Page 17 of Captive Vows (The Dubinin Bratva #1)

GAbrIELLA

D ays passed and I practiced as much as I could. As the hours crept closer to the private audition that Luka arranged for me, I suffered through the turmoil of so many mixed feelings.

At the top of the list was nervousness—about being a kept thing here but unworthy of being wanted and desired by Luka, the strong Alpha male who stated that he took what he wanted. Those nerves collided and twisted with the worry that I wouldn’t be ready for this preliminary test.

The only way I could combat the anxiety that kept me so tense was to dance. To practice. And to dance and practice some more.

I had a break from being in the studio to grab a light dinner one night.

Maintaining a proper diet was essential for dancing this much.

I’d come a long way from merely eating what was offered to keep up my strength for escaping to speaking with the cooks on staff for the ideal balanced meals I’d need for endurance to perform on stage.

Luka wasn’t there. As if I needed another reminder of how little he wanted me, he had to keep his distance from me and be too “busy” to eat with me.

Emil and Alexsei were there, though.

“Ready for the competition?” Emil asked.

He and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms. We had gotten to a point of not glaring at each other on sight, and that was probably as good as it would get.

“It’s not a competition.” I rolled my eyes.

“It’s an audition,” Alexsei confirmed. He wasn’t getting off my shit list just yet, either. He’d been there to capture me as well. While he almost seemed milder than the other violent thugs here, I wasn’t lowering my guard to think he was a good guy, either.

“How come it matters so much?” Emil asked, taking a seat at the table. Alexsei sat across from him, diagonal from me.

“The audition?” I raised my brows. “How could it not matter? If I want to get closer to being considered for Juilliard or any other decent school, I need to be judged and vetted.”

Alexsei shrugged. “I think he means why bother with ballet at all?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Because it’s what I’m passionate about.” I huffed, paying attention to my food instead of facing them. “Trust me, I’m not counting on you to understand.”

“To understand being passionate about something?” Emil taunted. “Ask the whore I took to bed last night how hot my ‘passion’ runs.”

I shook my head. “Of course you’d be vulgar like that.”

“Prude,” he shot back.

Hearing the son of the man I lusted after call me a prude, of all things, seemed like too cruel of an insult to accept. “I’m not a prude.”

“You’re a ballerina,” he corrected. “A wannabe ballerina. With passion.”

“What’s so wrong about being passionate about something?” I folded my hands on the table and peered at him. I couldn’t help but get defensive about this.

“Hey, passion and drive matter,” Alexsei said. “We’re passionate about our jobs.”

“About killing and kidnapping people, you mean.”

“About whatever is required of us as loyal Dubinin men,” he replied gruffly.

“Having a purpose is important,” Emil said. “But how the fuck is ballet supposed to give you a sense of mattering at all? It’s dancing on a stage. Big deal.”

I furrowed my brow, hating how they could mock me like this and challenge me.

“It is a big deal. Or it should be. Ballet is art. Art matters.” I didn’t want to interpret their harsh words as a critique that I wasn’t good at the medium of ballet or dancing.

Besides, I wouldn’t take their word for it. What did they know?

As I ate, vowing to ignore them until I was done, I knew that they’d never understand my life or my world just as much as I would never adjust to theirs.

I couldn’t relate to this world of crime, of killing and seeking power.

Even though I had always suspected my dad wasn’t exactly a law-abiding citizen, I never broke rules or the law. I was a good person.

After I left them in the dining room, I struggled with holding my head high. Their words cut deep. I wasn’t feeling so confident now. In light of all that these dangerous men did, my passion and love of dancing had to seem so trivial and frivolous. So petty.

I hated to feel so stupid as to have what they’d consider an insignificant dream. That low mood carried into my steps, into the usually fluid motions I’d practice. Hours passed well into the night, but nothing could jar me out of this funk.

Worrying about being a joke wasn’t something I needed to deal with before an audition. But that wasn’t something I could fix by merely dismissing what they’d said.

When Luka showed up, lingering near the door like he typically did, I was still stuck in this lowness, this bitter sadness and dejected attitude.

“What’s wrong?”

I shrugged, not bothering to face him as I tried to get through a sequence of complicated steps again.

He ambled closer, chill as ever. Cool and calm, hands in his pockets, a blank face so I couldn’t read his expression.

“Gabriella.”

Clumsy steps and poorly executed spins were my reply.

“Gabriella.”

I continued to ignore him, trying to move faster so he’d get the hint that I didn’t want to talk.

It seemed that his sternly calling my name weren’t all he was ready to do to get my attention. Rounding back toward the door, I was stopped short. He reached out, grabbing my waist and forcing me to change my spin and topple against him. Catching me securely, he held me in a hug.

The abrupt stop of my momentum caught me off guard.

So did the heated intensity of his dark stare as he lowered his gaze toward me.

Breathing hard and fast from the exertion of the exercise, I licked my lips and willed my heart to slow down.

It had to be racing from dancing. From rehearsing.

Not because of this slow rise of warmth that spread through me at being in his arms again.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

I shook my head.

He tightened his hold on me, narrowing his eyes.

“It’s nothing,” I replied, then cleared my throat. Damn him for being so commanding and sexy. Screw him for toying with me and finding me unworthy. If he didn’t want me, why’d he kiss me at all? If he wouldn’t take me and give me more of himself, then why care if I was in a bad mood or a good one?

He made no sense, twisting me upside down with emotions I couldn’t control anymore. That was how off-kilter I felt around him. It was even worse with his arms wrapped around me like this.

“Tell me and I will decide if it’s nothing.”

Oh, like you decided to just snatch me out of my home and keep me here?

“It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“I’m not worried about anything. What I am is impatient.”

“Why do you care if something is wrong?”

He tipped his head lower, intensifying his glare. “Answer me.”

“I was talking with your son and nephew earlier.” I hated to cave.

But dammit, he was too much to resist. Too commanding and larger than life to ignore for long.

“They were asking me about why I bother to be interested in ballet and care about this audition. And since we spoke, it’s made me feel like my…

my passion is wasted and insignificant.”

He huffed a wry laugh. “Your passion is worthy.”

I rolled my eyes and began to turn my head to look at the wall. He stopped me, gripping my chin and forcing me to face him.

“It is inspiring.”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly as I yanked out of his grip, removing his hand from my face. “Oh, stop. It’s a waste of your time and mine for you to humor me.”

He gripped my chin again, with a little more force. “Are you accusing me of humoring you?”

I arched one brow. Yeah, I guess I am.

“You don’t believe me?” he challenged.

I had no reply ready. I wasn’t sure what the hell to believe anymore. If he wanted me or not. If I was wrong to wish he’d want me. If I was smart to try to resist him. If he thought I was a joke or something valuable. Nothing was clear anymore.

“You inspire me , Gabriella.” He pressed his lips to my cheek as he lowered his hand.

The slow, gentle drag of the back of his fingers teased my flesh.

In the wake of where he stroked his fingers down my neck, then my arm, and then even lower until he could take my hand in his, he kissed me like he wanted to suckle and savor every inch of my skin.

Holding my hand, he maneuvered, pushing it between us.

Further and lower, he guided my hand until my fingertips brushed against the thick, hard bulge of his erection.

I gasped, stunned by how strongly he could show me his interest like this. This was an answer to stop me from wondering. He was giving me a vivid clue of how he wanted me.

“Don’t ever doubt how you can…” He urged me to cup his long erection trapped beneath his pants. “Fuck. Gabriella…”

I stroked up and down gently, rewarded by his growl. “Don’t ever doubt how you inspire me.”

I didn’t think I could after this. Feeling his rigid hardness in my hand, I knew he wasn’t as indifferent to me as I imagined when he walked away from making out with me a few days ago.

This wasn’t the time for any doubts.

Staring into his eyes, I reached up on my toes to press my lips against his, relishing the instant spike of heat and lust that charged through me as we kissed.