Page 8 of Bought By the Masked BRATVA
I fold my arms, masking the tremor in my fingers with posture. “You get the information. You make sure I don’t end up in a cell or a morgue. That’s the deal.”
“And what do you get, Grace?”
My name in his mouth feels dangerous. Too intimate, too deliberate. “My life back.”
“You can’t go back,” he says simply. “You can only go forward. That’s what you were really selling tonight. The illusion that you can rewind the damage. But I don’t deal in illusions.”
The words sting, because they’re true.
He crosses the room slowly, stopping a pace too close. “You need protection. I can give you that. But when I say you’re under it, that means you answer to me. I don’t take chances with what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours.”
He studies me for a long, charged moment. “Not yet.”
The air thickens between us. I should step back. I should say something sharp enough to shatter this impossible tension, but the words don’t come. He’s too close now, heat radiating through the space between us, the scent of him wrapping around me like smoke.
“What’s your name?” I ask finally, my voice barely steady. “You know mine. Seems only fair.”
He hesitates, then says it like a statement of power, not an introduction. “Liam Orlov.”
The name lands like a weight in my stomach. I know that name, everyone in this world does. Orlov Shipping. The family empire with rumors of darker holdings. Control, efficiency, discretion.
I swallow hard. “You run half the Baltic.”
“Closer to two-thirds,” he corrects, but not out of arrogance, thank God, because I don’t think I could handle masculine arrogance right now.
“Then I guess I’ve really outdone myself,” I say. “Walking straight into another man’s empire.”
His expression doesn’t change, but there’s something like approval in his eyes. “No, Grace. You didn’t walk in.” He leans closer, voice lowering. “You were acquired. And then claimed.”
The heat in his gaze sends a shiver down my spine. I tell myself it’s fear. But we both know better.
My heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat. The silence between us is thick enough to drown in.
He’s too close, and I hate how aware I am of it. The heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scrape of stubble when he tilts his head just slightly. Every instinct tells me to step back. Every nerve refuses to move.
“Claimed,” I repeat softly, letting the word roll off my tongue like something poisonous. “You make it sound like I’m property.”
“Not property,” he says. “Responsibility.”
I laugh, sharp and humorless. “That’s not better.”
“It’s safer.”
The quiet authority in his voice does something to me. Not just the sound of it, but the certainty. He believes what he says. Every word, every promise. I think that might be the most dangerous part.
“You think I need a man like you to save me?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You auctioned yourself for protection. Tell me what that makes me, then.”
The comeback dies on my tongue. He’s right, and that makes me furious.
“I didn’t ask for control,” I say instead. “I asked for safety.”
He steps closer, until I can feel his breath against my temple. “Safety is control, Grace. You just didn’t want to admit it.”
I tilt my head up, refusing to look away. “And what if I don’t play by your rules?”
