The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

Clenching my jaw, I vow that I won’t let him break me. If he needs to parade me around and degrade me, I can’t stop him. But he won’t get my will. No one has ever broken me, not ever. And he won’t be the man that does.

The elevator glides to a stop, and a bell rings at our floor. I try to remember the number he hit to see Dimitri, but I can’t. All I know is the bottom button on the panel of buttons lights up with the doors swing open. The ground floor. My pulse races and my hands grow clammy. What does he have for me here?

But when the doors swing open, he takes me by the hand and leads me off with the glimmer of a smile.

“You’ve been a good girl this morning, so I’ve decided to grant you this. You may occupy yourself here while I meet with the others. It likely comes as no surprise that you won’t be able to leave.” We stand in a hallway outside double doors with frosted glass, so I can’t see what’s behind them. When he kneels, I watch what he does. He slides a metal cuff around my ankle and pushes a button, like I’m a prisoner. And hell, I am.

“You are not to leave this room,” he says, standing as he pushes something on his wrist. “If you do, I’ll get an immediate alert. Understood?”

“Yes,” I tell him, as a sense of foreboding builds. What is he doing? Where is he taking me? Why has he put a tracking device on me?

“Good,” he says, turning to the doors, still furious but now a little eager. He takes the handles in both of his hands, twists, and swings the door open.

I gasp, my hand involuntarily covering my mouth.

“Kazimir,” I murmur. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

He’s brought me to a library. Dark-paneled shelves line every wall, books stacked higher than I stand. There are small ladders attached to gliders on each wall. Large, black leather couches with plump silver throw pillows sit in the middle of the room, and vibrant Oriental rugs dot the floors. There are two massive fireplaces, several coffee tables, and in one corner of the room, what looks like a fancy coffee machine, mugs, and a silver tray.

“This estate was previously owned by Dimitri’s great-grandfather. He purchased this from his family three decades ago. His great-grandmother was English, and she loved books. Though the majority of the books are in Russian, there are a fair number in English on one wall.” He shrugs, looking strangely bashful. “They likely haven’t been touched in years, but you are welcome to take a look around.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, but I don’t meet his eyes. I don’t want him to know I’m as enamored by this magnificent room as I am. I already regret showing the initial eagerness. I’m surprised he’s brought me here, though a part of me knows he does nothing accidentally. He wishes to train me. The leather at my neck is a stark reminder of his ultimate goal. And if he knows I’m a book lover, he’s going to manipulate me in whatever way he can.

“Remember what I said,” he warns, when he looks at his phone and glares at the time. His accent thickens and the anger he wears like a badge returns. “I’ll know if you do anything you shouldn’t.”

Without another word, he leaves. I watch in silence as the doors to the elevator swing shut and the numbers indicate he’s going up, before I turn and look again at the library. It’s absolutely beautiful.

I walk around in a sort of trance, gingerly tracing my fingertips along the spines of the books. The majority are in Russian, the curly lettering on the spines entire worlds that are foreign to me. I’m a world apart from where I’ve lived, but here, in the presence of so many books, the scent of leather and paper imbuing my senses, I’m home.

What will he demand of me so that I can return? Will I ever? Though there were many things about my home I didn’t love, memories in America I’d love to leave behind me, the knowledge he’s taken away the ability fills me with a sense of longing I can’t deny.

I’m curious about the English books he says are here, so I walk around the room until I find titles written in English. I pull six into my hands and fold myself into one of the leather couches. Time fades as I read and for just a little while, I’m not a captive in a foreign land. My eyes grow heavy, but I fight sleep. I want to be alert in here. I tuck my leg under me, when I feel the pinch of metal.

How could I forget he put a cuff on me? A tracking device? The very idea burns. I plunk my leg on my lap and tug on the metal. Of course, it doesn’t budge at all. I might as well be a kitten trying to move a boulder with its little paws. But the longer I try, the angrier I get, and as I tear at the metal at my ankle, I think about what he’s done to me.