Page 4 of Pregnant Bratva Hostage (Dubrov Bratva #17)

If I could kill him with the look I’m shooting him, he’d be six feet under already. Unfortunately, and infuriatingly, my stare seems to be having no effect on him whatsoever.

I thought it wasn’t possible to hate someone more than I hate my uncle, but it turns out I was wrong.

I hate Arkady, his name scrawled across the marriage certificate in bold, clear letters. At least I know who he is now. Arkady Andreev, known to be the reckless, unpredictable, and dangerous brother. Apparently, my husband.

I bite my lower lip, narrowing my eyes towards him.

“I won’t phone my uncle,” I say, as simply as I can.

He chuckles, and the sound runs through me. It’s delicious. Crisp.

I shake my head, disrupting the direction my thoughts were going in.

I don’t care if he’s hot. He’s a fucking monster. An asshole. He kidnapped me. Pull yourself together, Tania.

He slides my phone closer to me.

“Make the call,” he says, no negotiation in his voice.

I’m about to argue again, but I realize that if I call, I can maybe shout to my uncle where I am. This might be my chance to be saved. The last thing he heard from me was that I was taking a vacation. He won’t be looking for me as-is—but Arkady doesn’t know that.

This call might actually save me.

“Fine,” I snap, picking up my phone and unlocking it, quickly swiping away the notification of my uncle's reply. I didn’t get a chance to read it, but at least Arkady won’t, either. It’s sitting as a small icon at the top of my screen now.

He grabs my wrist and tilts the phone towards himself so that he can see the screen. “No tricks, darling,” his caramel voice warns me.

I roll my eyes, clicking on my uncle’s name.

“Speaker,” he says when the phone starts to ring.

I tug my hand away from him. He’s seen that I’m phoning the right person. He can get his hands off me now.

He lets me go but stays close.

His cologne smells incredible.

Ugh, this guy is probably the worst kind of womanizer. He probably leads girls on and toys with them.

My uncle’s phone rings all the way to voicemail.

“Leave him a message,” Arkady says.

I wait for the beep. As soon as it sounds, I spin on my heel and start running away from Arkady as I scream into the phone.

“Uncle Boris, it’s me, I’ve been—”

Arkady slams into me, knocking the breath from my body and the phone from my hand.

We tumble to the floor as we both try to grab it.

He gets there first, though, and while he has me pinned beneath his bulky, solid body, my face is pressed against the floor, and he’s lying over my back, my legs spread beneath him.

He lifts my phone and presses the pound key. The automated answering service’s robotic voice comes through the line. “If you’re satisfied with the message, press one. To listen to the message, press two. To erase and re-record, press three. To continue where you left off, press four.”

I’m squirming desperately beneath him, but I can barely move an inch. I can’t believe how strong he is. It’s actually terrifying. And the more I move, the more I feel him. It’s doing things to me that I don’t want to think about.

He presses something on the phone, his other arm wrapped around my neck, not tightly, but firm enough to let me know I have no power here.

“Your message has been erased,” the robotic voice confirms.

My heart sinks.

Arkady is about to toss the phone away when he notices the notification at the top of my phone and drags it down to read it.

My heart sinks even further. I close my eyes to try and block out the panic, but when I do, my entire body is focused on nothing other than his body pinning me to the floor.

A shiver of delight pulses through me, and I quickly open my eyes again, shuddering at the thought of being attracted to someone like him.

“It seems you’ve been keeping secrets, darling,” Arkady purrs dangerously.

He presses the side of my phone to switch it off for good. “You’ve already done exactly what I needed. How convenient is that?” He shifts, lifting his weight, but not releasing me. I quickly roll onto my back beneath him to try and get a better position so I can fight back.

Arkady grins, and two gorgeous dimples appear on either side of his wicked smile.

I bite my lip, trying to use the pain to force myself to focus. Look for a way to get away.

Arkady doesn’t move off me. He brushes his body over mine, and I can feel every taut muscle that makes up his perfect physique.

He gently touches my lips with his thumb. “Did you already forget about the warning?” he whispers darkly.

In horror, I gasp. I had. I completely forgot about my family. Their photos still sitting on the table.

That was so incredibly stupid of me.

He laughs at my shock.

“I’ll let it slide this one time, sweetheart, because I got what I needed either way. But if it happens again…” he leans close to me, and his lips brush against my ear, my heart racing when he whispers, “I’ll punish you.”

Heat pools between my legs, and I squirm to try and escape the unwanted desire building inside me.

Arkady laughs again and pushes off me.

He stands over me and offers me his hand. His bright blue eyes are filled with amusement and triumph.

Lying on my back, I glare up at him with hatred.

“Come on, darling,” he says, his hand hovering over me.

I push it away in anger and embarrassment and get to my feet without his help.

Why does he laugh at everything? Why am I so amusing to him?

It’s like this is some twisted game to him, and I am nothing other than a piece in a puzzle.

I doubt he even sees me as a human being.

I went from living with my uncle, as a pawn in his games, to living with an enemy—and I don’t know which one is worse at this point.

The more I come to accept the situation, the more miserable I get.

“Well, darling, this has been fun, but it’s time for you to go to your room like a good girl.”

I guess he’s bored with me now.

Arkady walks towards me as though he’s about to grab my arm, and I scream, determined not to feel the heat of his touch on my skin again.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” I snarl.

“Alright, calm down, walk that way then.” He gestures through the door and down the passage.

I turn and storm in the direction he’s told me to go.

His mansion is stunning. For a moment, I am lost in a daydream where I am happy, living in my own place, living my own life, making my own choices. It might look just like this place. There is so much open space, with modern, clean lines and beautiful light features.

“Up the stairs.”

My eyes are darting in every direction, trying to memorize the way out.

“The one on the left,” he says after we’ve walked through a maze.

I turn left into a neat, minimalist room, tasteful and clean, and comfortable.

I turn to glare at him. “What? No dungeons and chains?” I snap.

He grins, and it sends a shiver down my spine as he steps far too close to me, forcing me to back up against a wall. He presses his hand into the wall above my head.

His voice is low and seductive.

“If you want to play with chains in dungeons, I’d be more than happy to oblige, darling. I happen to rather enjoy those types of games.”

My mouth drops open in horror. My body is betraying me over and over again tonight.

The image of Arkady moving over me, chaining me up, and playing with me—it’s far too tempting—the pain he induced would be cathartic. Releasing me from my guilt for a brief fraction of time.

I squeeze my eyes shut to block out his gorgeous smile and press my hands against his chest to shove him away from me.

He steps back, still grinning.

“If you change your mind, just ask,” he teases me.

I don’t move until he leaves the room and I hear the door locking. Then I breathe a sigh of relief and sink to the floor, wrapping my knees to my chest and burying my face into my folded arms.

I let myself cry.

Everything has gone from bad to worse, and there will be no holiday, no regathering of my thoughts or thinking about my future. I can’t seem to escape this hell that is my life.

I cry until there is nothing left inside me, then drag myself to my feet to look around the room.

He’s packed the closet with clothes in my size, which is scary because it shows how meticulously he planned this. The marble tiled bathroom off to the left is stocked with female products, creams, hair treatments—how strange that he chose to still give me these luxuries.

When I’ve looked through every drawer and every cupboard, I flop down onto the soft, comfortable bed, kick my shoes off, and pull the blankets over my head.

I can’t even cry anymore. I’m too miserable. I’m struggling to care about anything at all.

What is the point of doing anything?

When I fall asleep, it’s from sheer exhaustion. I drop straight into a dream, one where I leave work and catch a taxi to the airport. I don’t even pack a bag. I just got the first flight to anywhere, and I’m happy. I’m so excited to get away—to be free.

***

Bright sunlight spreads onto my face, splashing across my pillow.

I groan loudly as I roll over, not in the mood for work. Another day in my monotonous, controlled life. I wish I could slip back into my dreams.

Except within seconds, I remember everything, and my eyes shoot open in panic.

Dammit. It’s real. I’m locked in this stupid room in this stupid mansion with a stupid, gorgeous asshole.

The scent of bacon and fresh, warm bread drifts towards me, and I lift my head to see the plate sitting on the bedside table.

He was in here.

He saw me sleeping.

The idea of him watching me sleeping is both thrilling and terrifying.

Why does he confuse me so much? Actually, never mind—it’s obvious. He’s fucking drop-dead gorgeous. And he kidnapped me. That’s it. I hate him, but I enjoy looking at him. There is nothing more complicated going on here.

I sit up and look at the food. My stomach grumbles, hungry, eager to bite into the crisp bacon sandwich. But at the same time, the thought makes me nauseous. I’m too stressed to care about food.

I turn away from it. I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want to accept anything from him.

What’s the point of eating or doing anything?

The very small, minute triumph I feel for turning the food down gives me a sense of control. One thing in my life that I am in control of—choosing whether or not I eat the food he brings.

Besides, what if he wants to poison me?

What if he wants to make me sick?

I don’t know what his plans are. I’ve heard of a hundred different torture methods people use on prisoners. There’s no sure way to say he isn’t trying to poison me while hiding his intentions behind comfortable beds and luxury conditioners.

Besides, I just don’t have an appetite. I’m lost, alone, afraid, miserable—the last thing I want to do is stuff food into my face.

With my back turned towards the nightstand, I nuzzle my face into the pillow and close my eyes. I wish I hadn’t woken up yet. Things would be easier if I could just sleep each day away until this whole thing is over.

The only time I see Arkady is when he brings food in.

He hardly says anything at all, and his cold demeanor is eating away at me. It’s making me feel less and less human.

It’s fine that he doesn’t speak, though. I have nothing to say to him, either. I know begging him to let me go won’t help. And it’s not like I can ask how his day was or what he has planned for me.

Sometimes I watch him pick up the previous plate of food, picked at, hardly touched, and replace it with a fresh plate of food that I will ignore.

He scowls at the uneaten dinners and lunches but says nothing. I’ve also noticed that he hardly even looks at me.

As though I’m an inconvenience or an annoyance.

Well, guess what, Arkady—you’re the one forcing me to stay here. I’ll happily leave if you unlock the doors.