It’s been two days. Two whole fucking days I’ve been locked in this room. The minute I got back here he sent someone to lock the door. I banged my fists against the solid wood for a while before tiring myself out.
I’m used to being kept in a room for days on end after all—the only difference is I have no choice but to stay in this room. Back home, my door’s never locked. My family trust me to listen to them.
Mikhail has no reason to trust me, but that doesn’t make me like this any more.
I’ve tried to come up with a plan to get out of here, but my ideas are worth nothing, and neither is my effort. I’m just worried about my family. Mikhail threatened them as if their lives were worth less than the gum on the bottom of his shoe, which only confirms my worries: he has no idea what his father planned.
If Mikhail isn’t aware—and I’m sure he isn’t—then I may as well be dead. There will be no mercy shown, no communication, and no empathy. He breathes in anger and breathes out insults.
I’m not meant to be his nemesis. If I knew what his issue was, I could tell him what he wants to hear and maybe he’d let me go. But I don’t know anything. I’m clueless, and that’s exactly what he wants.
Killing him won’t work. He can predict my moves from a mile off, and my strength is nothing compared to his. I think I just need to lie low, not cause any issues. I need to make it look like I have no problem being here. I have no idea how long I’ll be stuck here for, so I may as well live up to my full potential.
Pushing myself up, I stare ahead of me. While I may be a hostage, I have to admit the accommodations could be worse. I could be locked in a cold, dirty cell with metal chains around my legs. Instead, I’m in a room that’s rather modern. The large white bed faces the wall of windows with a view I’ll never tire of. I’ve never seen the ocean before now—only in movies, but they don’t do this view justice. Each morning I’m woken up by the comfort of the warm sun against my skin and the chants of seagulls. The sun alone beats the dark, colorless room I have at home.
The best part about this room is the button on the nightstand that controls the windows. I can have them open at night and listen to the water crash against the boat. I’ve never slept better. Ironic, considering I’m being held hostage.
With how fancy the yacht is, I can only wonder if he bought it just to trap me here. If that’s the case, I’ve never felt more exceptional in my entire life.
But what will he do with me when he doesn’t need me anymore? Kill me?
I’m sure kidnapping is one of his favorite daily activities. I bet if I were to look at his hands, I’d see dried blood under his nails.
I shake my head to rid the negative thoughts and grab the remote from the nightstand. When I press the power button to turn on the TV, however, the screen remains black. Turning the remote over, I open the back and laugh. Of course he’d take out the batteries.
Asshole.
Letting out a harsh breath, I turn to the bedroom door as I hear it unlock. I watch the knob closely as the seconds pass and yet no one steps through. I grow impatient and scoot out of the bed. My hand touches the cold handle, opening it only to see no one on the other side.
Why would they finally give me the option to leave and not tell me?
The second I step out of the room, my hair blows in the strong current of the wind. I know we’re not moving because I can’t hear the hum of the engine. The wind must be strong because there’s nothing blocking its path. No mountains, skyscrapers, or trees—just the lonely, open ocean.
I’ve only been out of my room once, and at the time I couldn’t admire anything about the ship because I was nervous about seeing Mikhail.
My hand glides across the white railing that separates me from the water. The windows I pass by are dark black and reflective. At the end of the pathway, I see a narrow set of stairs. I walk up with a quiet step, careful not to draw attention to myself. If I can avoid Mikhail like the plague, I will.
Once I reach the top, I see Dimitri—I think that’s his name—through the windows. These ones are clear. If I saw anyone else in the room, I would’ve turned back around and acted as if I never saw them, but I think I can work with Dimitri. He reminds me a lot of my brother, Ruslan. I’ve only spoken to him once, but the first thing he said to me was snarky. While I might have been annoyed in the moment, I can laugh about it now.
I watch him closely from a distance. He sits on a long white sofa facing the wheel. His elbows dig into his knees as he stares at a large sheet of paper. Before he catches me staring at him, I decide to knock on the door.
Lifting his eyes, he squints at me before he jerks his head to the side, telling me to come in.
I open the door, proceeding into the room as if there’s yellow caution tape attached to the frame. My attention goes straight to the panels that control the boat. Five large screens are placed below the slanted window, giving a view of the entire ship. There are so many red buttons I’m afraid to even be in this room.
“Are you thinking about taking control of the boat, matros?” he asks, flashing me an infectious smile. Sailor.
Dimitri’s face is on the rounder side and his beard looks prickly. His eyes are hooded, almost welcoming.
I smile weakly and say, “Not like I could.”
He takes off his glasses and hooks them on his shirt so they hang above his chest. “No, you couldn’t.” His eyes fall down, tracing the outline of my body. “But what can I do for you?”
His words aren’t coated with irritation toward me like Mikhail’s are. “I’m bored,” I admit as I step toward the table and take a seat on the cushions next to him.
He narrows his hooded honey-colored eyes. “I unlocked your door so you’d have the opportunity to look around before Mikhail comes back,” he says almost hesitantly. “And he will be here very soon.”
I give him a strange glare with my eyebrows raised. One of Mikhail’s men shouldn’t be going against him for my benefit, but I’ll gladly take it. “How long have you been on this ship?” I ask, growing curious.
Dimitri doesn’t show any anger toward me, and in the position I’m in, that’s like finding a diamond at the bottom of the sea.
He looks up while he loses himself in thought. He must have been here for a while if he has to take a moment to think about how long it’s been.
“I’d say about a year. Don’t quote me on that though.”
“I see,” I mutter, lifting myself off the couch and walking to the door. “What should I explore?”
His fingers comb through his hair as he clears his throat. “The bar. But you’d enjoy the small office on the second deck.” He winks at me, moving his arms behind his head, and I notice a gold ring on his finger.
Most men in the Bratva only marry for title, but Dimitri seems like the kind of man who’d marry someone for love. His personality doesn’t scream “business.”
“I’ll check it out,” I say to him with a smile.
“Sloane,” he calls for me just as I’m about to step out of the room. When I turn to look back at him, he speaks before I can ask him what he needs. “Mikhail has a dinner planned for the both of you. He has a dress he’d like you to actually wear this time. I’ll hang it on the back of your door, and I suggest you do as he says.”
I may have spoken up too soon about Dimitri. He was the one who didn’t demand things from me, although that has changed quickly.
“Sure thing,” I say, walking out of the room.
Skipping past the stairway that I took to get up here, I decide to go down on the opposite side of the boat. The longer I take with each step, the hotter I feel the sun burning the soles of my feet. Keeping myself steady by holding onto the rails, I race to the covered center of the boat. There are no walls, only a ceiling held up by two rounded pillars in the center. A huge gray couch with white, fluffy pillows sits in the middle of the area facing a TV. A couple of snake plants in light blue pots are scattered around, giving the deck the perfect amount of color.
A feeling of bliss fills my mind when a strong draft passes by me, smelling like fresh summer. I never thought a smell could feel so welcoming.
It’s a terrifying thought, feeling comfortable in a place where I should be fearing for my life. I’m not sure what Mikhail was expecting on my part, but he won’t be getting a damsel in distress. If that’s what he had in mind, he wouldn’t have put me on a floating sanctuary.
Mikhail doesn’t seem like the kind of man to go into a plan prematurely. If he did his research on me, he’d know I haven’t seen much of the world. Did he think bringing me here would terrify me? I suppose it did at first, but that was before I was able to explore, even if I have only done a little snooping around.
The quiet bliss is snatched away from me when I hear a thudding noise. I follow the noise past the entertainment system. There’s a large kitchen connected to the living room. The walls are made up of windows, which seems to be a common design concept of the yacht. I love it because I’ve lived in the shadows my entire life.
My feet don’t make the floorboards creak with each step I take. That will take some getting used to. A woman with short black hair tied into a knot on her head with a hair net has her back to me while she washes pots and pans. Mia. She must be the cook.
I stand for a moment and appreciate how beautiful the room is. White marble countertops with oak lining. The ceiling is a skylight—there’s no need for a light to be on during the day, especially since the room is open to the deck. Two bamboo chairs sit in front of the bar. A wicker bowl is placed by the sink on the island, giving the kitchen a pop of color.
I’d love to talk to Mia, but she gives off the impression she’s only here to work and wouldn’t humor my small talk.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I back out of the room quietly, careful not to make too much noise and startle her. Placing my hand around the corner, I stumble over my feet as my back crashes into something strong, and I feel two large hands holding me up from my elbows.
My neck stiffens as turn, looking up at the man holding me steady.
Mikhail.
His expression is cold, lacking any emotion, and that makes the palms of my hands sweat like they never have before. The bottom of his lip tucks into his mouth and his white, well-kept teeth graze over the surface gently. His neck thickens while he shakes his head at me.
“And who let you out?” he asks in a deep, steady voice that forces shame to corrode my insides.
“I did,” I admit with a shaky breath that I try my damn hardest to control. Technically, Dimitri allowed me to walk out of my room, but I’m the one who let myself out.
It feels like a trap. Mikhail must expect me to be at his beck and call while I rest in the room he so graciously set up for me, but I won’t.
He lets go of my arms and steps to the side. “I guess this boat isn’t big enough,” he says, not masking his disappointment at seeing me as he continues past me.
My eyes roam around while I try my hardest to bite back my next few words, but they come out anyway. “With your ego, definitely not.”
He stops but doesn’t turn around to address me. His muscles stretch out the back of his white button-down shirt. Clearing his throat, he says, “Be ready in an hour. I expect to see you at dinner.”
With his hands in his pockets, he walks off around the corner, leaving me with an awful taste in my mouth. I plan on getting the answers I deserve at this dinner, and he’d better give them to me.
As I ransack the dresser, I’m only able to find clothes that are white and blue. While they’re all my clothes, he forgot all the other colors as if they never existed. I do everything in my power to find something other than the dress hanging on the back of the door, but it’s my only option. As tempting as it might be to show up to his dinner with a pair of sweatpants on, I’ll listen to him just this once.
I take the dress off the hanger and hold it against my body. He’s got taste, I’ll give him that. The cerulean-colored dress looks faded, and the bottom of the material is ruffled. Sighing, I put it on and notice it fits smoothly against my skin. The fabric has a bohemian stitch around my waist and a subtle V down my chest. He knows my size for everything—even the heels I put on are the perfect fit.
I take a deep breath as I close the bedroom door behind me. The thought of seeing Mikhail again has me nervous. One look from him and I start to question if I’m in a nightmare I’ll never wake up from. I really should watch my attitude when I’m near him, but my comments seem to slip out no matter how hard I try to hold them back.
Mikhail never mentioned where this dinner would be held, so I spend a good ten minutes looking around for him, only to find him sitting at a table on the opposite end of the ship where I shared breakfast with him a few days ago. The space is welcoming. The wooden table has white chairs surrounding one side and a bench on the other, but only one person is seated.
Mikhail sits at the end of the table with his eyes devouring every move I make. “Sloane.” My name rolls sharply off his tongue. “Sit,” he commands.
Ignoring his demand, I admire the space around me. The dining room has a perfect view of the open ocean, and the sky takes my breath away. With only a few clouds visible, the light takes over everything my eyes can see just before the ocean swallows the sun. Many shades of orange and yellow blend together seamlessly like a work of art. It looks unreal.
The warm breeze surrounds my skin like a soft, warm towel. The sound of trickling water overpowers the jazz playing in the background. Candles that smell of roses line the table.
This is a view I could never tire of, but I’d love to have different company.
Mikhail looks distressing, contradicting the feeling of calm the space gives off. But the candles—what is he doing? Walking up to the table, I take a seat on the bench so I’m sitting far away from him.
“What the hell is this?” I ask, lifting the flute of champagne and bringing it to my lips.
After I gulp down a couple of sips, I look at him. His eyes are fixed on mine. The candlelight creates a small sparkle in his pupils, giving him a look of innocence—everything he isn’t.
“Eat.”
“No ‘how was your day?’ Mine was good, thanks for asking.” At a dinner as nice as this one, I’d expect to have some kind of conversation with humanity, but that might be asking too much of a person like him. He isn’t a gentleman, and I don’t expect him to be.
I look down at my plate and see a meal that looks and smells delicious. Potatoes, pork, and asparagus. He doesn’t have to tell me twice to eat.
He places his elbows on the table, his white shirt rolled halfway up his arms. He wears silver rings on each hand, and tattoos take over his skin. “Eat,” he demands again.
I was going to eat, but now he’s demanding it of me, I’ll take my time doing so. “Not that hungry,” I lie and smile from ear to ear. Anything he tells me to do, I’m bound to do the opposite. Does he think I care about what he does to me? I don’t. When I said I would rather die out in the world doing something dangerous than rot in my room back home, I wasn’t lying.
“I could just skip past your punishment and move right to your family. But that’s your decision.”
This gets my attention. If he has something against my family, he has something against me. But what could they have done to him? My dad respected his till the end. I hate how he uses my family against me. How lovely it is to come to a dinner and have my family threatened because I refuse to take a bite of potato . . . I could roll my eyes at the thought, but based on our few interactions, I already know that would piss him off. It doesn’t take much to push his buttons.
“What is your problem?” The words spill freely from my mouth before I can hold them back.
He taps his fingers on the table and says, “You’re my problem. You got my brother killed.”
I wince at his words. He says them like they mean nothing to him. I’m the reason his brother is dead, and he can’t even show a drop of remorse for his bother? For some reason, he thinks I’m capable of getting someone killed. Does he think I go on killing sprees?
“I’ve never killed anyone,” I argue.
The muscles in my face relax once I realize. I should have connected the dots before—I don’t know how I didn’t. This is a revenge plan. I’m collateral damage, and taking me is his way of getting back at them.
“I can’t undo what they did,” I say steadily.
My realization seems to please him. His brows crease together slightly as he fidgets with the ring on his finger. “No, and I don’t expect you to.”
I lean in closer to the table and pat the palms of my hands on the bottom of my dress as I grow anxious. “So how is this my fault? Why am I here if I didn’t do anything to hurt you?”
He’s placing his anger on me, and I didn’t do anything wrong.
Mikhail brings a glass of vodka to his lips and takes a couple of sips. “What makes you think I’m hurt?”
I lift my eyes to his. Those blue eyes . . . they pierce through any emotional shield I have. He doesn’t look hurt, annoyed, or even angry. He looks defeated. I don’t think he meant for me to see the shift in his energy. He says he’s not hurt, but the way he fidgets with everything around him makes me believe otherwise. Maybe I’m reading into his movements too much, but I’ll take whatever I can latch onto for answers.
“If you weren’t hurt, you wouldn’t be using me as blackmail.”
“Who said you were blackmail?”
His questions frustrate me. I ask him something and he just flips it back to me.
“Why can’t you just answer my questions?”
“Why can’t you ask the right ones?”
I cross one leg over the other and readjust myself on the bench. I don’t know what his game is, but I can’t help but feel intrigued. He’s already changing my mood, and not for the better, but I’ll indulge him. “Right. What’s your favorite color?” I ask.
“No.”
“‘No’ isn’t a color, Mikhail.”
His tongue rolls over the inside of his cheek. “You want to get to know me?” he asks while he rolls his shoulders.
“And you me.” I look at the glass of champagne placed next to my plate. Then I grab the flute and take a sip.
Mikhail looks curious, but only for a moment before he pulls away from the table. “Eat your food.”
“I’ll eat, but I want my door to remain unlocked,” I say, challenging him. If Mikhail didn’t need me alive, I wouldn’t be here right now, and that gives me the upper hand. Murder might be at the end of my story, but at least it didn’t start that way. There is no light at the end of the tunnel for me. I’m far away from home with a man who would love to see me dead. I might as well see if I can better my accommodation.
“What makes you think you can demand things of me? Do you think I care if you rot in your room? I don’t.”
My lips part in shock. This man is the devil’s spawn. “What are you trying to prove to me? Why this dinner?”
“To show you I’m not all that bad.”
“Oh, that’s brilliant coming from you.” So he kidnaps me and then tries to convince me he isn’t a bad person? I’ve got to say, that’s a new one for me.
“If you didn’t want to come, why did you?”
As if he gave me a choice! If I didn’t come to this dinner willingly, I’m sure he’d have gotten one of his men to drag me here. But I’ll humor him. “I came for the drink. Don’t get caught up in the meaning behind it.”
“Oh, that’s cute coming from you. Remember you willingly sat down in that chair to spend your time with me.”
“I think you’re forgetting you threatened me. I can’t willingly do anything.”
“Why the fuck do you talk so much?” he asks, running his fingers against his full lips.
My chest rises and falls in shock. I thought we were just having a conversation; I didn’t think I was talking too much. Was I?
He reaches for his drink, downing the entire glass again.
“You asked me to have dinner with you,” I snap. It’s as if he got what he wanted and doesn’t need to hear any more.
“I did. And if I were you, I wouldn’t mistake my kindness for anything else. I would gladly choke you with the hand I feed you with.”
It feels as if there’s a lump in my throat. For the first time since I’ve been on this boat, I don’t feel the need to say something smart back to him. He saw me getting too comfortable and shot that idea down real quick.
After swallowing my pride, I lean even closer to the table. “What was the point of this dinner? These questions were surface-level, and we didn’t even get anywhere.”
“Did you want this to go anywhere?” He leans into the table too. A grin tugs on his lips as he looks up and down my body.
Did I? Maybe deep down I thought I could get some kind of leverage out of this conversation, but that wasn’t the case. If anything, we just pissed each other off. So I don’t say anything. It’s like feeding a stray animal I never want to see again; the more I give him, the more he’ll come.
“Don’t worry. That was rhetorical, my love.”
It feels as if every atom in my body is about to explode. This man infuriates me, but I can’t let my rage get the better of me—he feeds off that.
Mikhail stands from his chair and walks over to the ledge with built-in cabinets. He grabs something off the top and makes his way back to me. He kneels to the ground and grabs onto my ankle. A part of me wants to knee him in the face, but that would only make my situation a million times worse. Instead, I sit still while he straps a black piece of plastic around my ankle and presses a button. The red light blinks repeatedly.
He’s going to track me. The ship isn’t small, but I wouldn’t deem a tracker a necessity unless he wants to know exactly where I am. That’s most likely the case, after all, but does he really think I’ll go anywhere if he’s threatening my family?
“I expect you to eat every last crumb off the plate.” He places his drink on the table and stands up to walk to the door. “Your door will be unlocked. You have fresh linen. Do you need anything else?”
“Wow, thanks so much for taking such great care of me. I’ll be sure to leave you a fantastic review on Kidnap.com once my stay is over,” I say, smiling at him.
He stops in his tracks and turns to walk toward me. His blinks are slow as he lowers himself over my body. As his hand lies flat against the table, I hear the beat of my heart echoing in my ear. His face is so close to mine I can feel his breath.
I shouldn’t have been so reckless with my words.
“And what makes you think your stay will ever end?” He lifts a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. Then he brings his thumb to my bottom lip and traces along the curve. “Watch this pretty mouth of yours.”
My hands clench around the soft, thin material of my dress. I try to ignore the feeling my body creates at his touch, but I can’t. A warm sensation builds in my stomach, mixed with nausea.
Mikhail seems to notice how my body reacts to his touch.
I just made his job easier.
