Page 36 of Used By the Merciless Bratva
I felt myself getting swept away, pulled into the current of her unexpected passion. It was dangerous. I was dangerous. And she, in her defiance and vulnerability, was even more so. With a supreme act of will, I tore my mouth from hers, my breath ragged. Her eyes, still half-closed, fluttered open, dark and dazed.
“You should remember,” I whispered against her lips, the air thick with tension, “this might mean something to you. But it means nothing to me.”
“You’re getting swept away in emotions,” I rasped, the words a desperate attempt to re-establish the narrative, to remind her, and myself, of the cold reality I had just spoken. My voice was clipped, a blade meant to cut through the burgeoning connection.
It was a lie I had to believe, a shield I had to maintain. Because if I acknowledged what it truly meant, what she truly meant, everything I had built would be shattered.
Her eyes hardened, the daze replaced by a familiar defiance. Without a word, she raised her hand and slapped me.
It was an explosion of frustration, a physical manifestation of her refusal to be dismissed. I let her hit me, absorbing the sting, observing her raw anger as she delivered afew more, less precise blows to my chest and arm. Each strike was a testament to the fire I had tried, and failed, to put out.
When her fury finally subsided, her hand dropping to her side, I calmly stepped back. My jaw throbbed, a dull ache that was a welcome distraction from the inferno she ignited within me.
She didn’t speak. She simply turned and walked to the massive bed, her black wedding dress still clinging to her. She collapsed onto it, not bothering to remove the gown, and within seconds, her breathing evened out. She was asleep. Exhaustion, a raw, emotional drain from the day’s ordeal, had claimed her.
I stood there for a long moment, watching her. The rigid lines of my body slowly softened as I took in the sight of her, a defiant bride, now utterly vulnerable in slumber. The black silk of her dress fanned out around her, a stark contrast to the pristine white sheets.
A sigh, heavy and unexpected, escaped my lips. I walked over, retrieved a thick cashmere blanket from the end of the bed, and gently covered her, wrapping it around her shoulders. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake.
How am I going to stay away from her?
The question echoed in the quiet confines of the suite, a stark realization that clawed at my carefully constructed control. I wanted her. Desperately. Every fiber of my being yearned to cross the few feet separating us, to strip away the black silk, to claim her in a way that went beyond a forced marriage. But I couldn’t.
Not like this. Not when she was still a prisoner, still a pawn in a game I was only just beginning to understand. The boundaries were there for a reason, even if my own desire screamed for them to fall.
I pulled an armchair closer to the bed, settling into it. The whiskey was a distant burn in my throat, her ghost of a kiss stillon my lips. I watched her sleep, the cold, calculating part of my mind wrestling with the broken, yearning part.
It was a battle I knew I would lose, eventually.
For now, the armchair was my only refuge, a solitary sentinel guarding a restless bride. Slowly, as the night deepened, exhaustion claimed me too, and I drifted into a restless sleep, my gaze fixed on the woman who was both my salvation and my undoing.
Chapter 9 – Kat
The first thing I registered was the oppressive quiet, a silence so profound it felt like a heavy blanket draped over my eyes, a souvenir of Danil’s whiskey and the emotional maelstrom of the previous night.
I blinked, my eyelids feeling heavy, and the opulent ceiling of the suite swam into view. Soft light filtered through the heavy drapes, indicating it was morning, though I had no idea if it was early or late. A sudden wave of nausea rolled through me, but it wasn’t from the alcohol. It was from the grim reality that slammed into me with the force of a physical blow.
I was still in the black wedding dress.The silk, which had felt like defiant armor hours ago, now clung to me like a suffocating shroud, twisted and creased from my restless sleep. My spine ached from the unnatural angle I’d fallen asleep in, half-sprawled on the massive bed.
Memories of the wedding, the whispers, Danil’s brutal kiss, and his crueler words, all crashed over me. I’d challenged him, pushed him, even slapped him.
And he just...took it.
A tremor of residual anger, mixed with something unsettling akin to a thrill, ran through me. He had allowed me that violence, and that was a power dynamic I hadn’t yet deciphered.
Slowly, I pushed myself up, the dress rustling around me. The other side of the king-sized bed was pristine, untouched. The suite was completely, eerily empty. He was gone. A strange mix of relief and resentment washed over me. Relief that I wasn’t waking up to his piercing blue eyes on me, resentment that he could simply vanish after such a charged night.
Was he already off managing his empire of shadows? Or was he deliberately giving me space, another calculated move inhis endless game? I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the silk of the dress sighing as I moved.
I needed to shed this dress, this reminder of my forced submission. As I moved toward the bathroom, my gaze swept across the expensive suite. This wasn’t just his space anymore; it was ours. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. This would be my gilded cage.
But if it were my cage, I intended to learn every lock, every secret passage, every weakness.
After a quick, blessedly hot shower that washed away the stale feeling of the wedding and the lingering chill of Danil’s dismissal, I pulled on a pair of comfortable, soft lounge pants and a loose top. My own clothes, a small victory of normalcy.
With my hair still damp and curling wildly around my shoulders, my resolve solidified. Danil Yezhov might think he had me cornered, but he clearly underestimated my capacity for rebellion, and more importantly, for investigation.
My father’s name. The “Sivella Holdings” files. The note.All of it swirled in my mind, a chaotic puzzle. If I were trapped, I would use every moment to find the answers I craved and, ultimately, to find my escape. And the first place to start was right here, in Danil’s things.
