Page 16 of Sold to the Russian (Nikolai Bratva Brides #6)

No one was a better klutz than Maeve. After the call from her father last night, she’d somehow slept on the floor instead of in bed.

When sunlight hit the windows, she rolled over, accidentally stubbed her toe against the bedframe, and swore under her breath just in time for Fedya to knock on her door and tell her to come out to eat.

Of course, she’d ignored him. She wasn’t ready to see him, not after their altercation last night, not after the decision she’d taken to use him for her father’s purpose.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d last ignoring him, but she remained locked in there anyway, skipping breakfast and lunch until she stood up in a fit of hunger-related dizziness and accidentally knocked a flower vase over, injuring herself in the process as she tried to pick up the shards.

Her palm was sliced in two places, superficial but bleeding steadily.

But the sight of blood oozing out of her palm was nothing compared to the way Fedya had gunned the door down just to get to her.

It was nothing compared to the way he had registered the sight of her bleeding, the darkness that clouded his features as he grabbed her and dragged her to the bathroom despite her protests.

It was nothing compared to the way he was looking at her now, fury and a certain type of irritation that she wasn’t sure if directed at her or not.

It was nothing compared to the rather absurd conclusion he’d come to after seeing her on the floor.

For a split second, Maeve couldn’t help but wonder how the man saw himself, how much he probably hated himself, to come to the conclusion that someone else would rather kill themselves than deal with him again.

His touch was a stark contrast to the emotion stewing in his eyes.

His fingers were surprisingly gentle on her skin.

His touch was oddly addictive, like it belonged on her body, and she clenched her teeth hard, balling her uninjured hand into a fist to resist the maddening urge to lean into it, to entertain the stupid swarm of butterflies tumbling so hard in her stomach she wanted to vomit.

“Are you stupid enough to think dying fixes this?” he snapped then, his calm dissolving into nothing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

And just then, Maeve didn’t see the point of clarifying what had actually happened to him.

She had locked herself in there in the first place anyway, and she would rot in there if she had to just to avoid seeing him today.

If she weren’t in there, she probably wouldn’t have been a victim of her injury, so yes.

Maybe, indirectly, all of this was his fault. Maybe she hated him that much.

So she leaned into his blatant misunderstanding of the situation. Her lip curled bitterly as she withdrew from him.

“Yes,” she said, not bothering to hide the venom in her voice. “I hate you that much, Fedya Nikolai. I hate this fucking marriage. I hate this nightmare of my life with you. And I hate myself even more for being so unfortunate to have been stuck with someone as cruel as you.”

Fedya laughed. A derisive, bitter sound that made Maeve’s stomach churn despite the brave front she was putting on.

“Cruel?” he asked, rising slowly, his shadow stretching across the room. He looked like the devil. A handsome devil. “You think this—” He gestured to the bloodied towel and the first aid kit beside the sink. “—is me being cruel?”

Maeve bit her tongue and said nothing. That seemed to provoke him even further.

He stepped closer, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to look at him. “I’ve been nothing but nice since I brought you here, Maeve,” he fumed. “I’ve protected you—”

Maeve scoffed harshly. “Protected me?

“Just keeping you here with me, under this roof, is more protection than your bastard of a father could ever provide you for the rest of your life. So yes, I’ve done nothing but keep you safe in the last twenty-four hours.

” His voice went lower. “I’ve bought you clothes.

I’ve bought you everything you’ll need, even though I know there’s a high chance you’ll burn them rather than wear them.

I could’ve killed you right in front of your father the moment he gave you to me.

I could have tossed you out of my car on our way here and run you over.

I could’ve buried a bullet in your pretty skull the moment you opened your mouth to cuss me out.

I could’ve strangled you while driving and watched the light leave your eyes without a single care in the world. But I didn’t. I didn’t do any of that.”

Maeve was shaking, and to her surprise, it was more anger than fear. Good God, she hated this man. Hated that even with all the disgusting threats he just spat out, his grip on her chin was sending tiny, little bolts of lightning straight to her heart.

“You call this safe?” she snapped, pushing against him. “You’re holding me prisoner. That’s exactly what you’re doing. I’d rather you just killed me and got it over with than forcing me to play your fucking wife.”

His lips pulled into a dark smile, revealing his perfect teeth. “No,” he said, tugging her chin higher. His thumb grazed her throat, and a chill ran down her spine. “But I will now. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, and since you want me to be cruel, I will be exactly that for you, my love.”

Maeve’s breath hitched as he pulled her up.

His grip was on her good wrist as he pulled her out of the bathroom and into the living room, where bags and bags were scattered—designer brands, makeup, skincare, shoes, every single thing.

“These were for you,” he said, still holding her tight.

“You needed clothes. Toiletries. I was going to do whatever you wanted here, whatever you liked, but now, you’re going to follow some rules since being kind didn’t work. ”

Maeve scoffed, eyeing him with malice. “What do I look like to you? A fucking twelve-year-old?”

“One,” he began, turning to face her, his face a mask of cold indifference. “You don’t leave this house without permission. It’s not like you could anyway.”

Maeve bristled where she stood.

“Two, you’ll do as I say. Eat when I say. Be ready when I say. Speak when I say.”

“I’m not your fucking puppet, Fedya. Get someone else to do it.”

“Three, you’ll answer when I call. No ignoring my knocks on your door, or me. You’re not allowed to ignore me.”

Maeve glared at him. “I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“Four,” he said, stepping closer to her.

He slid a familiar pink device out of his pocket, and she recognized it as her phone.

She couldn’t even tell when he may have swiped it within the time he took her to the bathroom to tend to her hand, and when he dragged her to the living room.

She thought of her father’s offer, her decision to be his mole, and staring at her phone in Fedya’s hands now made her realize just how dangerous her decision was.

It wouldn’t be easy to sidestep someone like him. She had to be smarter, much smarter.

“No phone calls,” he said, still holding the phone to her face. “No contact with your father or anyone else I haven’t approved. Seems like I might be already late though, aren’t I?”

Maeve’s jaw tightened as Fedya’s eyes took in her call log. His grip on her wrist tightened as he slowly lifted his gaze to hers. “What did you talk about when he called you last night?”

“None of your business,” she breathed.

Fedya smiled as he wrapped a hand around her throat, fingers firm against her skin as he tugged her even closer. His grip was strong, firm, but not firm enough to restrict her airflow. “I will hurt you if you lie to me.”

Even though his grip around her throat tightened, even though Maeve felt a dangerous, unwanted heat crawling up her thighs from his touch, something at the back of her mind reassured her that he wouldn’t actually hurt her.

“Tell me what you talked about.”

Maeve wracked her brain for a believable lie. She couldn’t just spew out any nonsense that Fedya would surely see through. So she had to tell him something close yet far from the truth.

“He was suspicious.” Maeve swallowed against his firm grip around her neck. “He wanted to check if you were really who you said you were. And I guess he had enough empathy to check if I was still alive.”

The look on Fedya’s face was completely unreadable, and Maeve tried to keep a straight face. Not knowing if he believed her or not was harder than knowing he saw through her lie.

“He wanted answers,” she added, eyes blazing. “That’s all.”

“What did you tell him?”

Maeve smiled wickedly. His eyes darted to her mouth, and a flash of need raced across his eyes. “What else? I figured you could kill me faster than he, so I opted for the safer option and told him exactly who he thought you were. Jonathan Riley.”

“No more calls,” Fedya growled, squeezing his fist tight around her phone.

He tossed the device to the floor and shot it right in front of her.

Maeve’s yelp was useless as her hands instinctively shot up to her face, watching as the bullet slammed against the screen, shattering the thing before ricocheting and lodging itself somewhere deep in the ceiling.

It was during times like these that she actually started to counter that voice in her head that was sure he wouldn’t hurt her.

One thing she had noticed about him was how he never hesitated to use his gun.

It was like a toy he played with anytime he felt like it.

“No more secrets,” he continued, turning to face her now as he pressed the muzzle of the gun right between her eyes. Maeve’s spine straightened into a line as the cold metal pressed into her skin. “If I catch you talking to him again,” he leaned in, voice low and lethal. “I will kill you myself.”

Maeve met his stare and smiled despite herself. “Can’t wait, husband.”

Fedya trailed the gun down the midline of her face, and Maeve’s eyes darted to his fingers lazily playing over the trigger. “My family will be gathering two nights from now. You’ll be presentable, polite, and punctual.”

Maeve raised a brow, genuinely surprised by his words. She was sure he wanted to keep their marriage a secret from everyone, but this was something she didn’t see coming. She remembered her father’s condition for her freedom and cleared her throat.

“Finally ready to introduce your wife to the world?”

“You’re not going as my wife,” he corrected, putting a stop to the movement of his gun on the left side of her chest, right above her beating heart.

“You’re going as my girlfriend. We met on a dating app, and things moved fast. You’re shy, which is why they’ve never met you before. That’s the story.”

Maeve blinked, waiting for him to tell her it was a joke, but he simply stared back. Then a short burst of breathless laughter left her. “What?”

“I believe you heard everything I just said.”

“Oh, I did,” she replied. “And you sound fucking ridiculous.”

Fedya pulled his gun back and shoved it into the back of his jeans.

“I’m protecting both of us. You’re the daughter of an enemy.

Marrying you was nothing short of treason.

” Then he raised a brow. “What do you think is going to happen when I present you to everyone and declare the daughter of an open enemy as my wife? What do you think the people who are thirsty for revenge are going to do when they see you? When they realize I’ve kept you with me and married you into the family without anyone’s approval?

What makes you think you’ll walk in there as Cormac’s daughter and walk out alive?

Or have you forgotten what your uncle did to my brother’s wife? What he did to my sister?”

For once, Maeve couldn’t argue with him. He was right after all. That was the reason why she had been so scared last night when he revealed who he was to her. The family he came from.

Maeve lifted her chin. “And what if I don’t want to attend?”

He smiled. “You will attend,” he said with an air of finality that reminded her of her father. She hated it, hated the commanding tone, the guts he had to speak to her the way he liked. “You will attend because I say so. Rule number two, remember?”

She closed the distance between them and shoved her finger against his hard chest. He didn’t budge, but she wasn’t expecting him to. She wasn’t expecting the dimpled smile that appeared on his face either.

“Fuck you and your stupid rules, Fedya,” she said, her breath hot against his mouth. “You’re delusional if you think I’ll listen to you.”

He caught her finger against his chest, smiled again, and said, “I love it when you say my name.”

Maeve couldn’t understand it—her sudden rapid heartbeat, the nerves bouncing up and down her skin where he held her, her dry throat, her shallow breath.

And all these reactions worsened when he lifted her hand to his lips— when she let him —and pressed his soft lips against her knuckles, all the while holding her stare.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you are,” he said, his words hitting her skin like a whiplash. Just a second ago, he was pressing a gun to her skull, and now he was complimenting her. “My beautiful, beautiful Maeve.”

And for some reason, those four words were forcing themselves deep into the crevices of her heart, leaving her breathless, dazed, confused, digging teeth of sudden ache all over her skin.

His lips were still kissing her knuckles, trailing further down her fingers, peppering small, feverish kisses down her hands until he got to her wrist.

She saw him reach into his pocket, pull out a small, royal blue velvet box, and flick it open to reveal a glimmering diamond ring, the rich blue color the same as his eyes.

She remembered him telling her he was going to get her another one, and there it was, staring back at her.

Her eyes were on the jewel as he tugged it out of the box and slipped it onto her finger.

“There,” he said, admiring what he’d done, lifting her hand to his lips again and kissing her ring. “This looks better anyway.”

And she was just standing there, letting him , and after she felt the gentle press of his lips against her bandage, she snapped out of it, stepping back like she’d just walked into a fire.

He let her hand go, his smile still present, and then her lips moved, her voice unrecognizable.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He said nothing. Just tilted his head, observing her bodily reactions to him. Satisfied with whatever he saw, he smiled again. Blinding and beautiful. “I’ll make you dinner. And you will eat.”

And then he turned away, heading to the kitchen, leaving her there—fingers tingling, ring heavy—grappling with what the hell had just occurred between them.