Page 6 of The Pakhan’s Forced Bride (West Coast Bratva Pakhans #3)

After a massive argument on the way home from my shopping trip, which he so rudely interrupted, I informed Ardalion that locking me away is pointless. I will keep escaping the room.

He snapped back that I no longer need to be confined to the room, but that his guards have been tripled and there will be no chance of me getting off the mansion grounds again.

That means I can’t explore LA, and I’m furious about it.

I clearly made a mistake telling him that I was there to meet my contact to escape. I should have said something else. Now he’s doubled down on me being a prisoner, and I’m going crazy.

I’ve been trapped inside his mansion for three days. All I want to do is see the city. What’s the point of being here if I can’t enjoy it?

My anger has been on a low, constant simmer, always directed at Ardalion. I never miss a chance to start a fight with him to remind him just how agitated I am.

This morning, I got up early to make my own breakfast and found him already awake and in the kitchen. That annoyed me.

He offered to make me coffee. That also annoyed me.

“Stop pretending to be chivalrous. And I don’t imagine you would know how to make a decent cup of coffee anyway,” I snarl, pulling the fridge open to find the milk.

I know I sound like a child. I’ve been arguing with him over anything and everything.

I get the feeling that his patience is wearing thin, and it makes me happy. I want him to be as annoyed as I am.

“Stop being a brat, and you might realize I’m not as bad as you make me out to be,” he snaps back.

Dammit, he’s hot. That T-shirt is so well-fitted I can see the outline of every muscle across his chest. And when he folds his arms and looks down at me, his biceps pull taut, and thick tendons ripple over his forearms.

And the tattoos down his arms are gorgeous.

One side has a full sleeve, a Japanese-style wave, curling over his entire arm—dammit, I’m staring. I wonder what other tattoos he has?

Everything about him is sexy. Why does he have to be so sexy?

I shake my head, pushing away the building attraction.

Stop admiring him and just use him to vent your anger.

“A brat? I’m locked up in this stupid house with nothing to do and nowhere to go, and you expect me to be happy about it?”

“I don’t expect anything from you, Belle,” he says, his eyes roaming over my body. His gaze seems hungry, intense. Suddenly, I’m self-conscious and awkward, wondering what he’s thinking about me and my curves.

He steps towards me, and I back up against the open fridge, cold air against my back as he stands there glaring down at me.

“You’re arguing with me about nothing . Looking for trouble. I’ve already warned you about your attitude, little bunny. Don’t make me say it twice,” he says, his black ears piercing into me.

His voice runs over me like warm caramel, and I can’t tear my eyes off his.

He’s right.

I am arguing with him about nothing. But so what.

What does he want from me? An apology? He’s not going to get it.

I narrow my eyes at him, not backing down, and he growls in annoyance. I stand my ground until he turns away, walking out of the kitchen carrying his coffee. Good . Now I can make my breakfast in peace.

After breakfast, I roam around the mansion, exploring every room.

Upstairs, there’s a sunroom, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The ceiling is made of glass, and above it, on the roof, is a pool, so when you walk into the room, sunlight filters through the water and it sends rainbows dancing over every surface. It’s the most beautiful thing ever.

It’s mesmerizing.

His home is beautiful. And it screams wealth and status. The unique design is eye-catching, and I can’t get over the fact that this guy is clearly as powerful and high up as my brother. I thought Benedikt was the most powerful man in America, but Ardalion could certainly match him.

What did Benedikt do to piss him off so badly that he’d want to kidnap me and marry me?

It must have been bad.

I saw an office earlier; maybe with enough investigating, I can figure it out myself. Leaving the gorgeous sunroom behind, I head back to the lower floor and into what looks like Ardalion’s home office. It’s minimalist. One desk and one office chair. Where are all his files?

I sit down at the desk and pull open the only two drawers. A notebook, some pens, a charging cable, a spare clip for his gun, and a leather holster. Nothing of interest.

There has to be another room, maybe the library, where he keeps his files. I push away from the desk and hurry to the library.

At my brother’s place, the library is cozy, with high dark wooden shelves and comfortable armchairs. It looks like you’d expect a library to look.

Ardalion has a knack for doing things uniquely, and his library is no different.

The books are sitting on glass shelves, neatly set against the walls. Special lighting has been installed beneath each shelf, pointing upwards to make the books appear to be glowing.

There is a massive bed-sized sofa in the corner near the window, but it’s gray and square and industrial looking rather than something I’d like to flop down on.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I flop down on it anyway, diving face-first into the center of it.

To my surprise, I sink right into the softness of it.

“Looks can be deceiving,” I giggle to myself as I roll over and stare at the ceiling for a moment, thinking that I’d happily read a book here for hours. I can even hear the ocean lapping against the shore from here. It’s lovely.

But I’m getting distracted. I climb off to return to my investigations.

At the back of the library, I find three sleek-looking silver filing cabinets. One is locked, and the other two are boringly filled with alphabetized business paperwork. Nothing about Benedikt.

Using my hairpin, I fiddle with the lock for a while, but it’s different from the bedroom lock, which was easy to pick. This one is too fancy.

Giving up, I slide the clip back into my hair to move on to the next room.

It feels like I’ve been roaming all day, and I still haven’t covered every room in the mansion. This place is massive. How can he live here alone?

What does he do all day?

I’ve been living with my mother. I can’t help but think it would be a lot easier to stay with her if we lived in a place this big. I could disappear when she throws one of her hissy fits after I’ve told her I don’t agree with her on something. I roll my eyes and laugh.

I love my mom. She just drives me crazy sometimes.

And this new obsession with finding me a husband was getting out of hand.

The thought makes me giggle. Oh, Mom, how surprised you’d be to find out I’m actually married.

Even though Ardalion is more of a kidnapper than a husband, I imagine my mother being over the moon about it. He’s rich, handsome, and powerful. It’s all she ever wanted for me. Actually, considering the dates I went on, she wasn’t bothered about the guy being handsome.

And never mind love. Love never factored into it for her. Apparently, her daughter actually being happy wasn’t part of the deal.

Huffing, I tell myself to stop thinking about that before I go down a rabbit hole, getting angry over all the dates I had to suffer through. It was pure torture. That’s in the past now. My kidnapper rescued me from that horror. Another soft giggle escapes me as I roam down a hallway.

Light filters through every angle of this house. The architect managed to find a way to make every hallway, every space, full of natural light. It’s beautiful. I could happily live in a place like this, just preferably with someone who can at least crack a smile every once in a while.

He’s so exhausting with his moodiness. I wonder if he’s ever laughed in his entire life.

Well, this is the only room I haven’t looked in.

I push the heavy raw wood door aside and step into the room, but immediately I stop, pausing mid-step and freezing in place.

It’s a gym.

And Ardalion is in here.

He’s on the other side of the room with his back to me, punching a massive boxing bag. Each strike causes him to huff or grunt at the force of it. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. Capable and masculine, and—I should definitely leave right now.

I’m about to turn and sneak away when he pauses for a moment to pull his shirt off. Oh no. Why did he have to do that? Now I can’t look away. I can’t leave.

Holy fuck, that man is built like Adonis himself.

His skin is tanned golden and glistening with sweat.

He starts boxing again, and I notice each muscle flex and pull tight, and ripple.

It’s like his muscles have muscles. His shoulders are so broad and thick, I’m in awe, and now I can see why it was so easy for him to pick me up as though I were weightless.

This man is pure, solid, bulking mass.

That tattoo on his arm moves right over his back and his chest as well.

Up to his neck. It’s all one piece, one magnificent ode to the art form that is his body.

The tattoo wraps his muscles as though it were caressing him, and now I’m picturing my hands brushing over his skin, watching his muscles twitch and ripple beneath my fingers.

I’d very much like to bite his bicep.

He strikes at the punching bag, and his shoulder bulges as muscles swell from every angle.

Desire shoots through me, and a whimper spills from my lips.

Fuck. What was that? That was so loud.

Ardalion turns to face me, and I hurriedly move as though I only just opened the door and had not been standing here perving on him for the last few minutes.

He tilts his head to the side and pulls off his MMA-style gloves as he watches me. He picks up a bottle of water, takes a long sip, and then walks towards me. It’s like he’s moving in slow motion, and I can’t tear my eyes off him. Dammit. The closer he gets, the more definition I can see.

Holy shit, this man is an image of perfection.

I clear my throat, pressing my lips together.

“Belle, are you enjoying the show?” he snarks, one corner of his lip curling upwards as he wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

“If you mean a show about a man who has anger issues he can’t control and has to take it out on some defenseless bag, then no. I’m not .” I fold my arms over my breasts and jut my hip out as I glare at him.

He leans his shoulder against the wall and takes another sip of water. When he tilts his head back, I admire the shape of his jaw and how solid his neck is. Every part of him is muscle.

My eyes drift down to groin, wandering about the size of—

“Have you found anything worthwhile around the mansion?”

“What?” I snap angrily. How did he know what I was doing?

“How is your snooping going?” he asks, more directly.

“I wasn’t—" I stammer.

“Join me for dinner tonight,” he interrupts me, his eyes gleaming with triumph after catching me out with the snooping thing.

I snort indignantly. “I have plans,” I blurt out, spinning on my heel and marching away from him.

He might be gorgeous, but he’s a total asshole.