Page 10 of Captive Vows (The Dubinin Bratva #1)

LUKA

I f she hadn’t struck out and broken that guard’s nose, I probably would’ve let her stew and stay in that room for another week. Just to break her in. To wait out her initial reluctance to realize she was no longer free.

I wasn’t afraid of her hitting any more of my men. After Simon’s nose was reset, I bet none of them would take her for granted again. And yes, he had deserved her wrath. He didn’t need to be so cocky toward her, so smug. He’d poked the beast and gotten what he deserved.

Instead of being livid that she’d wounded one of my men, I had to admit I was impressed.

She wasn’t acting. She wasn’t putting on a show or pretending to be tough. Like a caged animal, she was reacting under that survivalist instinct. After so long of the same old, of the typical captives crying and begging like pathetic defeatists, Gabriella intrigued me.

She wasn’t going to stop fighting this new reality she had to adjust to.

She wouldn’t quit.

That bold determination was admirable. However, watching her from afar was wearing on me.

Every time I settled in to view the footage from her room, I struggled against the itch to experience being in her presence again.

To feel the burn of her scathing scowls and stares.

To let her dole out her anger and wrath, waiting for her to push her luck.

I wasn’t a glutton for punishment, but?—

Fuck.

I huffed a single laugh.

Ivan was right.

Gabriella was pulling me out of that shitty depressive streak.

I sat back on the executive office chair that the men had brought to my home office. The security team had rigged it so I could view the direct feed to Gabriella’s room. Nightly—hell, even daily—I watched her in captivity.

She hadn’t cowered. She still glared at the men who brought her food and water, then the clothing too. She’d changed out of the loungewear but didn’t peruse the variety of the garments brought to her.

But she didn’t bottle up her anger and frustration. No. She let it out. She vented in the form of dancing.

And that was the obsession I couldn’t shake.

Watching her like a stalker, I glued my gaze to the screen of my computers and witnessed her grace. Her athleticism. Her natural beauty as she moved to music in her head.

Every night, beginning in the late afternoon or evening after her dinner was delivered, she’d dance. Too soon, I felt cheated to be reduced to only this indirect view of her, but I wasn’t ready to face her again.

I didn’t know how to play this game with her. I wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle this.

In the meantime, I could enjoy all I wanted.

Emil entered the office and strode up to me. Hands in his pockets, brows raised with curiosity, he smirked. “Again?”

I shrugged, looking back at the ballerina I’d captured.

“You’re watching her again.” He leaned his hip against my desk. It should’ve been a question but he’d said it like a statement.

I couldn’t help but want to watch her.

“What, you want a private dance?” he teased.

I lifted my head to shoot him a look. “She’s not that kind of a dancer.” Nothing about the way Gabriella moved suggested that. She wasn’t an exotic performer. She wasn’t grinding and hinting at anything. “She’s an artist.” Her passion was obvious.

I made a mental note to have music sent to her, perhaps on a new phone that I could track. She hadn’t left her room yet. The more I watched her and wanted to experience her stubbornness and passion, the more I readied myself to release her to the rest of my home.

“She’s a debt paid from a rat,” Emil reminded me dryly.

I hadn’t asked for a reality check but he’d given me one anyway.

“She could be a debt payment of my own,” I muttered. Gabriella was gorgeous, and that alone would fetch a nice price for her. This show of her passion and skill for dancing just made her more expensive.

“You’d sell her?” he asked, watching her dance in the room.

I shrugged. “I have no plans yet.” Other than appreciating more of her defiance, I wasn’t prepared to claim my intention with her.

“But I could.” I could definitely sell her or give her away.

I took things. I was always the one in control, but I could just imagine the interest other men might send her way.

She could be a critical tool of leverage.

A delicious carrot to dangle and entice even my worst enemies.

Rubbing my jaw slowly, I sighed and dismissed any hurry to make up my mind about what to do with her yet.

All I could make a move on right now was this intrigue. This curiosity.

This desire to watch her more up close.

The next evening, I went to her room and opened the door. After I stepped in, I leaned against the doorframe, teasing her by leaving it open. She wouldn’t get past me.

The second I ended her privacy, she stopped. Breathing hard from the exercise of dancing, she glowered at me.

Her huge breasts heaved. Her slim waist remained flat. Her legs, so slender, ceased moving. But it was her eyes that captured me. Those dark, rebellious eyes. Her lips stayed parted, but the longer I stared her down, they turned into a scowl.

“What?” she snapped.

I crossed my arms. “Nothing.”

“What do you want?”

“What makes you think I want anything?”

She rolled her eyes. “This question-for-an-answer shit won’t bother me.” She shrugged, but it seemed more like she was rolling her shoulders in a stretch.

I didn’t leave. Merely staring at each other, we entered a tense test of who’d break first. I knew she would.

“What do you want?”

I considered the repetition of her question. What did I want? Where she was concerned, I wasn’t sure.

“Dance.” That was my reply, though.

She barked a wry laugh. “For you?” She stepped toward her bed where a hand towel waited for her. As she wiped the sweat from her brow, she smirked. “No.”

“You don’t want to dance for me?”

“As if I haven’t been already.” She gestured vaguely at the room. “As if you don’t have surveillance on my room. You’ve seen me dance enough.”

“So, you’ll stop? You’ll quit?”

She slitted her eyes. “Never. But I won’t dance for you .” With that, she turned and hid in the bathroom.

Stubborn brat.

The next night was the same. In my office, seated in front of my computer, I’d watch her dance until I couldn’t take it anymore. Then the second I opened her door, she’d stop, huff or growl in frustration, and leave to go to the bathroom.

After two weeks of captivity here, it never changed.

With me, she was sullen. For me, she was tough and sassy, not backing down at all.

Each time she was rude to me, she antagonized me and pushed me that much more to make her break.

Whether I came to watch her dance—not that she would for me—or to bring her a meal, she was tough.

And when I realized we’d entered a routine, I grew irritated with this sameness. The lack of change. The challenge she presented was still there, but this waiting game, this distance, was stagnant.

That night, I entered her room before dinner.

She blinked, sitting upright from a nap. “What— Why…” She cleared her throat. “What’s going on?”

“Dinner.” I extended my hand toward her.

She frowned.

“Get up.”

She slowly swung her legs over the bed but didn’t fully put her feet on the floor. “I’m not hungry.”

“Too bad.” I thrust my hand out more.

“I don’t want dinner.”

“Do you think you’re privileged enough to get what you want here?”

She stood, getting in my space and glowering. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’m your owner. I’m the Boss.” I snatched her hand and tugged her out of the room with me. With every step I took, I seriously wondered if she’d attack me. And if she did, how far I’d take it to remind her who was in charge. “If I say you’re accompanying me to dinner, you are.”

“Why?”

I pushed her against the wall near the door to her room. Once those dark eyes locked on me, I leaned in closer. “Because you are mine to do with as I please.”

She licked her lips and glared at me. Only because she was so young, I doubted that she realized what a fucking tease she was, wetting those plump lips like that. “And dragging me to sit through dinner pleases you?”

“Maybe.”

When she rolled her eyes and shifted to get free, I put my hand back on her hip and yanked her in front of me. “From now on, I expect you to be near me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t question me,” I warned. I took her hand again and led her out of the room. Merely feeling her soft, warm skin against mine was a thrill. Handling her at all was a challenge to beat. I had no doubt she’d slip away the first second she could.

“Why?” She persisted, asking again in the hallway as she tugged to wrench her hand free.

“Just because.”

She growled, and I almost smiled.

“That’s not a reason.”

“I don’t owe you a reason.” I glanced at her, wondering why a defiant pout was suddenly so sexy from her. “But if you want one, consider this. You will accompany me to every meal?—”

“ Every meal!”

“—for no other reason than to remind you that I own you.”