The Bratva's Bride (Wicked Doms 2)

“I’ve found the little girl responsible for the theft,” he says in English, a note of derision in his voice.

“Demyan, did they know you’d come?” The dark-haired one with the beard asks.

He shakes his head. “I left no trace, but I want you to double-check the way they reported this in the morning. Be sure to tell me if her abduction is noted at all in the news. Understood?”

They converse, this time in Russian, before he turns back to me and speaks again in English. I’m assuming this is for my benefit above all, and I wonder at his methods.

“Calina will be my mistress and prisoner,” he begins. “She has a debt of 3.2 million rubles to pay off, and I mean to extract every penny from her service.”

One man snorts, but a swift, reproachful look silences him.

“Filip.” One of the men looks at him.

“Sir?”

“I want you to keep track of how much she owes me,” he says. “I will give you a daily tally of how much of her debt she’s paid off, and you keep a running tab. Understood?” The man’s eyes briefly widen, but he schools his features quickly and nods. “Consider it done.”

“Vladak.” The man who looks like Filip looks this way. “You find a maidservant for her. I want someone trustworthy and efficient. She’ll need to be fitted for her gown for Friday.” He scowls at my hand. “She’ll also need a manicure for those God-awful nails of hers, and whatever toiletry items she requests. She’ll be doing my bidding, so I want her properly groomed. Understood?” I hate how he mocks me, like I’m some sort of cardboard copy of a woman he wants prettied up and perfected. God. It’s mortifying.

The man he calls Vladak nods.

“It’s late,” Demyan says. “I’m taking her to my room. Is there anything else I need to know before I do?”

The men murmur and shake their heads, so he speaks to them in Russian and takes me by the wrists again. I realize then he’s had them wait up for him. My coming here matters, and he’s made it his job to be sure they know I’m here. I’m still cuffed, so he’s walking with me held to him. When we’ve left the presence of his brothers, he speaks again in English.

“The perimeter of our compound is protected by an electric fence and surveillance cameras,” he says, as if he’s giving me the tour of his estate and he’s just explained the ornate, handwoven Oriental rug he inherited. “I’ll know if you even think about leaving or escaping. Understood?”

I nod and remember my manners. I’m tired and wish to go to bed. “Yes, sir.”

“My men are armed and trained. There is no escape, Calina, so don’t entertain the thought.”

Even if I had been entertaining the fucking thought, I wonder what the point is. Even if I got away, where would I go?

My fingers twitch. I want to soothe my fraught nerves by biting my nails, but my hands are cuffed behind my back. A chill runs through me. He hates the nail-biting, but I don’t have anything else to fall back on. Unable to turn to my nervous habit, I feel my nerves begin to rise. I want these cuffs off, and I want them off now. I pull on my wrists, somehow needing to feel the pain of the metal cutting into my flesh to alleviate my nerves.

I eye the stairs, and find myself surprised when he leads me past them to an empty hallway. Down the length of the hallway, there’s a series of doors.

“Stop fidgeting,” he orders.

“That’s what I do,” I snap. “I fidget. It’s going to take a long time for me to stop fidgeting if you want me stock still. Take off the cuffs, and you’ll see I can maintain better composure.”

He fixes me with a scowl, then tugs me beside him in the hallway, so close to him our sides brush. He’s a big man, sturdy and muscular, and standing beside him like this, especially encumbered with the cuffs, I’m aware of how much stronger he is than I am. If he’s going to hurt me, I want to see what he’s capable of. I want to know how far I can push him, or how tightly he has me bound.

He’s stalking away from me at a rapid pace, to a doorway several paces down the hall from the elevator. There are double doors with gleaming metal locks, reminiscent of a door to a judge’s chambers.

I come to a screeching halt when he stops in front of a door and brushes his thumb to a slim panel on the wall. A green light flashes, and a soft click alerts me that the door’s now unlocked. He shoves it open and without a backward glance, stalks inside. He holds the door open for me.