Page 14 of Forced plus-size Bride of the Bratva

And he’s standing in my living room like he belongs here.

My mouth goes dry. “If you’re not joking…then you’re insane. You’re completely out of your damn mind.”

That’s when he smiles.

Slow. Crooked. Dangerous.

Like a wolf who’s heard a mouse squeak.

“You’ll learn,” he murmurs, tilting his head, “not to speak to me like that. Ever again.”

Then he turns.

Just like that. Like I’m not worth another second.

He’s almost at the door when I shout, “I’ll go to the police!”

His hand pauses on the knob.

“I’ll go to the police,” I say again, louder, braver than I feel. “They’ll find Logan. They’ll arrest whoever’s behind this. You can’t just—”

He turns back to me.

Slowly.

That look in his eyes—God. I hate it.

The hunger. The stillness. The fire.

It scares me.

And it sets something else off, too. Something sharp and hot in my blood that I pretend I don’t feel.

“I’ve been calling him,” I say, my voice shaking. “Since yesterday. He hasn’t picked up. Which only means your people—you—you’ve kidnapped him.”

He doesn’t deny it.

Instead, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a phone. One swipe, one tap, and he’s holding it up for me to see.

It’s Logan.

Tied to a chair, face bruised and swollen, lip split open. His chest rises and falls in weak, shallow gasps. His head is down, but I can tell he’s alive.

Barely.

I press a hand to my mouth, nausea crawling up my throat.

Adrian lowers the phone. “Yes, I’ve kidnapped him. What are you going to do about it?”

I swallow another wave of nausea, my eyes spitting fire at him.

“Do you really think the police scare me,kroshka?” he asks, voice thick with amusement.

Then he laughs.

A dark, rich sound that curls around the room like smoke.

And in that moment, I know.