Page 13 of Pregnant Prisoner By the Bratva (Tarasov Bratva #12)

A part of me hated seeing her like this—chained like an animal in a dark, stinky room. But I didn’t have a choice. It had to be done. She should consider herself lucky to still be alive. The best form of payback would’ve been to kill her and send her corpse back to her father as a message.

He started this madness. I was going to be the one to finish it.

I sat in my office, relaxed in my chair as I watched the live feed of her cell playing on my screen.

It was supposed to be boring—watching her just sit there, muttering stuff to herself like a woman on the verge of insanity.

But it wasn’t. I enjoyed watching her. Especially the times when she lost her temper and attacked the guard I’d sent to feed her.

He was lucky she didn’t claw out his eyes with those nails of hers after she had him pinned down to the ground.

Everything happened so fast that night while I watched from my office.

One minute, the guard was telling her to eat, that I’d instructed her to do so.

The next, she’d tackled him to the ground and had pounced on him like a friggin’ predator.

I’d only taken my eyes off the screen for two seconds. And then by the time I looked back, my man was underneath her, struggling to get her off. From what I saw that night, Ester was a lot stronger than I gave her credit for.

It took two other men to salvage the situation—a few seconds later, and her victim would have lost an eye. Or worse, both. Those guys arrived just in time to save him from her attack, but not until after she raked her nails into his face.

That’s three of my men that she’d hurt already.

The night she was captured, I was told that she struck Andrea right in the nuts. The poor guy had to ice his balls to feel better. Then there was Viktor with a broken nose. And now Ilya, her most recent victim, had a claw mark across his face. One would think he was attacked by a panther.

But it was just Ester—wild and furious Ester.

The girl was a fighter, a fierce one at that, and she’d already made a name for herself amongst my men. They even had a name for her; they called her Tigrítsa smérti— meaning, Tigress of Death.

She hurt three of my men, yet I couldn’t help being proud of her. I sat back in my chair, watching her closely. She’d been pacing back and forth, but now she was seated, her back against the wall, her face a mask of fury.

She was pissed, and somehow that was hot.

I got out of my chair, left the office, and headed down to the basement. The door creaked open, and I walked inside, my shoes scuffing against the concrete floor.

She lifted her head and met my gaze, her expression dark and almost evil. Almost. Beneath the fury flickering in those stormy eyes of hers was a scared little girl in desperate need of an escape.

“What? Come to gloat?” she asked, her voice dripping with hatred and anger.

I halted a few paces in front of her, a hand in my pocket. My eyes flickered to the tray of food at a corner—cold and untouched. “You should eat.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, like you care.”

“You’re no use to me dead,” I said, my gaze unwavering. “So, eat.”

She looked terrible with those chains fastened around her wrists and ankles. Her once-elegant dress was covered in dirt and torn at the hem.

Slowly, Ester rose to her feet, tangled hair hanging over her face in wild strands. Smudges of dirt marked her skin, her cheeks, masking the defiance still burning in her eyes.

“Tell me,” she began, her voice soft and somewhat eerie. “Does this make you feel like a man, hmm? Keeping a girl locked up in a cage like an animal, that’s a low blow even for you, isn’t it?”

I ignored her, ignored the mockery in her tone and the hatred in her eyes. “What do you know about your father’s plans?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift her expression. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific than that, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy?

My jaw clenched, fingers curling into fists. I knew she was trying to get under my skin, and I shouldn’t let her. “Don’t play games with me, Ester,” I warned her. “What is your father planning against the Bratva?”

“Hmm. I gotta say, I’m disappointed.” She took a step back, her eyes locked with mine. “Because you sound desperate. Almost…scared.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Are you scared, Yulian Tarasov? Are you scared of what Marco Moretti is planning for you?”

I held back a snarl behind gritted teeth. She couldn’t know how much her words were starting to piss me off. “I’d watch my tongue if I were you.”

“Oooh, did I strike a nerve?” She chuckled lightly, her tone laced with sheer mockery. “Hate to break it to you, pal, you’re not half as clever as you think you are.”

Easy, buddy. She’s playing you, I reminded myself, anger shimmering behind my locked teeth.

Ester continued, “You know, I hear the Bratva’s got legendary interrogation techniques.

After what I’ve seen so far?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head.

“Yeah…either the legends are exaggerated, or….” She drew closer, her lips curving into a pesky little smirk. “…you’re just the discount version.”

I watched her quietly, amused by her sharp tongue and how well she weaponized it. Impressive. I should be pissed—hell, I should be furious. But instead, her little defiance only ended up igniting a flame within me.

“Are you done?” I asked, a faint smirk playing on the corners of my lips.

For a moment there, I caught a glimpse of shock flickering in her eyes, like she didn’t expect me to shrug off her challenge the way I did.

“You see, Ester,” I began, drawing closer to her while she retreated, slowly. “When you’ve lived this life as long as I have, you tend to know the difference between a real threat…and a scared little girl playing tough with broken words.”

She swallowed, her back meeting the cold, damp wall behind her.

I watched her expression tighten, that flicker of confidence she wore like armor starting to crack. “You’ve got a sharp tongue,” I whispered, placing a palm next to her head, my eyes locked to hers. “That’s cute. But it won’t save you now. Not from me.”

She steeled herself and locked her jaw when my eyes dropped to her lips.

The air switched from aggression to something lighter, calmer, more sensual.

She tried to mask her nervousness, but her heaving chest betrayed her.

The tension was thick around us, and I could swear I almost heard the sound of her racing heart.

This wasn’t fear. No. It was something else. Something molten.

I pulled away before I ended up doing something I’d regret later on. This close proximity was dangerous, and I could lose myself if I hung around much longer.

Funny ideas were already brewing in my head. It was best to walk away.

“Don’t test me, Ester,” I whispered in her face, my breath against her skin.

She glared at me, masking her true feelings with anger and hatred.

Without a word, I walked away, leaving her to the cold and darkness of her new room. This situation might turn ugly much sooner than I thought, considering how drawn to her I was. She was supposed to be my prisoner, the means to get my revenge on Marco Moretti.

Now, it seemed the line between the mission and my growing obsession with her was starting to blur.

And that wasn’t good at all.