Page 25 of Innocent Prey of the Bratva

A part of me—the darker, crueler part—wants to believe this is still about control. About ensuring she doesn’t leak what she saw that night. That keeping her here is about cleaning up a mess. But it’s a lie, and I know it.

The truth is, I’m obsessed.

Every time she challenges me, spits fire at me, refuses to eat unless I coax her myself—she gets deeper under my skin. She’s not broken. Not yet. And fuck, I don’t think I want her to be.

There’s a magnetism between us I haven’t felt in years. Maybe ever.

I know she hates me. She should.

But there’s a flicker of something in her eyes when I get too close. Something sharp and unwilling and alive. And I want to be the only one who ever gets to see that.

I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly.

This isn’t right. I know that.

But right has never mattered in my world. Only what I want.

And right now, I want her.

Here. With me. Always.

And nothing—not her protests, not Arina’s damn warnings, not Maxim’s judgment—is going to change that.

It’s past midnight. The entire house is quiet. Everyone is in their wing. Security rotations are locked in. I should be resting. But I’m not. I’m still staring at her.

Violet suddenly stops pacing. She looks straight at the corner of the room where the security camera is mounted—where she knows it is. And she smiles. It’s dangerous. I sit up, frowning.

“Do you like watching me, Kaz?” she says suddenly.

My jaw tightens.

She’s never spoken to the cameras before. Not once. But now her voice—clear and cool—rings through the speaker like a challenge.

“I bet you do,” she continues, brushing the hair out of her face and tossing it over one shoulder. “You like sitting in your creepy little office watching me every night, don’t you?”

I don’t move. My pulse kicks up, but I stay completely still. Watching. Listening.

“You’re such a fucking pervert,” she says with a smirk. “Do you get off on this? Is that why you have cameras in here? So you can jerk off to the prisoner you kidnapped? Is that what gets you going?”

She moves slowly across the room. Every step is deliberate now. Every word laced with sugar-coated venom.

“You’re a freak, Kaz. A coward who watches from a distance because deep down, you know you’ll never have me. You’re not man enough to handle someone who doesn’t want you.”

My hands curl into fists, but I don’t break.

She leans on the bedframe, lips parted in mock seduction. “Are you hard now, Kaz?” she whispers. “Go ahead. Enjoy the show. I’ll give you something nice to watch—maybe even slide my hand down between my thighs for your sick entertainment. Isn’t that why you put the cameras in here? For the freaky stuff?”

I feel it building.

The rage.

The need.

The tight coil of lust and fury choking me at the same time.

But I don’t move.

Not yet.