, he turned around to face me, stirring his coffee with a teaspoon. “You should’ve seen the look on your face,” he teased, lifting the cup to his lips. “Priceless.” He slurped his coffee.
My brows drew together, a faint scowl flashing across my features. “You shouldn’t be here,” I said, changing the subject as I walked inside, my footsteps slow and measured.
“Neither should you,” he answered and set his cup on the countertop.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I replied, taking a seat at the kitchen island.
Outside, the rain began to pour, lashing against the closed windows as though nature was attempting an invasion. Lightning streaked the dark clouds, accompanied by rolls of thunder.
“Why? What were you thinking about?” He reached for the pot on the countertop, tilting it with steady hands.
“Nothing.” The word fell off defensively, and my breath caught in my throat, eyes widening by a whisper.
He glanced at me, and I avoided his gaze, fingers toiling with the golden lock that swept down my left shoulder.
His lips curled into that signature annoying smirk of his, but he didn’t say a word. He poured dark liquid into a white mug, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the kitchen air.
Val set the mug down in front of me, picked up his cup, and leaned back against the counter across the kitchen island. My eyes flicked between him and the steaming mug of coffee before me—exactly what brought me down here to begin with.
Reluctantly, I lifted it up with both hands and took a sip. I contemplated thanking him, but at the last second, I just kept my mouth shut.
“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice calmer than the raging storm outside, but laced with a hint of sarcasm.
I tried to focus on the coffee; however, my eyes kept darting to these chiseled abs and broad torso. And then, just like that, the illicit thoughts returned, leaving me horny, distracted, and frustrated.
“I didn’t ask you to serve me,” I replied softly, though my eyes were already fixed on those damn V-lines sculpted into his body.
He paused, and even though I didn’t lift my head to face him, I could still feel his gaze lingering over me.
“You don’t have to be so cold all the time, you know,” he said.
Now, I looked at him, masking my lust with anger—it was always easier to hide behind rage anyway. “That’s rich coming from the man who ruined my life.”
He rubbed his eyeballs. “I didn’t ruin your life; if anything, I saved it.”
I laughed, a dry, annoying, and sarcastic laugh. “Wow, you deserve a medal for that, don’t you think?” I slurped my coffee.
He ran his fingers through his hair, a glint of frustration flickering in his eyes. “What is your problem, hmm?” he began, his voice rising a bit higher than normal on each sentence. “I’ve done all that I could to make sure you feel safe and comfortable. I don’t bother you—hell, I let you roam freely and do whateverthe fuck you want. What else do you want from me?!” he snapped, losing his temper for the very first time.
I didn’t give a shit. I shot back immediately, “I want you to let me go!” My palms slapped against the countertop.
Wrong move—that fuckin’ hurt more than I thought.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not going anywhere.”
“You see, that right there is the reason I’ll always be cold toward you and everyone else in this whole fuckin’ house!” The words burst out in anger. “You, Val, are a narcissistic control freak who finds joy in other people’s misery.”
“You’re damn right, I do!” he barked out, both hands on the kitchen island between us. “I love making people suffer. I’m the devil who basks in his victim’s misery.” His eyes flashed with anger. “My only fault was that I treated you differently.”
I pushed my head back, triggered by his statement. “Oh, good for you, you grew a conscience!”
He glared at me as though my words had cut deeper than he’d anticipated. His expression darkened, and his jaw locked.
I rose to my feet and glared back at him. “What’s the matter? Can’t handle the truth?”
