Page 22 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva
I cross my arms, lifting my chin defiantly. “I’m not hungry.”
His eyes narrow just slightly. “Starving yourself won’t change anything.”
I glare at him. “Neither will keeping me locked in here.”
For a beat, neither of us speaks. The air between us is charged, sharp. I can practically hear my own pulse pounding in my ears.
He stares at me like he’s trying to see through me. I stare back like I’m daring him to try.
If he thinks I’m going to break, he’s dead wrong. He may own this house. But he doesn’t own me.
Kaz shakes his head slowly, then claps his hands twice.
The bedroom door creaks open, and two maids step in, pushing a gleaming silver trolley stacked high with food. The scent hits me instantly—something savory, something sweet, something dangerously comforting. My stomach growls despite myself, but I stiffen, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Then more footsteps.
Two more maids walk in, arms full of designer clothes, sleek bags, and shiny shoes—like some kind of twisted luxury fashion haul. Behind them, I see even more staff with full racks of clothing, hangers clinking as they head straight for the walk-in closet.
Shit.
Panic flares in my chest.
The burner phone.
It’s in the closet.
“Wait!” I say, sharper than I intend. I step forward, blocking the path. “Just—leave everything on the bed. I’ll handle it myself.”
The maids freeze, glancing between each other nervously and then to Kaz.
He arches a brow, clearly amused. “Problem,solnyshko?”
“No,” I bite out. “I just need the exercise to keep me busy.”
He watches me a moment longer. My heart pounds, but I don’t flinch.
“Leave it,” he says finally, and the maids obey without a word, placing the clothes and accessories in a neat pile on the bed before bowing slightly and slipping out.
The moment the door shuts, I let out a slow, controlled breath. Kaz walks to the edge of the bed and stares down at me, hands shoved into his pockets.
“I want you to feel like you’re not short of anything here,” he says, voice smooth and deceptively kind. “Luxury. Comfort. Clothes. Food. Whatever you want, just ask for it.”
I stare at him, my jaw clenched. “I want my freedom.”
His lips twitch, and then he laughs—fuck, his laugh.
“Freedom,” he repeats, almost like it’s a funny little word he’s never heard before. “That’s not on the table,solnyshko.”
My hands ball into fists at my sides. “Then nothing else matters.”
Kaz tilts his head, eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He nods at the trolley of food. “Eat.”
I don’t respond.
Kaz doesn’t move when I ignore him. He just stands there, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s determined to solve. I stay seated on the bed, arms folded tightly across my chest, refusing to meet his eyes. I don’t care how many damn trolleys of food he wheels in here—he’s not getting a smile or even a bite out of me.
But then, without a word, he moves.
