Page 35 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
“What is this?”
Mikhail doesn’t answer right away, but there’s a small, barely-there smile on his lips as he pulls up to a steel-clad building.
After a moment of reorienting myself, I realize it’s the same warehouse I was brought to before, and that makes my skin freeze over.
He kills the engine and goes to open his door. “Come on, you’ll see.”
I can’t keep the panic down while it floods my system. “No. Why are we here?”
Mikhail glances at me like I’m being ridiculous, but he keeps his tone light. “Relax. You’re too tense about my world…it’s time you saw a little more of it.”
I still don’t move. “More of what, Mikhail?”
He chuckles, and the sound grates against my nerves.
“You’ll see. It’s just a warehouse; no need to freak out on me.”
He says it like this is some kind of date. As if I should be perfectly fine with him bringing me wherever he wants in the city without question.
Looking at me, it’s obvious he’s not giving me any other option. He expects me to go along with it.
“You said dinner,” I grit, not wanting him to assume I’m fine with this.
“And we had dinner,” he murmurs with the faintest note of a tease in his tone. Then he pushes out before heading around the front and popping my door open. “Now, we’re doing something else.”
Glaring at him, I look down at the hand he offers me. “I’m not a trophy you can drag around the city as you please.”
“I’m not dragging you anywhere. I’m trying to show you the truth—demystifying my life, if you will,” he says simply enough, gesturing again with his hand.
I still don’t want to oblige him, but I know sitting there won’t make the situation any easier to stomach. So, I clench my jaw and accept his offered hand.
With an air of satisfaction, Mikhail guides me towards the warehouse and opens a side door before bringing me in.
The scent of metal, tires, and that distinctwarehousesmell hits me at once. The lights buzz overhead as he flips more of them on, showing row upon row of crates and stacked pallets, along with a network of iron catwalks overhead. There seem to be offices up above, too. Not far from us, I notice the stairs leading to the interrogation room, and it brings an uncomfortable feeling over me.
To our right, a handful of men stand around, either working or talking. They glance at us but don’t say anything. And, of course, they’re armed.
My stomach twists.
“Mikhail…”
“Trust me,” he says, using his hand at the small of my back to guide me forward again. “We’re not doing anything dangerous tonight. I just want to show you a few things. I’m trying to pull back the curtain for you.”
“Maybe I don’t want to see behind the curtain. I told you, I never wanted any of this,” I mutter, irritated by how he never seems to listen to me.
Despite the bite, in my words, Mikhail doesn’t flinch or react. Instead, he lowers his voice and keeps his words for only me. “You’re married to me, Lily. One way or another, aspects of my life are bound to bleed into yours now, and the less surprised you are, the better.”
I hate what he’s insinuating, and I hate how right he is.
Even more so, I hate how his features, despite being mostly serious, tempt me more than they should.
When I don’t say anything, he continues, giving my back a subtle nudge.
“Breathe. Indulge me just a little, then we’ll go home.”
Home.
I’m not sure how to feel about that word. I don’t entirely like how domestic it sounds.
