Page 80 of Merciless Desires

He gestures to the small table near the fireplace. “Sit,” he orders.

I see no benefit in arguing at this moment, especially if he's about to feed me. I'm starving, and if what he says is true, if we’re miles from civilization, and if I manage to escape, I might have to brave it in the wilderness for a while, which means I'll need to keep my strength up.

He carries two plates over to the table and sets one in front of me. It’s loaded down with a ribeye, baked potato, and steamed broccoli. I'm so famished I don't even wait for him to begin. I just dig in.

I’m a third of the way through my meal before I look up. He’s staring at me, his eyes holding that now-familiar predatory gleam, but it is gentled by…tenderness?

Don't fool yourself into seeing redemption where none exists.

This guy can shift in an instant. I’ve seen Mr. Hyde, the monster who lurks in his depths. So what if he’s got magic hands? So what if he can cook? It’s probably all an act to get me to lower my guard so he can better control me.

"Enjoying your dinner, little dove?" He keeps his tone light, but there’s a heat behind his gaze.

I lift my chin. "Are you a serial killer?"

He blinks, then barks out a laugh.

My eyes narrow. “Well, are you?”

He shrugs and takes a bite of bloody-rare steak.

“That's not a no.”

He runs a hand down his face and then shoots me a pointed look. “I am a Bratva enforcer.”

A Bratva enforcer. Which means he's probably had to kill people in his line of work. Probably several people. Which makes him a fucking serial killer.

“So, what are you doing with me? Why did you kidnap me? Are you planning to off me? Like a mob hit? Why? I have nothing to do with the Bratva.”

His chest pulsates with silent laughter. He’s laughing at me? He’s fucking laughing? What a complete asshole.

“Slow down with the questions.” His grin fades as I level him with an icy look. With a sigh, he says cryptically, “I think you know why. But, as long as I choose to keep you, you’re safe.”

I don’t know why. Wait. Keep me? What the fuck does that mean?

“I’m not a possession. I’m a person. I don’t know what you mean by keep me. I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.” I use extra emphasis when I tack on, “sir.”

He looks as though he’s contemplating his response. Then, after a long pause, he says, “Viktor. My name is Viktor Ivanov.” My blood runs cold when he says, “I was given the order to kill you because of what you saw.”

I search the depths of those dark eyes, looking for deceit. For the hint that he’s joking. But his sincerity seems genuine.

“What? Why? From who? What did I see? Who gave you the order?” My body begins to tremble and I hate the sting of tears in my eyes.

He exhales a slow breath.

“It’s not something we need to discuss at the moment. You need to trust that your life is in my hands. You must do everything I tell you. You are mine. I own you.”

I shudder as the weight of his words hangs heavy between us. I feel as though I’m going to hyperventilate. I have so many questions I want answers to, but I’m on the verge of a panic attack. My mind won’t slow down. I’m shaking like a leaf. Viktor stands, rounds the table, scoops me up, and carries me, cradled in his arms, back into my prison room.

He sets me on my feet in the middle of the room and abruptly steps back, tone clinical. "Disrobe."

I stare at him, stunned by his demand. I’m not sure what to do. Deny him submission, or play along and yield to his demands. I’ll do whichever gives me the best chance of survival. Silently I weigh the cost of refusal but see no advantage. Right now, submission is probably my best bet. Still, it’s hard to willingly render myself vulnerable in front of this monster.

"No." My voice emerges steady, though my pulse jackhammers in my veins.

Viktor's smile holds no warmth. "Last chance. Disrobe."

When I stand unmoving, fists balled at my sides, he sighs, as though disappointed by a disobedient child.

---