Page 6 of The Russian's Kidnapped Bride
Moving through fear alone, my body goes as if it isn’t my own.
The SUV is cold, and the leather interior smells new, but it’s no comfort.
Unable to see through the divider, I can’t see the driver or beg for his help if he even cares. Instead, the man slides in beside me, shutting the door firmly. All the doors lock.
Flustered and far too anxious to stand it, I press myself against the far side, barely able to hear over the pounding in my ears.
The man settles in while the vehicle starts to move, and he takes his gloves off before pulling out his phone, scrolling casually as if he hasn’t just abducted me. Then, he glances over and looks at me completely.
The way his hazel eyes take me in sends a chill through me, and despite how intimidating he is, he looks almost familiar, but I can’t place it.
His expression is flat, and while I assumed it was due to boredom, I realize it’s subdued confidence. He’s not concerned in the slightest, well aware that I can’t do a thing about any of it.
“You’re shaking.”
I can barely keep my gaze on him. “You don’t say.”
It’s snippy, and I know I’m pushing my luck, but I can’t help it.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You say that after kidnapping me?”
Just barely, the corner of his lip pulls. “I’m not a kidnapper, and you’re not my target. Just a complication.”
I don’t like the way that word stings in my chest.
A complication. Something to be handled and eliminated, just like that man back in the alley.
After a moment of silence, I blink at him. “What do you want with me?”
“Nothing,” he murmurs, still far too casually for my liking. “You weren’t supposed to see any of that, and I’m not supposed to leave any witnesses.”
Another wave of fear coursed through me, threatening to close around my throat. Clenching my hands in my lap, I feel the bite of my nails against my skin.
My stomach twists, and I feel prepared to vomit.
“But,” the man continues, absently scrolling through his phone before texting someone. “You’re lucky I don’t harm women.”
It should be a relief, but those words are still just as unnerving.
Despite my senses being sharp from the adrenaline, I can’t find any more words. I can’t sling anything at him with the fog in my head.
Hesitantly glancing at him, I watch the way his thumbs move precisely across the screen. How he sits as relaxed as anything, as if unfazed by what he has done or what he plans to do.
Tattoos crawl up the side of his neck from beneath his black shirt, and his clothes are clean, but I have the feeling he’s more than capable of getting them dirty.
He looks like a man who has done unspeakable things, and yet, he looks so familiar.
Then, he tucks his phone away and pulls mine out. He scrolls as easily as if it were his own.
My brows furrow. “What are you doing?”
“Checking,” he mumbles, dark eyes reflecting everything he does on my phone. Then he locks the screen and tucks it away again. “Can’t be too careful…but it’s clean enough.”
I don’t know why it bothers me so much, but the way he does everything so nonchalantly, especially claiming ownership over my phone, grinds my gears.
“Now what? You’re going to erase me?”
