Page 13 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

“You really think that highly of yourself, don’t you?” I snap. “You think you’re invincible, that you can do whatever you want and get away with it.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Newsflash,” I continue, taking a bold step forward. “You kidnapped me. That’s not just illegal—it’s evil. And I don’t care how charming or rich or dangerous you are. You’ve done the wrong thing. And one way or another, you’ll pay for it.”

He turns away, and the moment he’s no longer facing me, I seize my chance. The door’s wide open—still left ajar from when he came in. And I don’t think. I just move. My bare feet slap against the cold marble floor as I sprint, heart ricocheting in my chest. Freedom is right there. I can almost taste it.

But I don’t even make it ten feet.

A blur of motion. A rush of wind.

And then—he’s on me.

Kaz slams me back into the nearest wall, one hand gripping my wrist, the other coming down beside my head with a deafening thud. I gasp, my chest heaving, fury and panic crashing through me in equal waves.

His face is inches from mine. Too close. Too calm.

“If you try that again,” he growls, low and cold, “I’ll chain you to the fucking bed.”

I don’t hesitate.

I spit in his face.

His eyes go wide for a second—and then, impossibly, he smirks. A dark, infuriating smirk that makes me want to slap him and kiss him all at once.

“Damn,” he murmurs, wiping the spit from his cheek with the back of his hand. “You’ve got fire,zaychik.”

The Russian slips off his tongue like silk.

“Little bunny,” he repeats, softer now, almost like he’s savoring it. “That’s what you are. Small. Soft. But so full of fight. I wonder how long it’ll last.”

His voice dips, and it does something to me I hate. My spine straightens, my knees threaten to wobble.

“Let’s see how fast a rabbit can run when it knows the wolf is always just a step behind.”

I glare at him, breathless. “I’d rather die than—”

He steps back from me slowly, his eyes still smoldering with something I can’t name. It isn’t just anger. It’s calculation.

“You should rest,” he says, his voice like gravel and ice. “Tomorrow won’t be easy for you.”

I narrow my eyes, still breathless from the chase, the wall, him. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says, taking one last look at me like I’m something he’s already started dissecting, “you’re going to tell me who you’re working for. And why you were there that night.”

“What?” I snap, heart lurching again. “No—I wasn’t working for anyone! I was just—”

“Shut up.”

The words cut like a slap. Cold. Sharp. His voice dips lower. “Save the lies for tomorrow,zaychik.”

And just like that, he turns and walks out. The heavy door clicks shut behind him. Then—click. The lock. I run to it. Twist the knob. Nothing. He’s locked me in.

The silence that follows is louder than any scream. I back away from the door, trembling, arms wrapping around myself as I sink down to the floor.

I try to breathe. To think. To tell myself that this is just some terrifying mistake that will get cleared up.

But that hope is thin.