The fact that he hadn’t killed me didn’t mean he didn’t have other plans for me. Men like him had a thousand ways to make people suffer.
My heart skipped a beat when I heard the door unlock, and then it creaked open. I set my feet on the floor and turned to face the newcomer.
It was the same man who had held a gun to my head two nights ago. The one who suggested killing me and disposing of my body.
My eyes narrowed, my brows furrowing to form faint creases between them. I was both afraid and angry, my pulse racing as I glared at him.
“The boss wants to see you,” he said, his voice deep and raucous, his expression blank.
My breath shook, and my blood ran cold.
“Now,” he added, leaving no room for argument.
I watched him step out, leaving the door open behind him. My chest began to heave slowly as fear rushed over me in waves that left me weak in the knees. However, alongside this terror was a strange pull I couldn’t ignore.
I couldn’t tell what awaited me out that door: punishment, interrogation, or maybe even something worse.
Chapter 8 —Demyon
The front door opened, and Ilya walked in with my little prisoner at his side. His shoes scuffed against the polished marble floor as he approached my desk, his usual unreadable expression in place.
“Boss.” He stopped in front of me, nodding slightly toward the girl.
She stood a few paces behind him, her chestnut brown hair draped over her left shoulder. Her stormy blues wandered my study as if drinking in the interior while still avoiding my gaze.
I leaned back in my chair, watching her closely and observing every detail my eyes could catch. She was wearing a T-shirt with the top three buttons undone. As small and insignificant as that gesture was, it offered a mesmerizing glimpse of her gentle swells.
Her curves were perky—a bit saggy, but perky—and her peeks were poking from behind her shirt. The sight sparked something primal within me, leaving me distracted and nearly confused.
As if she caught my gaze, she adjusted her shirt: a smooth, subtle move that concealed her cleavage. Her head was slightly lowered, her fingers toying with each other at her knees. Her weight shifted by a notch, hinting at her discomfort, and her eyes still avoided mine.
“Leave us,” I said without looking at Ilya.
He gave a single nod and walked out of the study, closing the door behind him.
For a moment after he left, the room fell silent—the kind that made her feel even more awkward than she already did. She absently tugged at her sleeves and tapped her feet against the floor, as if summoning the courage to withstand my presence.
“Who are you?” I asked her, my voice low and even.
She hesitated, her throat bobbling as she swallowed hard. “I’m the girl you’re keeping prisoner and refusing to let go of.”
My brows arched at her response, and to my shock, she looked me right in the fuckin’ eyes when she said it. Impressive. I watched her fear slowly transform into something slightly darker—anger, maybe, just a hint of it.
“You have a sharp tongue. I see.”
“You asked a question, and I answered,” she said, her voice calm and steady, her eyes still pinned on me.
My lips curled into a faint smirk. I was intrigued by this newfound boldness. Things were getting more interesting now that she was shedding the mask of helplessness. At least she wasn’t as boring as I’d thought.
“What were you doing at the warehouse two nights ago?” I asked, holding her gaze.
She paused, then said, “Would you believe me if I told you I was only there to satisfy my curiosity?”
“What curiosity?”
Her eyes flicked away from mine for a second before returning to my face. “The coded messages. I just wanted to know if I got them right.”
The way she spoke to me without fear thawed something frozen inside me. Especially because it seemed like the girl speaking with me was a completely different person from the scared little kitty cat that walked in with Ilya.
