The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

But have I really ever had a woman in this position? I’ve had women I’ve taken and trained, but none that affected me the way she does.

There’s nothing but honestly in her eyes.

“The porridge is good,” she says. “Thank you.”

I nod, and feed her another bite. When she swallows, she turns slightly to me so she can look in my eyes. “Did you grow up poor?” she asks.

Nodding, I offer her another spoonful, and while she swallows it down, I continue. “My parents were destitute. My mother worked to pay for our needs, and my father did nothing to stop it. I could have died from hunger and nearly did a few times.”

“You said Dimitri took you in,” I say to him. “What does that mean? Did he adopt you?”

“Not legally,” I tell her. “But yes. He took me into his home and raised me as his own. He taught me his values, fed me, clothed me, saw to my education.”

“And when was that?” she asks.

“Twenty-four years ago,” I tell her.

“You were how old?”

“Nine years old.”

Frowning, she takes another nibble from the spoon I offer. “Do you have any family, then?”

“None left, but the ones I’ve chosen.”

“Have you ever done anything but work for Dimitri?”

“I’ve done many things,” I say to her, tired of this line of conversation. “But that’s enough for now.” The sound of ringing tells me Nikita has arrived, so I slide Sadie off my lap and instruct her to finish breakfast while I open the door. When we come in the room, Sadie’s draped a blanket around her naked body, and her bowl of porridge is empty.

“That was good,” she says.

“I’m glad. Go with Nikita and get ready. You have thirty minutes.”

Rising, the takes the blanket with her. This time, I allow it. Eventually… soon… it will be clothes that make her uncomfortable.

I look at the time. Soon, I take her to my brothers.Chapter TwelveSadieI hardly pay attention to what Nikita is doing to me, my mind is so focused on what Kazimir’s just told me. He held back truth when I asked him why he chose a boring girl like me to take. I want to know what his endgame is. Every case of abduction I’ve heard of featured a man who wanted a very specific thing: usually sex, money, or revenge.

Sex makes no sense to me. I’m hardly a beauty, and a man like him could have any woman he wanted. Money obviously makes no sense, as I’m poorer than a church mouse. Revenge also doesn’t add up. I have no ties to anyone of importance.

And yet he has his reasons. The truth lurks behind those angry eyes of his.

I let Nikita dress and primp me, even though it makes me a little uncomfortable. The clothes I wear make me look prettier than I am. Other women would probably like being all dolled up, with expert application of makeup enhancing the fullness of my lips and brightness of my eyes, but I’m massively uncomfortable. I feel like some sort of human doll he’s playing dress-up with. And what do people do with dolls? Use them. Break them. Discard them.

There is no good that will come of this.

The porridge I ate churns in my stomach like a rock tumbler when I think of meeting the men he calls brothers. He has no family left “but the ones he’s chosen,” so I surmise the men I’m about to meet are the men he’s chosen as family. Nikita hands me a glass of water and several little pills. “Take these,” she instructs. “They were ordered by Mr. Romanov.”

“What are they?” I frown.

She shrugs and doesn’t meet my eyes. “Some vitamins or something,” she says.

A sharp knock sounds on the door.

“Take them,” she insists. “If you don’t, I’ll tell him.”

I frown at her and stare at the vitamins. Is that all they are? But when he knocks on the door again, I toss them in my mouth. She’s right. They just taste like vitamins, and I feel fine. I hate that I have to second guess literally everything that happens to me.

“Let’s go. You’re taking too long.” It’s odd that he knocks. I know the door isn’t locked. Maybe he prefers to give me the illusion of privacy, or he doesn’t like to interrupt Nikita. Or maybe he just likes to see me when I’m done.

Nikita rolls her eyes in the mirror and whispers, “He’s always impatient. We’re almost done.”

She doesn’t seem afraid. Why not?

I stare at the reflection, hardly recognizing the pretty woman that looks back at me. Her hair gleams in waves around her face, unblemished with a faint touch of pink at the cheeks, plump, pinked lips, bright eyes with perfect brows and full, dark lashes. I didn’t even know I could look like this.

Small silver hoops hang from my ears, but I wear no other jewelry. The thin, V-neck sweater she’s chosen for me is sapphire blue, hugging my curves and dipping so low in the front, I can see the swell of my breasts. I’m wearing a simple pair of black slacks with the sweater, but they’re expensive, high quality material that clings to me. Kazimir must have told her no heels, for today, she hands me a pair of black flats to slide on. I look… beautiful. And it’s so foreign to me, I pull my eyes away.