Page 27 of Kidnapped Bride

His hand wrapped around mine on his dick and he scowled at me. "What are you doing?"

"I was just thinking we could do this the right way, okay? I mean you and I have a good thing, right?" Batting my eyelashes, I stroked him again. "We can start over, go back to the way it was. I'll message you and you message me and we'll plan dates. I just need my phone and a ride home and?—"

He laughed a loud, deep, booming noise until I felt my cheeks burning and I pulled away from him. He tucked his dick away and zipped up then took a few steps away from me.

"You actually thought throwing yourself at me would make me change my mind so you could go home?" When his eyes narrowed, I felt exactly as foolish as he insinuated I was with that sour expression. "Get dressed… Go to your room."

"No! You pig!" I flung the boxers at him as he turned away, but he caught them and marched back over to me, grabbing my bicep.

"Yakov!" he bellowed, shoving me into the hallway without any pants on. Then he threw the boxers at me. "Take her to the room now!"

I stumbled, nearly falling over, but I managed to snatch up the boxers as I heard Yakov's boots on the floor approaching. I scrambled to put them on and was barely decent as he rounded the corner.

"Yes, sir," Yakov said, stopping by me.

"You asshole! You idiot! I hate you!" The slew of insults didn't stop, not even when Yakov picked me up kicking and screaming and flung me over his shoulder.

It was humiliating. My entire plan had backfired. It was like he saw me coming a mile away, just the way I feared, and now not even my body could serve as a means to end this torture. I pounded Yakov's back and screamed at Nikolai the entire way to his room, knowing my chance at getting out of here in one piece just diminished again.

7

NIKOLAI

I watched Yakov crate Kira out of the dining room screaming like a lunatic. She thought she was being clever.

She played it well enough that a dumber man might've bought it, but I'd been running cons since before she was born and I could spot one across a crowded room, let alone across my own dinner table.

The funny thing was I sort of liked it.

Kira had spent a few days starving herself and beating on the door, but most women would’ve folded and given up by now. They'd be depressed, not getting out of bed, falling apart.

But Kira had decided to fight back and put her feminine wiles to use. It was a smart move on her part, but not intelligent enough to really fool me.

She did impress me, though.

She was smart enough to cause real problems if I let my guard down, and I couldn't have that. Things were hairy enough asit was. I didn't need the distraction or the trouble arising from someone within my own house.

I turned, staring at the mess we'd made of dinner. When Anya walked in and hastily retreated, I saw momentary shock on her face from the mess before she realized what we were doing. I didn't like making extra work for her.

She was so loyal as it was. Straining her seemed to work against my better nature.

So I stooped, picking up a few of the spilled glasses and the wine bottle, now almost empty with a puddle soaking into the carpet and a stain setting. I set them on the table as I thought about Kira's father's response to me.

How callous of a man would he have to be to ignore the fact that his daughter was locked in my possession and to write her off as a total loss without even trying to rescue her? And it wasn't that he knew me so well, he'd assumed her dead already. He knew she was alive, and he knew I had no intention of hurting her because I told him that myself. He just didn't care.

When most of the mess was off the floor, I took what was left of the bottle of wine and the glass and retreated from the dining room, heading toward my office.

Having Kira here was a distraction at best and a dangerous situation at worst. If he did come for her, there'd be hell to pay, but my gut told me if he came, it wouldn’t be to save her. Still, her being here tugged at my better judgment.

It made me wonder what having her here permanently would be like. It was dangerous thinking and I knew it. She was a tool—a means to an end. And the end had already failed because herfather had made it perfectly clear he didn't care what happened to her.

I still couldn't wrap my head around that. I'd called Markin expecting negotiation. Anger, threats, posturing, sure, but eventually, a deal. That was how these things worked. You take something valuable, the other side comes to the table, and you hash it out like men.

But that negotiation wasn’t going to happen now, which meant I had to switch tactics.

I'd known men like Markin my whole life—men who'd sacrifice anything to protect their pride because it was the only thing that made them feel powerful.

It was cowardice, though they pretended it was strength, and I'd always despised it.