Page 12 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
I can’t afford to forget that.
Because he’s not just a stranger with a pretty face.
He’s my captor.
And although I love romance books and movies, I’m not one of those damsels in distress who fall for their captors.
“Are you insane?” I growl, my heart hammering in my chest. “You kidnap me and expect me to sleep comfortably?”
He doesn’t respond at first. Just stands there, in the middle of this absurdly opulent room, staring at me with those cold blue eyes like he’s waiting for me to make the first move. The door behind him remains open, deliberately so—I can tell. It’s not an invitation. It’s a warning.
Then, finally, he speaks.
“You saw something you were never meant to see,” he says calmly, like this is a business transaction and not a kidnapping. “And now that you’ve seen it…you stay. Until I decide what to do with you.”
My pulse spikes, fury flooding my system so fast I feel like I might explode.
Stay?
Stay?
He says it like I’m a fucking houseguest.
“You kidnapped me,” I snap, the words sharp and full of venom. “You’re a murderer. A criminal. You should be rotting in a jail cell, not standing there like some dark prince in a palace.”
His expression doesn’t flicker. Not even a blink. But I keep going, adrenaline making me reckless.
“I don’t care who you are or how much power you think you have. I’m going to get out of here, and when I do, I’ll make damn sure you go down for everything you’ve done.”
There. I said it. He doesn’t move. He just stares. Quiet. Controlled. And somehow, that terrifies me more than if he’d started shouting.
He suddenly laughs.
Not just a chuckle or a smirk—but a full, manic burst of laughter that echoes off the marble walls like something out of a goddamn villain origin story. It makes my skin crawl.
Then he steps closer.
Slowly. Purposefully.
I tense, my fists curling at my sides as he approaches, but he still doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t lay a finger on me. He stops just in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to smell the faint notes of expensive cologne and something darker—gunpowder, maybe. Or blood.
My breath catches before I can stop it, and my eyes—traitorous, stupid eyes—drop to his mouth.
Full lips. Tense jaw. Perfectly carved like everything else about him.
And then, just as suddenly, his gaze drops too.
Right to my mouth.
For one stretched-out second, neither of us breathes. The air between us pulses, charged with something electric and unwanted and completely insane.
But he pulls back.
Just enough to make me feel stupid for even noticing.
“You need to be rational now, Violet,” he says smoothly, voice dipped in steel. “This fantasy you’ve got about putting me behind bars? That’s not going to happen. It was never going to happen.”
I force a scoff and glare at him, trying to ignore the way my heart is pounding in my chest like a trapped animal.
