The Bratva's Baby (Wicked Doms 1)

My plan goes awry the minute I walk through the doors, though. As the elevator door closes, I hear someone turning a doorknob. I’m not alone.

I drop to the floor as Dimitri and another man I don’t know enter the room. They take their places, sitting by one of the fireplaces in overstuffed chairs. Because they’re speaking in Russian, I can’t understand what they say, but I freeze when I hear my name. I fall to the floor and hide behind a sofa, feeling like a child. I’ve snuck away like a little girl packing her bag and running away from mommy and daddy, and now hiding so she isn’t seen.

What are they talking about? I need to work harder at my Russian. I should have picked up on more than this by now, but it’s a difficult language for me to understand. This is maddening.

Their voices rise and fall. I wonder if Kazimir has realized I’m gone. I wonder what he’ll do when he realizes I am.

I hope he loses his mind. I hate seeing those eyes of his dispassionate and though the brooding, angry Kazimir frightens me, the complacent one terrifies me.

I crouch until my legs ache, my muscles longing to stretch. There’s a tingle in my left foot as if it’s fallen asleep. Ugh. This was a stupid idea. What’s wrong with me?

I listen to the men carry on and on until they both stop talking. The door to the library opens, and Kazimir’s deep voice resonates in the room.

Now that he’s so close, my body starts to react. Heart pounding. Palms sweaty. Hope rising in my chest. Damn, I need him to pay attention to me.

He converses with the men, and to my surprise his voice takes on a more commanding tone than I’ve heard him use with Dimitri. I hold my breath when I hear him approaching where I crouch, his footsteps getting closer and closer, his voice right over me now. He stands right on the opposite side of this sofa, his back to me.

I hear the other men standing, and saying something to Kazimir. I feel like a lunatic, as I scramble away from where I’m crouching to avoid being seen by Dimitri.

Please, go, I think to myself. I hate Dimitri. I hate everything he stands for. His very eyes on me make me feel dirty and used.

The elevator door slides open, and I watch from where I hide as his black shoes and the shoes of the other man walk onto the elevator. Just two pairs.

I swallow. Kazimir is still here.

I can almost predict what happens next when the elevator glides upward. Kazimir is no fool.

“Sadie. Come here.”

Like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, I slowly get to my feet. I feel a little dizzy.

He’s standing with his arms crossed, on the other side of the room. Between us lies a sofa and coffee table, but more. Unspoken words that hide two broken, wounded hearts.

And maybe… hope?

God, he’s beautiful, with his hair still damp from the shower hanging on his forehead. Those eyes, black as the midnight sky, stare at me from beneath a furrowed brow. Those full lips, pursed and severe. Bulging biceps as he crosses his arms on his chest.

“This is how you get attention from me?” he asks, like a father chiding a child. “You couldn’t just ask?”

“I didn’t come down here to get attention,” I protest, but a little part of me wonders if I’m telling the truth. “I came here to get away from you.”

Or is that the lie?

I watch as he raises a brow and for one brief moment, there’s understanding in his eyes before his gaze grows molten.

“And this is how you do it?” he asks, prowling closer. “Foolish girl. You can’t get away from me. You’re wedded to me.” His tone sharpens, his eyes flashing warning at me now and something inside me ignites. I take a step back, my pulse racing.

“Sir?”

He halts a few paces away from me. I watch as he takes a breath so deep his chest expands. “Over the arm of the couch,” he orders.

I blink in confusion. What?

His hands travel to the buckle of his belt when he repeats, “Bend over the arm of the couch.” The jingle of a belt clasp. A tug. Leather slithers through loops, now doubled in his fist. “Now.”

I knew this would happen. Then why am I shaking like this? Was I not prepared for the consequences of my actions?

I lie over the armrest and close my eyes. I’m still clothed. Will he punish me like this?

“Did you want me to fear you’d escaped, Sadie?” he asks, a split second before the smack of folded leather lights up my ass. I hiss and come up on my toes. It’s been weeks since he’s punished me, and even over clothes, it hurts like crazy. The belt pounds across my ass, striping me with heated pain, and in the moment, when it hurts so much all I can do is cry out and hold my breath before another blow lands, I wonder crazily why I wanted this. Did I?