My eyes flutter open, and I kick the soft cushions off me. I push myself up, resting my weight on my arms.
My head throbs with pain. My body begs to lie back down, but my mind is running a marathon.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter to myself as I remember what happened. He fucking drugged me, and for what? All he had to do was ask for the stupid chain back and I would have given it to him. Leave it to the sarcastic, shrewd asshole to drug me and drop me off God knows where.
I pull my arms and legs from the ropes, but it’s useless. My face scrunches together in frustration. Whoever tied these knots must’ve been a boy scout—they’re so tight they’ll leave marks on my wrists.
“Great,” I mutter and fall back onto the bed.
My arms may be tied, but I can still move them, thank God.
My eyes open all the way as I glance across the room. My vision is blurry, and the moon casting small rays of light doesn’t help much. I can hardly see anything besides a bathroom to the right of the room. My body feels like it’s sweating out of every pore, and yet I’m shivering.
My pen.
I need my insulin pen.
Quickly, I bring my arm close to my core and start to pull at the knot. After several attempts, I get one arm out and then work on the other.
I need some water. I hate this feeling.
I lift my arm to reach into my bra, grabbing the pen and adjusting the unit before I shove it into my arm. I wait a couple of seconds before taking it out. Then I take in a deep breath and hide it in the cushions.
I’ll be all right for twenty days if I can take the units accurately. I have to. The last thing I need is for them to use this against me in a sick way.
Once I get my other hand free, I push myself off the large bed. Holding my hands in front of me, I trace the outline of the room. My balance seems off. It could have been from the shit they injected into me, or the poor structure of the building I’m in.
“She’s up.” A deep voice comes from the corner of the room, where a large figure leans against the doorframe.
I jump at first, but then I grow curious. How did I not notice the door opening? My chin lifts quickly as I try to scan the man’s face. He walks up to the side of the bed and flips on a light. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but as soon as I see him I want him to turn the lights back off.
He flashes me a cunning smile as he takes a seat on the ottoman, throwing one leg over the other. His hair is shaved, revealing a deep scar in the center of his skull. This is Lev, if I remember correctly. He’s the one who drugged me. His face is on the longer side, and so is his nose. He stares at me, and I do the same, both of us challenging one another. Lev swirls a dark scotch in his hand.
I watch his demanding expression become curious. The thick hair above his eyes looks like two caterpillars inching toward each other on his broad forehead. Nothing about his appearance is welcoming.
“Why am I here?” I ask even though I know I won’t get an answer.
He looks down and smiles.
God, what a dick. He probably gets off on this.
“Take a wild guess,” he says after a pause.
My face falls flat. “Hmm . . . You can’t get a woman, so you’ve kidnapped one.” I’ve never felt my body lock up with rage like this.
His tongue rolls over his teeth as he makes his way over to me. “You’re lucky you’re not mine to touch.” A low chuckle escapes his chest.
“Yes. I’m so lucky.” I smile at him, drawing out my response.
“You should get more sleep. You may need it.” He smirks.
I cringe. It doesn’t take a genius to comprehend the meaning behind his words. Ruslan was right: men are fucking pigs.
“He’ll be here soon. Care to pass the time?” He gets up and looks me up and down. He smells like alcohol mixed with a hint of chlorine—a smell I definitely don’t like. The chlorine most likely killed the last few brain cells he has, which is why he doesn’t understand what common decency is.
Just as I’m about to respond to him, the door swings open, and my head darts to the man who walks in.
“Proch.” Out.
“Ona derzkaya.” She is feisty.
Lev leaves the room and Mikhail shuts the door. He’s dressed the same. Nothing has changed besides his expression. He walks to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the muscles in his back filling his suit as he moves the curtains all the way open.
I inch toward him so I can look out the window. I make a sound and my eyes open so wide it feels like they could fall out of their sockets. There’s nothing out there besides a black ocean. The current is still, leaving a clear reflection of the bright moon on the surface of the water.
My mouth runs dry as it hangs open in shock. Horror settles in my throat as I feel a panic attack ready to hit me at any moment.
The psycho man seems content with my reaction as he turns his head back to look at me. The corner of his mouth lifts in a satisfied smile.
I’m in the middle of nowhere. There’s no way Dad will find me. I know for a fact this was not the plan.
As much as I want to keep a relaxed composure, fear smacks me right in the face. “Oh God,” I mutter as I pace around the room with unsteady breaths.
Based on Mikhail’s reaction, I might as well give him a bowl of popcorn to enjoy the show.
This is absolutely fucking insane. Who the hell does this?
An nervous laugh slips past my lips. I mean, it’s brilliant, really. Even in my position I can admire the brains behind his devious plan—whatever this plan is.
I stop marching around the room when I begin to feel lightheaded. My head falls back when Mikhail takes this as an invitation to approach me.
“Arms up,” he says just as he stops right in front of me.
My mouth falls open slightly as I register his demand. What the fuck is wrong with these men? “I’m not your whore.” I glance at him with pure disgust. “Fuck off.”
“Arms. Up. I will not ask nicely again.”
My words mean nothing to him. It wouldn’t shock me if he didn’t even register what I said to him. He saw I didn’t act on his demand, and in his messed-up mind that translated to giving me another command.
I can already tell he’s the kind of man who never hears the word “no.” Mikhail won’t stop until he gets his way.
He looks at me as if I’m a bother when he’s the one who kidnapped me and trapped me on a fucking boat. If he doesn’t want to look at me, he can take me back where he found me.
The only hope I can cling to is that I’ll find out what he wants. After all, I’ll never be able to get out of this if I don’t know how to work his mind. I need to do exactly what my dad once told me: “Find their weak point and don’t stop digging.”
All my life he’s told me there are men who’d love nothing more than to see my head on a stick. I violated some treaty, and now I’m what everyone wants. Dad’s lifelong goal is to keep me sheltered forever. Of course, his boss has other goals in mind. Though I didn’t think it would happen like this. I understand everything now in a way I couldn’t before.
Mikhail looks satisfied with being the one to find me first.
“I will not tell you nicely again. Fuck off,” I say once more, growing agitated.
This gets his attention quickly. His neck thickens when his head falls back as he looks at me with irritation. He grabs me by the hip and throws me onto the bed as if I’m as light as a feather. Before I can scurry away, he pulls on my right leg, dragging me to the edge of the bed so I’m closer to him.
“This mouth of yours,” he says as he reaches toward my lips, “is so foul.”
If I allow the rage to take over any more I’ll spit on his face, but I’m smarter than that. I try to turn my head away from him, but his grip keeps me still. His body hovers over mine, making me feel incapable. It’d be useless to fight him; he’s nearly double my size.
His arm snakes around my waist as he lifts me off the bed. I raise my arms up no matter how much I don’t want to. Tugging on the bottom of my dress, Mikhail brings it up past my waist. I shoot him a glare before he lifts the dress off my body completely, and he returns it. His cheeks look sunken, defining the structure of his face. He’s beautiful in a sick way. He has full lips, a razor-sharp jaw, and a narrow nose. Underneath his black suit I know there’s muscle, and that thought alone makes me want to run for my life. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man to make small talk. He’s demanding and cruel. People like him never talk—which only makes this harder for me.
He doesn’t look like the man in the picture I saw years ago.
My head levels with his chest and my gaze falls down his torso, catching sight of a knife and gun placed in the waistband of his pants. He wears them exactly like the men in my family do.
In an odd way, I find comfort in the thought. I’ve dealt with men like him so many times it might give me a fighting chance.
I look up at him with my jaw clenched and reach quickly for his knife. He grabs my hand before I can get the weapon and twists me around so my back is against him. I’m winded from the way his hands dig into my breastbone.
He leans into me, bringing his lips close to my ear. “That won’t get you anywhere, kroshka.”
Crumb. He just called me a fucking crumb.
“What do you want?” I grit, turning back around.
He shakes his head slowly with a small grin. Then he lifts the dress over my head.
I try to focus on my breathing as he places my dress down on the bed. I feel vulnerable. This man is disgusting.
He walks over to the dresser and pulls out a crewneck and a pair of shorts.
My shorts.
My eyes can’t focus on a single thing as I try my hardest to process what’s happening. Nothing around me feels real. It’s like a fever dream.
“Who are you?” I finally ask.
“Don’t ask questions if you already know the answer.”
“Not your name. Who are you?” Is he in charge now?
“You really want to know?” He comes back over to me and kneels on the floor. By the look on his face, I can tell he wants me to listen. When he speaks, my chest tightens in an attempt to prepare myself for his cruel words, but not even an iron shield could protect me from his deep, grim voice. He taps my leg to lift it up.
Thinking this was going in a different direction, I grab onto his shoulder to steady myself as I put my feet through the shorts. While he may be an asshole, at least he has the decency not to demand my body as his.
He pulls the shorts up past my waist, his large hands grabbing onto my hips to move me closer to him.
“I do.”
“How oblivious are you?”
His words hit me like a dull knife, but I guess that’s something I’ll just have to get used to.
He doesn’t seem to understand the meaning behind my question, and that doesn’t surprise me.
“Guess your father doesn’t fill you in on as much as I thought.”
His words make me question myself. My father tells me everything I need to know. Which is why this isn’t making sense.
“Up.” He jerks his head in an upward motion.
I do as he says, and he puts the crewneck on me. It’s much larger than anything I own, so it has to be his. It even smells like him. Aftershave and vanilla. He gathers my hair and lifts it out from under the shirt then moves it to the side of my face.
“Go back to sleep. Someone will be here to wake you up in the morning.” His hands trail down the length of my arm before he steps away from me.
Glancing to the bed that has four ropes attached to its corners, I wonder why they’re there in the first place. If I’m in the middle of the ocean—which I probably am—there is no way I’ll be able to leave this ship. There’s no telling how far offshore we are. Even if we’re only a mile away from land, I won’t be able to leave because I can’t swim.
I’ve spent my entire life in a house. I never thought I’d need to know how to swim.
I’m standing in the center of the room with my arms folded across my chest when I feel a cold breeze pass by my bare feet. Turning around to face the door, I see Mikhail’s head lower between his shoulders. Just as he’s about to leave, I ask hesitantly, “Can you . . . um, can you leave the door open?”
I know I just revealed one of my weaknesses, but I’d rather him know I hate locked doors than suffer the feeling of being trapped.
This might be a mistake. I’m not sure why I even bothered. I’m his captive; a locked door is almost a given. Men like him grab onto every weak point they can find. I have no idea what his intentions are, and that doesn’t help my situation.
The cruel smile that seems to be a common occurrence tugs at his lips once again as he takes slow steps toward me. Seeing a man with dreadful eyes and a calculating smile makes you wonder if there’s even a soul in his body.
“I’m curious,” he says as he pulls down on one of my curls. “Is the child of the Bratva scared of being alone?”
Disgust floods my vision. He does know my father. “Who the fuck are you?” I ask again. This is an act of war. He doesn’t even realize what he’s doing right now.
A wave of nausea hits me when the tip of his finger lifts my chin up so I’m forced to look him directly in the eye.
“I’m your worst fucking nightmare, Koldunya.”
