If this is for my own good, why do I feel like a prisoner?

Two of Dimitri’s men stand by a tall window near the end of the hall.

They nod politely, but I don’t slow down.

I have a plan, or at least the start of one.

I’m going to demand answers, and I’m going to do it in front of his brothers.

I want them all to hear my side, and I’m not leaving until I get what I want.

I turn left, pass a heavy door with an electronic lock, and continue through a wide foyer.

There are more guards here than usual, probably because all of the Barkov men are here at once, and they all pay close attention to me.

None of them reach for a weapon. They don’t need to.

They know I’m not armed, and they probably think I’m too small to be a threat.

That mindset only pisses me off more. I’m tired of being underestimated.

I pause at the threshold of Dimitri’s office, where I can hear them all inside talking, and I gather what’s left of my courage. Then I push the door wide open and stride into the room.

A massive table takes up most of the space, and it’s covered with maps, papers, and the remains of what looks like a late lunch. Five men look up: Dimitri, Maksim, Aleksei, Akim, and Nikolai. Grigor must be at the safehouse with Seraphina. Good. At least she’s protected.

Dimitri stands at the head of the table, commanding attention without speaking a word.

From everything I’ve heard, Aleksei, as the oldest, is the head of this family, but right now, Dimitri looks every bit in charge.

He straightens his spine as his focus zeroes in on me, and I have to remind myself to keep breathing.

Jesus, why does he have to be so good-looking?

His hair is a little darker than his brothers’, and it looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days. His black suit holds tight to his powerful frame, and the white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a hint of muscle.

I plant my feet. “I need to talk to you.”

“We’re in the middle of something.” He gestures toward his brothers, but I don’t move.

“Then consider this an interruption.”

Maksim lets out a low sound that might be amusement. “She’s got spunk, huh?”

Aleksei rubs his jaw. “You have no idea.”

I ignore them and focus on Dimitri. “I want to know what your plan is for me.”

“Cecily, if you would just—”

“Now, Dimitri. I want to know now. You’ve kept me in the dark long enough.”

A moment of silence passes, and the way Dimitri’s looking at me, I’m almost afraid he’s going to come across the table.

But then he nods to his brothers, and one by one, they file out of the room.

Maksim is last to exit, and when he does, he throws me a grin over his shoulder. When the door closes, we’re alone.

My heartbeat roars in my ears, but I keep my head high. “Well?” I demand. “Are you going to keep me here forever? I have a right to know what’s going on.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“I’m not a piece of property. You don’t get to store me away and hope he never shows up.”

His eyebrows draw together. “I gave my word to Seraphina that you’d be protected.”

“That’s not an answer,” I snap. “What’s your endgame? Am I a hostage? A convenient pawn? Is there some arrangement where you trade me for something you want?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not how this works.”

“Enlighten me, then.” I set my hands on the table and lean forward. “Because all I see is a group of men locking me in a mansion under the guise of safety. You won’t let me leave. You won’t let me see my sister. You won’t even let me decide if I want your help or not.”

He takes a measured breath and pushes the papers aside. “You can move freely around the estate. You can eat whatever you want and do as you please, within reason. That’s not exactly a prison. Believe me, I’d know.”

I feel a stab of rage. “A gilded cage is still a cage, Dimitri.”

“Would you rather I leave you to be found by Thorne’s men?”

My mouth falls open, and I smack the table. “Don’t you dare pretend this is some grand favor you’re doing me. My father’s a monster, yes, but you’re cut from the same cloth. The only difference is that you’re on the winning side right now.”

He rounds the table and stalks toward me, eyes never leaving mine. “You don’t know me at all.”

My pulse spikes, and I refuse to step back. He stops a few inches away, close enough that I catch a hint of his aftershave. Sandalwood and musk, the scent of power and control.

“Then tell me. Tell me something I don’t know about you. Because I’m tired of living under your roof without understanding why this is my only option.”

He lifts his chin, and the muscle in his jaw twitches. “I’m a man who keeps his promises. That’s all you need to know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I close the distance between us.

The edge of the table presses against my hip, and I brace my hands on it to avoid losing my balance.

He’s taller and broader, and an undeniable heat radiates from him.

Anger churns inside me, but there’s something else, too.

Something that makes my heart race and sends a flood of warmth between my legs.

What is wrong with me?

This is the man keeping me captive, and here I am, practically panting for him.

But god, he is beautiful.

“You lock me away, treat me like I have no mind of my own, and then act offended when I question it.”

“You have no idea the lengths we’ve gone to in order to keep you safe. None.”

“Then show me. Show me why I should believe you.”

His nostrils flare, and without warning, he grabs my wrist and moves so fast that I find myself pressed against the wall before I can even blink. My head spins from the suddenness of it, and a burst of adrenaline rushes through my veins.

He plants one hand near my shoulder and keeps hold of my wrist with the other. I feel the tension in his grip, strong enough to hold me but not enough to truly hurt. My heart rams against my ribs, and I wonder what I’ve just awakened in him.

His voice drops to a hiss. “I could break you, Cecily. Do you understand that?”

A jolt of fear pulses through me, but it’s tangled with an unexpected thrill. “Then do it. Prove you’re just another thug who wants to bend me to his will.”

He breathes deeply, and for a second, I think he might. Instead, his hand on my wrist loosens, and he shakes his head. “That’s not who I am.”

I stare at his mouth. My anger, combined with something reckless, coils tight in my stomach. His breath slides over my cheek, raising goosebumps over every inch of my limbs. My heart thuds, and the next thing I know, I rise onto my toes and press my lips to his.

The moment I do, everything around me seems to melt into a buzz of sensation. I taste the salt of his skin and feel the warmth of his body. My fingers tangle in the material of his shirt. He remains rigid for a split second, and then his fingers slide down my torso and tighten around my waist.

It’s not gentle. It’s desperate and rough, like he’s punishing me for daring to do this. I have to brace my other hand against his chest to keep from falling over. His tongue slides over mine, and I shiver. He nips my lower lip, and the sharp little bite makes me whimper.

Heat explodes between us, and the room starts to spin. This isn’t a kiss. This is a claim, a mark of possession.

He shifts and pulls me even closer. His free hand drops to my lower back, and his thumb brushes over the strip of exposed skin above my jeans. His touch sends a shudder down my spine, and the pressure in my chest makes me light-headed.

In that instant, a mass of confusion and desire winds through me. I hate him for keeping me here, but I need something to break through the rage. This feels like a spark in the middle of a storm, and I latch onto it for dear life.

A heartbeat later, he wrenches away from me. His chest heaves, and I see the conflict written all over his features. My pulse races so hard that I can’t form a coherent thought.

He takes a shaky step back before he declares, “That was a mistake.”

I press my lips together, trying to calm the tremor in my hands. “You’re damn right it was.”

“Don’t do that again, Cecily. I mean it.”

I want to lash out, to demand that he not act like I started this alone, but my own mind reels. I did start it, didn’t I? I kissed him. I made the first move. Heat floods my face, and I don’t trust myself to speak without shouting.

He exhales, closing his eyes for a brief moment, then strides toward the door. “Stay away from my meetings,” he says over his shoulder. “Go anywhere else in this house if you want. But not there.”

Then he’s gone.

I stand there, pinned by a wave of conflicting emotions. The space where his body was a moment ago feels far too empty. I hate that I notice. I hate that I crave another taste of that dangerous rush. I hate him for leaving me like this, confused and wanting.

When I finally manage to move, my knees feel weak.

I find a chair and sink into it, pressing my hands to my temples.

Anger, shame, and lingering desire tangle within my thoughts.

This is the last thing I need. I’m already trapped and desperate.

The idea of being attracted to the man who’s effectively holding me captive is too twisted to fathom.

Why did I kiss him?

Why did he kiss me back, even if it was just for a moment?

Why do I still feel his grip on my waist, searing my skin through my clothes?

I slam the door behind me when I reach my room. I tear off my shoes and fling them into a corner. The mirror catches my eye, and I see my reflection: flushed cheeks, eyes too bright, mouth swollen from the force of that kiss.

“I hate him,” I whisper, though I’m not entirely sure who I’m trying to convince. My skin tingles from the memory of his touch. I curse under my breath and turn away from the mirror.