Page 10 of Pregnant Virgin of the Bratva

She has no idea who I am.

I don’t give her an answer. I let her keep guessing.

The truth is, I’ve already made my choice. At least for now. I just haven’t told her yet. No one else needs to know—not Yuri or Arseni, not the poor bastard whose body we left cooling on the warehouse floor.

I reach out and tilt her chin up with two fingers so she has no choice but to look at me.

Her skin is cold. Damp. She flinches again, just slightly, but doesn’t try to pull away. Not yet. I keep my grip gentle. No bruising. Not unless I mean it.

“Pretty little thing,” I murmur, almost to myself. “Too bad you’re mine now.”

Her breath catches.

There it is—the jolt of fear blooming behind her eyes, blooming fast and red and sharp. She tries to mask it with anger, with defiance, but it’s too late. I already saw it, and it’s beautiful.

She swallows hard. “You can’t keep me here.”

I smile, big and broad, making sure she can see nothing butme. “Can’t I?”

“You’ll get caught,” she snaps, voice cracking at the edge. “Someone will look for me.”

I watch her carefully. “Who?”

That stops her. The silence that follows is thick. Her jaw clenches. She looks away.

I lean back slightly, lowering my hand, giving her space. Letting her fill it with dread. It’s a dance I know well. The silence always speaks louder than the threats.

Her knuckles are white where her hands flex in the rope. She’s testing it. Measuring. Good. I like the ones who fight.

Still, I can see the tears start to well at the corners of her eyes. She blinks them back quickly, angry at herself for it.

“You were in the wrong place,” I say. “You saw what you weren’t meant to see. That’s all this is.”

“No,” she says, voice tight. “You’re wrong. I wasn’t following anyone. I wasn’t looking for anything. I was just… just trying to get out of the rain.”

“Bad luck,” I reply.

“That’s not fair.”

I meet her gaze again. “Fair doesn’t matter.”

That shuts her up.

For a moment, all I hear is the quiet drip of rain outside and the steady pulse of her breathing. She still doesn’t cry. That surprises me. Most people do. Especially when they realize they’re alone with someone like me, in a place like this.

She glares up at me, jaw tense. “If you’re going to kill me, then just do it.”

I raise a brow. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” she hisses, “but you clearly enjoy drawing it out.”

I laugh then, loud in the otherwise quiet room. She’s not wrong, but it’s not death I’m interested in. Not tonight.

I reach out again and brush a strand of hair from her cheek. She recoils from the touch, but there’s nowhere for her to go.

“You’re not what I expected,” I say.

“Yeah, well you’re a psychopath.”