The Bratva's Captive (Wicked Doms 3)

I don't know what he's battling. I don't understand what's going on here. I'm not sure he does, either.

I shrug. "Feed me?" I suggest helpfully.

Holding me to him, rocking me against him, he nods his head. "Yeah," he finally says. "Let's cook dinner."

He doesn't allow me to dress, and it's a little weird going out into the cabin still naked like this. If this were any other place and time, I’d be embarrassed by the scars that mar my body, but I’m beyond caring what he thinks about me. I’m not his to admire, or his to love, so perhaps it’s in my best interest to have an imperfect body.

But when he sees me shiver, he gives me a nod and allows me to tug on a cotton dress. The food we have is simple, but in short time we both have steaming bowls of borscht with sour cream and thick chunks of buttered rye bread. This time he allows me to feed myself. We eat in silence. I don't know what to say and it seems he doesn't either.

He's still brooding. The momentary humanity he displayed back in the room vanishes quickly. After dinner, he opens the door to let Shepherd out to do his duties.

"Will he return?" I ask.

Maksym gives me a piercing look. Reminding me of our roles. "He'll return to the hand that feeds him." And he does.

Night has fallen outside the cabin. Shepherd comes to me, nuzzling my hand while Maksym washes the dishes. I'm a little surprised he's doing this. I figured an old-fashioned Neanderthal like him would prefer I did them. But apparently, he wants to keep me under his watchful eye.

I scratch behind Shepherd's ear, and he nuzzles his face in my lap. "You're a good boy, aren't you?" I ask him in a singsong voice. "That's a boy." I scratch behind his ears. Maksym wipes the dishes dry and puts them in the cabinet. When he opens it, I realize there's hardly anything in there.

"Where are we, anyway?" I ask him. "This looks uninhabited, and yet you seem very much at home here."

I watch his jaw firm as he places the glasses in the cabinet next.

"This was...once my home," he says.

"Really? So stark like this, though? It's almost completely empty except for what you brought today."

"I've had everything removed," he says.

"Why?"

God, why do I continue to ask him questions like this? He doesn't want small talk and confirms this with a curt, "Be quiet, Olena."

Frowning, I continue to pat Shepherd. At least he doesn't mind my company. Suddenly, Shepherd grows still, his whole body tensing. He pulls his head away from me, and stares at the door. To my shock, he lifts his head and barks so loudly I let out a little scream in surprise. Maksym drops the towel on the counter, turns and goes to Shepherd.

"He hears something," he says, grabbing the dog by the scruff of the neck and leading him to the door. "I wish we had a fucking leash."

He has his gun, though. It's already in his hand, drawn and cocked, when he goes to the window, shuts the light out, and lifts the curtain. But there's nothing visible outside except trees and bushes.

"Nothing," he mutters, but Shepherd paces the door, back and forth, whining to be let out. Someone or something is out there. I want to ask questions, but he's told me to be quiet, and after today I don't want to get in trouble again. I wonder if he has security cameras or anyone guarding us, but I doubt he does, because our whole purpose here was to be sure we weren't followed.

Shepherd pulls away out of Maksym's grasp and trots to the exit, whining and rising to his hind feet so that he paws and scrapes at the wooden door. Maksym looks at him in concern, then back to me.

"Get to the bedroom," he orders. "On the bed. Do not move until I tell you otherwise."

"Do you have a weapon for me? What if someone comes in? How can I defend myself?"

Frowning, he doesn't respond. He's no fool. We both know I'm still his captive.

"You don't need to defend yourself," he says. "That's my job."

Oh, really? I mentally snap back at him, but I'm at least wise enough now—or, for the moment—not to say that out loud. But I do what he says anyway and go back to the bedroom. I start in surprise when he opens the door, his gun drawn, Shepherd at his side. The door shuts behind them and they're both gone.

As soon as the door closes, I'm up and on my feet, peering out the window, before I remember his admonition to stay in bed. And then it dawns on me with sudden clarity.

He's left me alone. He went out with the dog. There are no other men in his brotherhood to capture me. Nothing.