Page 9 of Sold Bratva Wife

Finally, I got out of the car, circled to her side, and pulled open the door. Alisa didn’t move. She stayed frozen in her seat, staring straight ahead, as if she ignored me long enough, I might disappear.

“We’re here,” I said, extending my hand.

She looked at it like I was offering her a live grenade. “I heard you the first time.”

“Then get out of the car.”

“No.”

For someone who used to blush if I so much as raised an eyebrow, she sure had a talent for digging in her heels when it counted.

I leaned down, bracing my arm against the car door. “Alisa.”

“Don’t ‘Alisa’ me,” she snapped. “You can’t just—just kidnap me and force me to marry you!”

“I didn’t kidnap you. I saved you.”

“From kidnappers! Only to become one yourself!”

I ran a hand through my hair, fighting the urge to just pick her up and carry her inside. “I’m not keeping you prisoner.”

“Oh, really?” She finally looked at me directly, those honey-brown eyes flashing with fire. “So I can just walk out of here? Go home and pretend none of this ever happened?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Alisa—”

“No. You’re out of your mind. I’m not marrying you. Are you kidding me right now?” she screeched.

I leaned on the open car door. “What’s your plan then? Sit here and pout in the driveway? Maybe freeze to death just to make a point?”

“I’d rather risk hypothermia than be dragged into some Bratva marriage cult.”

“Five minutes,” I said. “Let’s just go inside to talk. Hear me out, will you? Then you can call me crazy to my face and storm out in style.”

“Talk,” she repeated, clearly not believing me.

“Yes, talk. Like adults. In a house with heat and food and no one trying to auction you off to the highest bidder.”

That hit a nerve. She flinched, then looked away. For a second, I thought I’d pushed too hard. But then she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Fine.” Her jaw clenched, but eventually she kicked open her door with way too much attitude for someone in borrowed heels. She motioned at me to walk first and stomped after me, muttering something about‘unhinged Russian cavemen’.

I held back a smile.

God, I couldn’t believe I was saying this, but I think I missed her tongue.

“This is really your house?” she asked as we approached the front door.

I threw a look over my shoulder. The satin dress they’d put her in caught the moonlight, clinging to every curve. I forced myself to look away.

“Yes.”

“All of it?”

“All of it.”